But where can I buy all the pretty???

Visit Vagabond Romantics shop now to browse and buy altered art, wearable collage, and lovingly curated craft materials unearthed from the farthest reaches of granny's attic.

Monday 31 August 2015

Steampunk Weekend in Photos (sort of)

 One of the drawbacks to running a stall at an event is that you often don't get to see much of the event. So these are by no means an exhaustive representation of the First Annual Llandrindod Wells Steampunk Weekend, merely a small sampling of a few of the glorious characters who passed through the craft tent and made my day a bit brighter in spite of the Welsh showers.

Michael and Marie Powell, the Vice-Chair and Administrator (respectively) of the festival.
The parrot  was nameless and it's unclear whether it was attending in an official capacity
Kolonel Mustard, one of many dashing dandies who attended the festival. One of the great joys of the event was seeing so many well-groomed and dapper gentlemen. Because let's face it, a woman who wants to look fabulous is spoilt for choice, but balancing sartorial elegance and individual eccentricities is a much trickier affair for men. 
I didn't catch the names of these women, but I simply had to
capture their hats on film, and we did have a lovely wee chat too!

Again, don't have a name for this striking couple but aren't they gorgeous? The gent reminded me a bit of Nathan Fillion but I didn't dare say it lest his glamourous lady friend mistake an innocent comment for a pass and take offence.

I initially addressed this formidable lady as "Your Majesty" only to be corrected. It turns out this particular Bert and Vicky (although indeed re-enactors) weren't attending in an official capacity. I rather cheekily pulled out my camera and snapped away as we talked (and very engaging conversationalists they were, too) so apologies if they don't like this image, but I think it is all the more wonderful for capturing "Albert" mid-sentence and HRH looking on in apparent disapproval. 

And last but not least, the wandering minstrels (or should that be Wandering Minstrels?! Again, I never caught a name!) who intermittently appeared to entertain us with Victorian ditties. If only they had asked me to give up the day job and go on tour with them, I'd have spent the next few years as a groupie, following them in whatever the steampunk equivalent of a VW microbus is... a steam engine? Perhaps a hot air balloon. With plenty of champagne.

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