Whizz bang whoosh! It’s St Giles Fair again. Too much gorging on pink candyfloss, nougat and hot chips. It’s just as well that it only comes once a year.

A friend who lives in St Giles was undecided as to her strategy this year. Should she simply move beds to the back of the house – or move houses, taking her bed?

Comforted by the fact that each evening of the two day fair ended at 11pm, she planned to tough it out.

I know that I had a grandstand view into many bedrooms as I zoomed up and down the loops of the rollercoaster one year.

I raised my arms high and looked around me at each peak. I saw the heaps of clothing, the overflowing paper bin, the suitcase on the floor – thrown open as of days ago – and as yet unemptied and unsorted. The unmade bed. It could have been my room – perhaps the subject of a future Turner shortlist.

But schucks, that’s been covered already.

For years, I did not know that the St Giles Fair existed.

Never mind its 400 year history and gradual evolution from a parish festival feast of St Giles to today’s bright lights and ecstatic screams as revellers revolve around the night sky, ever faster, ever louder and ever more thrilling.

I missed it, arriving with most students at the beginning of October.

But when I came to live here, with three young children... well, that was it.

The end of the school holidays was illuminated by the presence of the fair, bigger and better than ever.

Our children graduated up a thrill notch every year, towards the Holy Grail of rides: the one that spun you up and down, with a view of the city and the countryside around.

For all I know, the lunar landscape too. It looked far too scary for me – and, of course, the queue...

I loved climbing on the coconut matting of the helter skelter, the stately rise and fall of the prancing horses, the rifle range for the giant tiger, and the dodgems: my back has yet to recover.

One of the most impressive things about the St Giles Fair is the speed with which it is assembled, and taken down after the second night.

By first light the next morning, there is scarcely a deflated balloon to be seen. Nothing to hint at the fun we have each year, before the gales of autumn put paid to the glamour of an evening outdoors.

  • Do you want alerts delivered straight to your phone via our WhatsApp service? Text NEWS or SPORT or NEWS AND SPORT, depending on which services you want, and your full name to 07767 417704. Save our number into your phone’s contacts as Oxford Mail WhatsApp and ensure you have WhatsApp installed.