28/05/2026
Fifty-six days to Crail Fest,
And every list breeds three more lists.
A scribbled note becomes a spreadsheet,
An email thread becomes a storm
Daily emails fly like gulls
Across the Fife sea air —
Subject lines marked URGENT NOW
Beside “Bar stock” and “chairs”
There are posters curled on kitchen chairs,
Timetables blu-tacked to the wall,
Names highlighted, crossed, revised,
Then changed again after a call
The to-do list stretches down the page
Like harbour ropes at low tide,
And every time one task is done
Two more appear beside.
Yet somehow underneath the scramble,
The spreadsheets and the stress,
There’s laughter in the planning calls,
And pride in every mess.
So yes, the countdown’s slightly frightening,
And sleep may have to wait,
But joy is built in borrowed hours
And people staying late.
Fifty-six days to Crail Fest —
The lists may never end,
But all this beautiful chaos
Means another year to gather friends
