The air is full of mingled smells—fuel, animal dung, roasting meat, and the sweet pungent aroma of freshly made doughnuts, which is particularly strong, as we’re standing right by a doughnut stand.

“Cake!” says Minnie, spotting the stall. “I like it, Mummy.” She tugs on my arm yearningly, almost pulling me over.

“No cake,” I say hurriedly, and start leading her away. “Come on, let’s find these ceramics.”

Even though it’s early, there are already crowds of people everywhere: clustering to get into tents, queuing for food, wandering along the lanes between the attractions, and suddenly stopping to consult their fair maps. So it takes us a little time to make it all the way to the Creative Village, and then we can’t work out which tent we want. Mum is totally focused, barging along, her chin set, but Janice keeps getting distracted by exhibits, and I have to tug her away, saying, “You can look at the embroidered pot holders later.” Honestly, she’s worse than Minnie.

At last we make it to the ceramics tent and consult the exhibitors’ guide. Raymond is in the adult ceramics and china section and has entered the bowl class, the container-with-lid class, and the miscellaneous class. He’s also got some pieces in the for-sale gallery. It’s easy to tell which are his, because they’re about five times the size of anyone else’s. It’s also obvious that he’s not here, because apart from us only seven people are in the tent, and they’re all women.

For a couple of minutes, Mum and I circle the exhibits in silence, pausing by each of Raymond’s pieces as though it might give us a clue. He’s put a piece of paper by each entry, which goes on about the influence of the French ceramicist Pauline Audette (who?) and how he takes inspiration from nature and some other waffle about glazes.

“Well, he’s not here,” says Mum finally, as we reach a wide bowl with green glaze on it, which takes up nearly a whole table.

“But he must have been here,” I point out. “Maybe he’ll come back. Um, excuse me?” I address a lady in a strappy tank top, who’s standing at the next table. “We’re looking for Raymond Earle. Do you know him? Do you think he’ll come to the tent today?”

“Oh, Raymond,” says the woman, and rolls her eyes slightly. “He was here earlier. He might be along later. But he doesn’t hang around.”

“Thank you. Is that your vase?” I add. “It’s beautiful.”

This is a total lie, as it’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen. But I’m thinking we should make a few friends and allies in case we have to tackle Raymond to the ground or anything.

“Why, thank you,” says the woman, and pats it protectively. “I have pieces in the gallery for sale too, if you’re interested.” She points to the gallery, which is at the far end.

“Great!” I say, trying to sound enthused. “I’ll look at those later. So, are you influenced by Pauline Audette too?”