A report delivered with reluctance, but necessity
My dear compatriots of the countryside,
I attended The Game Fair 2026 with the sort of optimism one reserves for a promising young retriever – hopeful, eager, and blissfully unaware of the disappointment awaiting it. By the time I left, I felt less like a guest at a celebration of rural heritage and more like a witness giving testimony at an inquiry.
The Fair, once a proud bastion of tradition, now resembles a sprawling marketplace stitched together from whatever could be found in the back of a lorry. One moment you’re admiring a respectable side‑by‑side, the next you’re being offered a turmeric latte by a man who looks like he’s never stood in a field without WiFi.
But let us address the matter that dominated the weekend: the complaints! They drifted through the crowds like smoke from a poorly tended barbecue, but some of the smoke I was encountering had the more distinctive smell of a smouldering hemp rope rather than well-coked coals.
Everywhere I walked, I heard tales of pickpockets working the grounds with the enthusiasm of terriers in a rat barn. Wallets vanished.
Another chap posted pictures of the side-pocket of his hiking shorts which had been slashed with a Stanley knife to allow his wallet to simply drop out in the crowd. I understand the wallet was handed in and returned to the victim with his cards unharmed, but £650 in cash had been taken.
Does the thought of someone operating at knee-height through the packed avenues with a razor sharp blade not fill you with absolute horror?
Then came the stories of vehicle break‑ins – windows smashed, glove boxes rifled, possessions spirited away. The car park resembled the aftermath of a minor siege.
I saw one poor soul staring into the wreckage of his boot with the expression of a man who has just discovered his favourite spaniel has eaten the Christmas goose.
Mind you, it’s unlikely any spaniels would have bothered with a goose at this event. I don’t think I’d ever had full comprehension of just how many dog food companies existed in the world until I felt like every single one of them had accosted me with the line “Are you a dog owner?” at least twice every 10 minutes.
I realise at this point that I haven’t even touched upon the fighting. What I witnessed here was not Queensbury’s finest of standards, but something more akin to the kind of dark shadows that have infiltrated horse racing in recent years. Too many drinks, too many slurred words, too much offence taken, and too many topless louts. Utterly, undoubtedly and unbelievably shameful behaviour.
All of this was met with the usual chorus of “Well, that’s The Game Fair”, uttered by veterans who seem to believe petty crime is now as much a part of the tradition as clay shooting and overpriced gin.
The food was no consolation. I paid £14.50 for a venison burger so small it could have been mistaken for a canapé at a mildly disappointing wedding. The vendor assured me it was “artisan”, though I suspect the artisan in question was simply very tired.
The trade stands were a sea of identical tweed waistcoats, each claiming to be “heritage”, “authentic”, or “crafted for the modern outdoorsman”. I saw one chap wearing three simultaneously, presumably in an attempt to summon the spirit of the countryside through sheer layering alone.
And yet, buried beneath the chaos, the lanyards, the inflatable attractions, and the inexplicable presence of a stall selling hot tubs, there remained a faint heartbeat of the old Game Fair. A handful of proper country folk, the ones who know their way around a hedge, a dog, and a shotgun without needing a QR code.
To them, I offer my respect. To the rest, I offer my condolences.
I shall probably return next year. I think partly out of loyalty, partly out of morbid curiosity, and partly because I refuse to let the countryside be reduced to a theme park where one must guard one’s pockets, one’s vehicle, and one’s dignity with equal vigilance.
We can only hope this year was merely a terrible pothole in the road, and the organisers are already working on ensuring the road is fixed and smooth next year. Let’s also hope they choose carefully who they contract to Tarmac it!
Yours, in tweed, indignation, and unwavering resolve,
Lord Renard
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Couldn’t agree more. We were there on the first day, but decided to bail on the morning of the next day. There was a peculiar atmosphere hanging over the place – it just smelled like there was going to be trouble.
Topless louts swaggering about the place acting like drunken idiots while security did little to prevent it.
Someone parked close to us had the cover off the back of their pickup truk ripped off and the contents ransacked.
Doubt we’ll go again after this experience.
Well said Lord Renard!
Disgusting behaviour. It was nothing like it used to be. We used to go as a family all the time, but over recent years it just hasn’t felt like a safe place to be.
Honestly, we’ve never felt more uncomfortable as a family.
There were people there who, frankly, should never have been allowed entry.
Some folk clearly think they are above the law!
I don’t think security knew how to handle them, or perhaps they were just as intimidated as the rest of us?
Either way, we’d need some assurances about who they let in next year from the organisers before we even think about buying tickets again.
Not sure what the issue is. We were there from start to finish and didn’t have any problems with anything or anyone.
There was lots of complaining about traffic and what have you, but we had no delays at all.
It was a terrific event, and we’ll definitely be back next year, despite all the moaners.