Bomb Disneyland

Saturday, early afternoon Mr H’s big car trundles south on the hideously inadequate A12 which is just lines of queuing traffic.  “It just doesn’t work…” says Mr G, referring to our countries road system.  His words were prophetic.  The journey south could have been torturous if the craic wasn’t so good, we have loads in common to chat and laugh about, not least music, which was our reason for braving the counties south of the Stour.  The lure today was a mini festival at Crystal Palace called ‘South Facing’, part of a series of gigs of various different genres, todays had a distinctly punky vibe.

We crawled south, the car interior a literal haze and lashings of Mr G’s home brew were shared.  Eventually two lanes of madness became three or four, the M fucking 25.  The sign said Dartford crossing seven miles but already we were queuing still this didn’t matter, the chat flowed, autumn isn’t far away, it will soon be Pike time…  Then the big bridge loomed and we were crawling to its summit.  Fuck this thing is seriously high, I don’t like it.  We soon returned to earth and shortly after left the motorway, once we were heading into London traffic flowed quicker…  Fuck, London.  I’ve just remembered I don’t like London, after eighteen months coming back here is a culture shock.  Thankfully(?) this part of the city is much cleaner and more affluent than many places we’ve passed through over the years.  Soon we pulled up and spilled out of the car into a leafy avenue in a nice suburban area, the journey had been a laugh, despite taking three fucking hours.

We spent a few minutes spent getting ourselves upright and onto our legs, orientating ourselves with the surroundings and forgetting things,  then we set off towards Crystal Palace park.  Or so we hoped, the direction was dictated by some kind of GPS type app thingy on Mr G’s phone.  Despite my initial scepticism this new fangled invention was actually accurate and we soon found ourselves walking through the park following the sound of music!  There were strange squawks coming from the foliage, apparently Parakeets are common in this part of London and something parrot shaped definitely flew over at one point.   We made it to the gates, showed our tickets and the useless Covid app thingy and were allowed entry to a small natural arena, fringed by bars and food stalls, surrounded by tall trees.  It all looked very nice but before we could really take it all in we needed to find the fourth punk piker, our friend from the west.  After a few minutes of scanning the crowd blindly and being distracted by potentially far more attractive humans I spied our pal.  Mr S was leaning on a bin rolling a fag, about five metres in front of us.

We spent time stood at the top of the bowl, just catching up, Mr S lives on the other side of the country but we share passions, music being just one of them, when was the last time we’d all been in the same place was?  The autumn of 2019 for ‘Fucked up’ in Islington.  The laughs continued and the chat whirled but meanwhile there was music on the stage.  This was someone called Jane Weaver (I think) but she pretty much passed me by, all I can remember is she wasn’t shit.  In fact the first part of the afternoon is quite hazy, Mr H was designated driver as he is always happy to be but Mr G and I had been imbibing steadily, as things turned out a little too steadily.

Another band appeared.  These were called The Orielles making decent sounding indi rock sounds.  We stood staring dumbly before Mr G and I decided had we not been really caned we would be down amongst the crowds already, so off we set.  The band was okay, didn’t move me much but the sound was pretty good, the girl singing needed a bit of help though.  When they finished we went off wandering aimlessly in the guise of searching for food, everyone seemed to have lost the ability to make a decision so I found a stall with a short queue and ordered what I though was a burger.  It was actually a plastic tray of chips and strips of steak, doused in thick garlic butter.  It tasted okay despite the garlic but the cost of twelve quid was highly unpalatable.  I suppose these businesses are trying to claw back over a year’s worth of lost revenue but that’s just a fucking rip off.  A captive audience has no choice.

Back to the bottom of the bowl, elbowing our way through a growing crowd, we wanted to get in amongst it for the next band.  Fat White Family was the main reason I was here, this band sounds very average on record but live they have a great sound that envelopes the senses and enchants the feet.  Tonight they ripped through a set of punky anthems with energy, enthusiasm and much shedding of clothes.  These are one of my favourite live bands at the moment, I hope to see them again soon.  

Next up was someone I’d never encountered, Baxter Dury (yes son of Ian) who resembles his father but is definitely taller.  The show started slowly and for the first couple of tunes I wasn’t getting it but the longer it went the more I enjoyed the show.  I’d definitely give him another look.  Finally it was the headliner; I like Sleaford Mods and what they do live really works but it’s all too samey on record.  By the time they came on stage a long day of arduous toil was catching up with me and I was feeling decidedly ropey.  I still managed to enjoy Sleaford Mods but the experience would have been much better if I had not made the amateurish mistake of forgetting to pace myself.  For the best part of the evening I was more weary than any point during the Latitude weekend.

The music ended, we limped back up the slope, said our goodbyes to Mr S then pointed our aching feet in the direction we guessed the car might be.  In the end we’d got it right and the yomp back was brightened by two skinny foxes both of which seemed totally unfazed by us invading their streets.  After about seven hours without a sit down the car seat was like a curvaceous embrace and just as welcome.  On the way back the roads were clear and the journey much quicker though I didn’t see much of it.  My brain was awake but my eyes tired and yes I definitely did doze off towards the end.  But it had been another good day, after so long without live music I’ve been spoiled lately.

Rain stopped play.

 I didn't really follow the start of the test match, my work schedule will be unpredictable for the rest of the summer so this may be the case for the whole series?  But as the game went on I was gradually pulled back into the kind of life I lead when England play test cricket.  This involves doing all the things I would normally be doing but engineering openings to catch up with the game and sitting by the radio as often as possible.

So England's collapse in the first innings was not too painful for me, the blows softened by distance and the predictability of it all.  I lauded the young England batsmen last year but ever since they've seemed determined to prove me wrong.  But Indian teams never find run scoring easy in England so I always felt we were still in the game if barely clinging on.  Sir Jimmy done what he does and Robinson is looking exciting, the kind of tall bowler who will do will down under, if we ever get there.  India had a lead but game on.  I was on the road on Saturday so could barely dip in to the game but our only batsman stepped up with a century and at least England are making a game of this!  Sunday seemed set up for a great day of cricket, India on top but with our bowlers at Trent Bridge... but when I tuned the radio in my heart sank.

India had the better of the game and would have started day five as favourites but all results were still possible.  From here they look like the team most likely to win the series unless England's batsmen, whoever they pick next, manage to score good runs in the first innings.  Changes seem likely for the next test and I'd certainly shake things up a bit; Crawley out for Hameed, Pope replaces Lawrence and we need to find room for a spinner. 

Probably the most frustrating thing for me is whatever team we put out, it wont be our best XI and we haven't managed to field our best team since the world went mad.  Until our best eleven players are on the field it's hard to judge just how good a side we are, or not.  We could lose this series against India yet still be competitive in Australia, if we can play our best team and if the series actually takes place.

Latitude 2021 - Dancing in the Dark

Even though the line-up looked exciting it had been hard to find enthusiasm for Latitude 2021.  In the weeks leading up to it we were wondering if it would ever actually happen and if it does, should we really go?  Sharing an event with forty thousand people while a pandemic still grips the country, it’s a disaster waiting to happen isn’t it?  Are we just guinea pigs for the Covid world; “it’s here, it’s not going away, we’re just going to have to learn to live with it”.  Great British common sense is being put to the test, what could possibly go wrong?  Should I fear infection?  Will this festival go down in history for the wrong reasons?  Is it a coincidence that the first festival to be allowed is the one that the posh people go to?

We’d rolled our tickets over from the event cancelled in 2020, we’d had faith in the vaccinations and just kept rolling right up to the event.  We didn’t really have much time to think about the rights and wrongs of Latitude because life had intervened and thrown our world off its orbit.  Things have been emotional; Latitude week began with my Mum’s funeral.  Mum liked music and I think she would have enjoyed the festival but just for a day, the whole weekend would have been too much.  We didn’t have much in common musically but she did like James, who have been brilliant both times I’ve seen them at the festival.

So the implications of Latitude didn’t really dawn on me until I stopped the car in a rapidly filling car field and was suddenly surrounded by people.  We, the Purple Princess and I, waited in the car for a couple of minutes to let the humans disperse a bit.  This was not through any fear of infection, I just can’t be arsed with people.  I thought we might have avoided the begging monks but no.  Where do they come from?  Do they sprout out of the ground when our backs are turned?  Are they even real monks or just part of a cheeky con?  We give them money so they fuck off.  One day I’ll explain that I don’t do charity because I think its bollocks that I’m being asked to donate when there are billionaires going to space for a thrill ride.

The lie of the Latitude land had changed once more which meant the big barrow push was not as exhausting as usual even under the noonday sun but we had to camp further out so we’d put more miles on our legs through the weekend.  We got lucky with our spot, close enough to the main highway to mean there’ll be no need to negotiate a guy rope minefield in the dark.  Also as the canvas city built up around us there were no obvious groups of Lunateens too close for comfort.  With the tent up we made a brew then burnt some ceremonial incense to bless the festival, we kept the candle burning all weekend.

After having a long relaxing afternoon chilling out in the sun and watching people as if the doors of our tent were a television screen we eventually booted up and headed off to explore.  There’s never much going on Thursdays that excite us but sometimes we stumble upon something interesting so we done what we always do and made a slow circuit of the arenas to take everything in.  The area we usually camp in is now the site for luxury loos, we’ve been displaced so the posh people can take a crap in relative comfort away from riff raff like me.  But there is still loads of space here that could be used and would mean general camping would be less like a shanty town.

Inside the arenas were as we expected with the notable exception of the Lake stage which just isn't there anymore, I hope this isn't permanent.  This stage usually hosts young, new or obscure music by day but at night there’s always be DJ’s and the latter is what we’ll miss most.  We went for a walk in the woods, checked out the trippy lights and paid our respects to the pink sheep.  We heard sounds from a few places but nothing tempted us in until the Trailer park, where we were enticed by the Mighty Flux who banged out some silly, fun pop tunes but as this was the first live music I’d seen since Feb’20 (Jade Hairpins – some pub in Kilburn?), I soaked it up and enjoyed being immersed in live music after 15 months!  After that we decided to keep miles in the legs and head back to the tent.

I must confess to feeling uncomfortable being surrounded by people.  This had nothing to do with Covid and everything to do with me being an anti social bastard.  Yes I know the world is full of genuinely nice people and I meet new, pleasant people every day but the trouble is the other 95% are wankers.  Back at the tent watching the world go by, the crowd seems to be made up of the wrong tribes.  The new campsite layout has more room for families and camper vans which means general camping gets squeezed into a smaller space every year, if they carry on the time will come when we feel squeezed out altogether.  Money is the key here, to enjoy the best festival experience you have to pay for the added extras, festi-taxis are one thing but at the price of a ticket I don’t expect to have to pay extra to take a civilised shit.  Festival republic is all about making profit, fair enough I get that but if they allow the SS to take over then it will cease to be a festival, these people are not music fans, they are here because Latitude has become part of their world like Henley, Ascot or Saturday at Lords.  Of all the infections to fear the spread of the SS through festival society may continue unchecked.

Festival Tribes.  1 - The Southwold Set, aka the SS.  These are the people who run the country, they work in the city, have a home in the countryside and if they don’t have a holiday home in Southwold they know someone who does.  Middle aged couples, either he looks uncomfortable or she does while the other looks like he/she is having a great time.  They have smart clothes, are trim and manicured and they have plenty of cash.  The biggest inconvenience Latitude causes them is finding someone to look after the horses.  They are easy to identify and the biggest give away is a total lack of any kind of regional accent.  They all speak like BBC newsreaders in the seventies.  Warning, tribe 1 holds very few actual music fans and does not understand festival etiquette (although they can spell it at least), these are the people who take in rigid chairs and picnic blankets and make camp in front of the entrances.  And they bring their children, this is the first sub tribe 1A – The Posh kids.  This is the future elite who are all privately educated and have names like Jago, Barnaby, Florence and Annabel.  Their surnames sound like short sentences.  They think they own this festival and for all I know some of them may.

Our tent was pitched facing the campervans, we were segregated by a six foot high metal fence, it’s festival apartheid.  We will be cramped but on the other side the vans are parked with plenty of space.  We watched groups who having parked up then explored their surroundings, when faced with this barrier many stand bemused staring as if they can’t quite understand why something stands in their way, they’re really not used to this.  Then they set off probing the perimeter for access to the wrong side of the tracks, disappearing never to be seen again.  It didn’t take long before people started to dismantle the fence, creating gaps they could sneak through and not be so inconvenienced, this carried on throughout the weekend.  High irony, the fence is there to keep us out!  What would have happened had we gone through and started pitching our tents in all that space?

The Lunateens are dressed right up like it’s fucking prom night or something.  Hair perfect, make up perfect, skirts ironed and shoes clean.  The girls make an effort too.  When they return from the arena the lads are wearing bandanas and the girls have flowers in their hair.  A nice festival purchase that won’t undo all of their hairdresser’s hard work.

Festival tribe 2 – The Lunateens.  The age can vary slightly but this tribe consists of any young person that is at their first (sometimes second and really hopeless cases do it three times) festival alone, i.e. without parental supervision.  They are never actually alone as they tend to cling together in flocks and move at high speeds consuming any liquids in their path and they like to mark their territory with vomit.  They can be hazardous if encountered after dark as they become blind and often crash into objects and other people.  NB At times there can be fraternisation between tribe 2 and tribe 1A.  These encounters are very rarely permanent and any resulting pregnancy is unlikely to go full term if the mother is of tribe 1A.

 

We woke up on Friday to find two tents, one pitched either side of our porch.  The two gents were apologetic but we didn’t mind.  If anything their tents closed us in and gave us a little privacy.  It was a relaxing morning watching the ebb and flow of festival people, the place seemed to be crawling with SS.  Eventually I couldn’t put it off any longer, I had to make a sit down visit to the festival toilet, just a short walk away.  How do I describe them?  Made almost entirely from metal really they look like something you’d start a greyhound race from.  These are the same crap traps that they’ve used at every Latitude I’ve been to and in this time they seem to have undergone very little maintenance, we should at least expect the fucking things to have a working lock.  Mine didn’t but it was clean, dry and stocked so I took a chance and all was well but doing the paperwork one handed whilst gripping the door frame did test my agility. 

Into the arena…  We needed food and a truck selling squid took our fancy for some reason.  The squid tasted OK but the chips were great, the whole thing over priced but what do you expect at a festival?  Squid and chips proved highly prophetic…  Then up the hill to the big arena where we sat in the sun and waited for some live music, any live music.  We didn’t know and we didn’t care.  When it arrived it was someone called JC Stewart, for a moment I was in horror as the name had a cuntry vibe but it was actually cheesy crotch pop aimed at young girls.  In his defence the band played real instruments and he seemed very good at what he does but what he does isn’t our thing so after about twenty minutes, off we fucked.

Into the comedy arena where the compere made me do a double take to make sure she wasn’t Matt Lucas in character, we got seated just in time for Shazia Mirza who either needed to spend more time rehearsing or less time in the bar.  Next was Maisie Adam who has a stupid hair cut but is bright, silly and funny.  More so than when I’ve seen her on tele.  After that our arses were numb so we hiked back to the campsite for a siesta.

While the princess dozed I made pungent brews and watched the festival people.  Less than twenty four hours into the weekend I have made a shocking discovery, something thought long extinct is not only back from the dead, it seems to be multiplying.  Young men around the country and the world could yet be infected with another sinister plague, the Mullet has returned!  At the moment these are mostly mini mullets and have not attained the length and spike of the eighties, (guilty as charged, I’ve had the counselling…)  The current twenty first century Mullet looks like a large slug has fallen asleep on the stairs but these things take time (and to be fair don’t look quite as shit as the originals).  I’m not worried about this infection as I probably have immunity but I have a son!  At this point the mullets are exclusively part of tribe 2.

The mullets are just a distraction, the biggest fear is the influx of SS, they’re squeezing us aging hippies out…  You can tell this is a middle class audience as there are far less tattooed limbs than you would see in the real world.  For once I side with the SS, where Tats are concerned, for me less is more and none is preferable.  Why do some young, beautiful people pay good money to let a tattoo ‘artist’ scar them for life?  Holy shit, is this a middle class attitude?  Have I been infected?

It’s only day two so the tribes are still making an effort on their appearances.  Where make up won’t hide the damage, festivals allow the use of glitter stuck to cheeks.  I wonder, when people buy a quirky festival hat are they thinking ‘I’ll look really cool in this…’ Or are they thinking ‘Yes!  I’ll look a right cunt in this!’  If I was kind I might think it was a bit of both, if. 

The tribes are restless, moving towards the arenas at impressive speed but thankfully they are very predictable.  Mabel is playing in the big arena and Wolf Alice are headlining, the Lunateens have heard of them and the SS will go because the Telegraph gave their album five stars.  But this is not the reason we had other plans.

Suitably refuelled we wandered up to the big stage and saw a bit of Mabel who was very good if you like that kind of thing but it’s not for us so three songs was enough.  We diverted to the big tent and saw Squid who I can’t really describe but there were people playing proper instruments with passion and making an agreeable noise which I quite liked.  I’ll look out for these in the future as all the Musos have been telling me I should.  This was also convenient because Hot Chip were on in the tent next.  The only complaint I have about this show was it was half an hour too short.  Hot Chip were great, they played loads of classics and a few new tunes then finished with an inspired cover of Springsteen’s “Dancing in the dark” which was perfect for the moment, it’s what we are all doing in more ways than are obvious.  When this melded into LCD Soundsystem’s “All my friends” I nearly cried.  Festivals are hard work but this is why we do it!  The crowd was great too, the other tribes were elsewhere and the party people came out of nowhere and took occupation of the big tent, we all danced.  I couldn’t help notice the tension between a couple in front of us; he’d obviously had chemical assistance while she obviously hadn’t and wasn’t happy.  That I found this amusing may say something about me.  Every year it takes something a bit special to kick us into full festival setting and most years it’s Friday night in the big tent. 

Festival Tribe 3 – The party people.  These were the people who tripped in the nineties but are now greatly outnumbered by younger people who have taken the same path since.  They often use camouflage to blend in but may dress weird and smell weird, they often look intense but are only here to bang on the doors of perception and dance.  They are generally a peaceful tribe who live in small, tight groups but they come together in great numbers to rave after dark.  They welcome members of other tribes cautiously.  Harmless until provoked but do not get in their way when they want to dance.  The party people never watch the show through a phone.

So the day in the arena started how it finished, Squid and Chips with long walks before and after. Hot Chip smashed down the wall; I feel we’ve been allowed in; we’re part of something now.  I feel comfortable in festival land where I am amongst the elders.  Back to the tent to watch the exodus.  The SS are marching back to base but the lunateens are still rampant.  The party people are mostly still dancing, we are knackered and have to rest and heal.

 

And then it was Saturday.  Somehow we were out of the tent at a reasonable hour and wandered down in time to have a really good cheese burger for brunch. (Brunch?  WTF?  The poshness is infective!  Help!!!)  We arrived at the big stage with a few minutes to spare before Supergrass opened up for the day.  This was fun in the sun, the hits sounded great although the unfamiliar tunes didn’t really carry me.  The Saturday audience was a real mixture of tribes, the party people have infiltrated early.

After this the ice cream van called to us and we ambled to the comedy tent licking vanilla off our faces without a clue as to who would be appearing.  We got in to see enough of Rich Hall to laugh loudly and wish we’d got there earlier.  Next was musical girly comedy from Flo and Joan.  This amused me but the princess dozed off.  The next act was a brilliant surprise; seen for the fourth time at Latitude Mark Watson was excellent.  What a really nice, natural bloke who vibes with the audience and always makes us laugh.

We returned to camp for a siesta and I sat watching people and enjoying familiar Latitude signatures; the metallic crash of toilet doors, clouds of dust, random bubbles, groups of Lunateens singing really badly, lone staggerers looking like something from a zombie film.  There was a man with shocking white hair and a bright red face, he looked like a bowl of strawberries and cream.  An enormous permed, ginger mullet on someone old enough to know better!  Squabbling amongst the group of 1A girls camped behind us.

I watched the SS carefully, suspiciously even.  After a while I noticed two distinct strains; the majority group are handsome, chiselled, toned, tanned and beautiful.  They march confidently with shoulders back and chin jutting, their clothes are crisp and wallets fat, the world belongs to them.  The other group look like the results of cousins fucking.

As our siesta came to a conclusion so our perception of festival land altered radically.  The reasons for this are not entirely unexplainable. The result was as if we’d opened a door and found ourselves in a Murakami novel.

With renewed vigour we made our way to the big arena to find an enormous crowd.  The Lunateens were out on masse, the SS looked around uncomfortably, the Party people were streaming in from all directions.  Rudimental hit the stage with an explosion of energy, the party roared.  Rudimental aren’t really my thing but I’ve enjoyed seeing them twice before and tonight they were very entertaining.  Unfortunately the tribes 1A and 2 can’t seem to grasp that being packed in like sardines is not fun for anyone, including themselves.  It got better when the spotty urchins fucked off and we had room to dance.  Yes I did feel the love!

The crowd thinned briefly, tribes one and two went to the bar and the third tribe slipped into the vacuum. Then it was time.  The main event, a bucket list band playing in my favourite big arena.  Only the fucking Chemical Brothers!  They started with ‘Hey boy…’ (what else?) and finished with ‘Block Rockin’ beats’.  In between was an hour of dance, pounding rhythm ebbed and flowed, they simmered us down then brought us up to boil again.  All the tribes were here, even the Musos have to give credit when it can’t be ignored.  The party people pounded the earth, something mystical was happening.  When lightning flashed to the south we roared and when rain fell we didn’t give a fuck. The visuals were perfect and giant robots for fuck sake?  It was over too soon.  I love live music and have experienced musical euphoria across all genres and all types of crowd, for me the party people do it best.

Usually when I walk through that door all I want to do is follow the party people and dance but tonight when the music stopped so did my feet.  The princess felt the same, we could have danced but for some reason we just didn’t feel compelled.  But this was fine, there were still loads of fascinations in the world which at this point consisted of a small wooded vale in north Suffolk and nothing else.  So instead we just ambled around giggling and exploring and having really profound conversations.  We must have been surrounded by humans but for us they didn’t exist.  Nothing was as it seemed.  At some point we found ourselves back at the tent drinking tea watching people.  We actually went to bed while it was still dark.

Festival tribe 4 – The Musos.  I realised I haven’t described the fourth tribe.  A small group often consisting of individuals shunned by the other tribes, these are the obsessive music fans who live for nothing else.  They move at incredible speed in order to get from one stage to another, at times they can move so fast they can actually watch two acts at the same time.  Even when static Musos are mostly able to blend in but often give themselves away by gathering in twos and threes to give orgasmic endorsements to bands you’ve never heard of who have just finished playing on a stage you never knew existed. Mostly harmless unless you find yourself trapped in conversation.

 

Sunday already?  Fuck, we’re just getting into our stride, or are we?  Wide awake in a tent sauna listening to campsite voices, it’s not weird when you have no choice.  At least two separate voices announced a surprise set by Vaccines in the big tent, if this was true I didn’t want to miss it.  I hauled myself into a sitting position, drinking tea in the tent porch as whole regiments of the SS goose stepped down to the arena where Bill Bailey was doing some musical comedy stuff.  I like Bill but there was no way we were going to make it for a lunch time performance.  Nor did we make it for Tim Burgess but we did get to the tent for Vaccines who we both love.  I’ve seen all of their Latitude performances and they really are a perfect festival band.  You can dance, you can singalong, you can hug or you can thrash around.  It all works.  The band look like they’re having as much fun as the audience.  I want to be here when they headline the big stage.  The only trouble with today was the tent was just so fucking hot!

After that we wandered up to the comedy tent, with no idea of the bill, as was the custom for us this year.  We were a bit dismayed when Joel Dommett walked on stage.  What I like about JD, he is happy to be the butt of his own jokes.  What I don’t like about JD, everything else.  However we were glad we’d stayed when Reginald D. Hunter walked on stage.  I like Reggie but sometimes his stand up doesn’t work, today he was on form and it absolutely clicked.  He loved shocking the SS with jokes that pushed the boundaries of offence, he does have an advantage of being able to use language that most comedians daren’t use but he doesn’t push it too far.  Then there was someone called Helen, (Baur, apparently…) I think? Who didn’t float my boat.  We were thinking of leaving but Jo Brand came on, she was funny but seemed out of practice, after half an hour we had numb arses and needed to eat so left.

Dinner was BBQ chicken noodles, I felt famished and ate like a savage.  It barely touched the sides but seemed to taste alright.  Then we hurried up to the big stage to see Kaiser Chiefs a band that I should like in theory but somehow they’ve never really infiltrated my head.  We saw them and they were very good, Ricky Wilson is a star and the hits went down a scream.  The SS was out in force and I loved the irony of them singing “We are the angry mob, we read the papers every day, we like who we like and hate who we hate but we’re all so easily swayed”.

After that we were totally knackered and had to make a decision.  If we went back to the tent we knew it would probably be permanent, did we have the energy to stay out?  We found ourselves at the sunrise arena where we chatted to some friendly souls and tried to rest under the trees while BDRMM played.  This is another group I’m unfamiliar with but also one the Musos are in love with.  The band sounded good but we were fucked and couldn’t get comfortable, we just needed to rest. 

A slow, reluctant amble took us out of the arenas for the last time, arriving back at the tent we just sat and unravelled.  A festival puts loads of miles into 53 year old legs and having to camp further out has obviously increased the load, we ignore the pain for as long as we can.  Mixed feelings; the festival is ending without us which doesn’t sit right but we wouldn’t have swapped seeing the Vaccines for any of the Sunday headliners. 

The princess was shattered, her back giving her grief so she crashed out early.  I sat in a chair, drinking tea, burning incense and watching the world walk by.  We weren’t in the arena but there is still much entertainment to be enjoyed in the campsite.  I spent several hypnotic hours watching the human flow pass the tent. 

Early on a tide ripped through carrying mobs of Lunateens and squads of SS towards the arena, where they will be treated to the likes of Bombay Bicycle Club and Bastille.  The SS are going so they have another band to bore colleagues about next week, the youth are ending their festival with a bang, a final night of fun, madness and regrets. 

Random Sunday night festival thoughts - This year we camped on the very edge of the shanty town which made things more chilled out than some previous festivals but we have heard less hilarious festival philosophy.  Nor have we heard too much youth soap opera this weekend but have been well aware of the tribe 1A princesses camped behind us.  Someone called Anne Marie seemed to be the centre of most drama.

I realised I hadn’t remembered to take a single photograph this weekend, this is mostly because I was too busy enjoying the magic moments, I didn’t have time for a camera.  Maybe subconsciously it’s because I prefer capturing memories with words?  I don’t understand why people like to watch these things through the screen of a phone but I’m glad they do sometimes, unfortunately not too much has made it onto youtube yet.

The human flow had receded for a while but by 2200 there was an outgoing tide carrying increasing numbers of SS who march stiffly, still carrying their folding chairs.  Half an hour later the flow has become a torrent, either the SS have been vanquished or Bastille aren’t going down very well on the big stage.  Either way they are going at a mighty impressive speed, I can’t believe anything without an engine can move this fast on festival Sunday.  The marching legs hypnotize me, two girls wearing matching trainers are in perfect step, the Converse logos on the ankles glide in unison.  But they’re going the other way, as are very many younger feet. 

So what tribe are we then?  It’s complicated, of course it is.  I stayed too long with tribe 2 before learning to pace myself and now I have to be careful what I wear so as not to be mistaken for tribe 1 but as I am a scruffy sod and generally skint this really isn’t much of a problem.  We try to hang on to the tails of the party people but we’re not as dedicated as they are.  Also I have to confess to a touch of the muso from time to time.  Just to confuse things further, as much as I enjoy tent life I look at the camper vans with envy.  We just love this festival.  It’s close to home and the setting is perfect.  Once we are on the right longitude we feel totally free and at ease here, we embrace a lifestyle we couldn’t manage for the other fifty one weeks of the year. 

When I’m tired of watching I zip up the tent and retreat to bed to listen to the madness, my feet hurt and my legs are heavy.  Will there be other consequences apart from the physical toll?  Have we been literally dancing in the dark?  I’ll take a test next week… For now my mind is at ease, a weekend of indulgence with the real world locked out was just what the doctor ordered.  It’s okay to feel joyous.  Do the things you love and cherish the moments, don’t try to stay sane in a mad world.  Tomorrow morning we will pack up our camp and drag it an exhausting distance back to the car.

When everything is over we are physically shattered, a festival is a feat of endurance but we do it for the magic moments; Hot Chip turning the big tent into the church of euphoria, Chemical Brothers enchanting a massive crowd and making us dance as one.  In festival land these are the rewards, what goes before and after is welcomed as karma.  “It was all worth it, to be here now…”

 

Campsite classics

“Louis’ got his tits out already…”

“He’s a bit useless and very expensive but comes highly recommended…”

“Mate, do you watch Rick and Morty?”

“I think like, you and me like, should stick together like…”

 “HA ha ha ha HA!!  You’re not getting any sleep!”

Heard from walkie talkie – “static – We’ve got suspicious males going through tents…”

“Ew!  There’s wee!  Right where I want to sleep!”

“I done that yesterday, in the toilets.  Some guy screamed at me…”

 “Hey did you see Ned’s massive cock?”

To tune of ‘7 nation army’ – “Kate’s vagina is awesome”

“My brother wouldn’t even give me some Ket, what a cunt!”

“Fuck sake.  I’ve spent loads of money getting pissed when I could just do this!”

“Where’s Dan? …  Why’s he in the medical tent?”