With the first Facebook posts regarding festivals starting to crop up, it's that time of year again. No doubt tents will soon be being purchased, wellies packed, and showers missed. Teenagers and students up and down the country will be trying to figure out how much beer you can fit in a rucksack, and counting down the days til they can act like complete tools. And while the festival websites do make them look like bohemian, sun-bathed havens. They are in fact usually the opposite. Beware the lies of the festival websites.
Lie #1: You will get to lie in the grass, with a drink in hand, while the strains of an acoustic guitar waft in on the warm flower-scented breeze.
FACT: There is no grass at a festival after the first 5 minutes. There will be no space to lie down. If you do manage to find a square foot of mud in which to plonk your arse, some drunkard will inevitably fall over you straight away.
Top tip: Take a square of turf with you.
Lie #2: Sunshine.
FACT: There is no sunshine at a festival.
Top tip: Be albino.
Lie #3: Despite the sun, everyone is wearing wellies (because after you have taken this photo is will rain), but these happy revellers will still have the time of their lives in their cold cold wellies.
FACT: Despite wearing wellies you can still get wet feet. Rain + gravity = rain raining into your wellies.
Top tip: Become a hobbit.
Lie #4: You too can be stalker length away from your favourite band.
FACT: Unless you want to stand in the pit for 8 hours while being crushed by large smelly boys, Elvis himself could be on that stage and you wouldn't know, because he'll still just look like a tiny blurred dot.
Top tip: Take a photo of Pete Doherty with you.
Lie #5: There will be working porta-loos!
FACT: They will only be usable slightly longer that the grass, then they too will just become large mud pits.
Top tip: Don't take your bladder with you.
Lie #6: Everyone is happy and friendly, united by their love of music.
FACT: People will drink, people will get drunk, people will invade your private space, throw drinks on you, scream in your ear, and try to get a little too friendly.
Top tip: Avoid eye contact.
Lie #7: Everyone looks like a model. So you should wear your latest pristine summer trend. Afterall, this is a festival, this is where all the cool kids hang.
FACT: Mud wrestling; not always optional.
Top tip: Remember, you're not Kate Moss. Stop kidding yourself.
Lie #8: Your hair will look, like, totally awesome. That boho chic, surfer thing you've got going on, will last the whole weekend.
FACT: You leave on the Thursday, You return on the Monday. You don't shower inbetween...
Top tip: Take a wig.
Lie #9: Everyone is dancing around having the time of their lives.
FACT: Unless you have a damn good head nod, you will not be dancing. You will be getting crushed.
Top tip: Roll in dog poo. This should create a nice space around you, suitable for dancing, or building a hamlet.
Lie #10: You will sleep in a tent.
FACT: Okay, I slept in a tent, but that's probably because my friends and I were the only ones at the whole festival who set it up while sober. Every other tent was reduced to a pile of poles and canvas by the first night.
Top tip: Build an elaborate Swiss Family Robinson-style tree house. This can't be opened with a knife either!
Lie #11: There will be food for sale.
FACT: Okay, again, I was able to eat food, but that's because we were the only customers I saw at the nice Oxfam pizza place all weekend. Everyone else ate the £7 'burgers' because this didn't involve walking the extra 30 feet or so to the Oxfam tent.
Top tip: Take your plumpest friend. Inconspicuously season him/her on the journey there.
Lie #12: The campsite will have a friendly atmosphere, where you can sleep soundly and replenish your energy for the next day of dancing and merriment.
FACT: The campsite is a scary place. You will be robbed, stalked, and introduced to some rather unsavoury characters. And you will get no sleep, courtesy of music, air horns, and idiots with megaphones. You will freeze at night and boil in the morning. Try as you might to stay away from dips, hedges, toilets and the bit nearest the arena, you are doomed.
Top tip: Learn to apparate from the arena to your SOUNDPROOF tree house.
So, what have we learnt today?
Lie: Festivals will be the highlight of your youth.
FACT: They won't
Top tip: Don't go.
Feel free to call me a miserable cynic, but when I'm sat at home, on a comfy sofa, in my PJs, with free food, a roof, a warm bed and a way better view of your favourite band thanks to my TV, I may still be a cynic, but a happy one at that. And £200 richer than you.
Friday 22 April 2011
Sunday 10 April 2011
Little house not on the prairie
The sun is shining, the birds are singing, and the garden suddenly requires a lot more attention. Spring has officially sprung. While this might seem like the perfect way to jinx the glorious weather of the last three days, I think the countless people wearing shorts have already taken care of that. The safest bet during yesterday's Grand National was that every male in the country between the age of 4 and 40 was probably wearing something that it's still not quite warm enough to wear. But that is what we British do. We see blue skies and we throw on the sunglasses, and get out the barbeque.
Short of a barbeque, we settled for eating our lunch outside, where we were able to feast our eyes on the visual treat that is the washing line on one side and the surrounding houses on the other side. Time to set up a Flickr account I think. For my mother who grew up in a house where the nearest neighbour wasn't even visible, this is hell. But this is what we British do. We build our houses as close together as possible, then build more houses, then add a Tesco.
Not only was I treated to the sights of the surrounding houses, but also the sounds. As a rule anyone who plays their music loud enough to be heard several gardens (cars/rooms/bus seats) away also has awful taste in music. While the obvious solution would simply be to eat inside, it does seem rather a shame on the rare days where we have sunshine, and cake. So out we went; chairs, newspapers and plates in hand. We successfully basked in rays, with only the sounds of the traffic, some unknown pop star, and a pretty hefty bee to disturb us. Like pathetic sunflowers we sat eyes closed and faces pointed towards the source of the warmth, until my mother realised that we were in fact relaxing. A crime second only to murder in her court.
So in we came; chairs, newspapers and empty plates in hand. Plates were put in the dishwasher, papers were left on the kitchen table, and my mother set off in search of some housework that she hadn't yet done. I too began to leave the kitchen, pausing only to glance at the topmost newspaper section; property. Much like the prediction that up and down the country shorts too are getting their first outing of 2011, you can bet that every weekend my mother and I will stare longingly at these pages, dreaming of a garden where there are no unwelcome sights and sounds. A garden made for the 10 days a year we get sunshine. Because this is what we British do. We head outside as soon as it hits 18°, then wonder why it rains the rest of the year.
Short of a barbeque, we settled for eating our lunch outside, where we were able to feast our eyes on the visual treat that is the washing line on one side and the surrounding houses on the other side. Time to set up a Flickr account I think. For my mother who grew up in a house where the nearest neighbour wasn't even visible, this is hell. But this is what we British do. We build our houses as close together as possible, then build more houses, then add a Tesco.
Not only was I treated to the sights of the surrounding houses, but also the sounds. As a rule anyone who plays their music loud enough to be heard several gardens (cars/rooms/bus seats) away also has awful taste in music. While the obvious solution would simply be to eat inside, it does seem rather a shame on the rare days where we have sunshine, and cake. So out we went; chairs, newspapers and plates in hand. We successfully basked in rays, with only the sounds of the traffic, some unknown pop star, and a pretty hefty bee to disturb us. Like pathetic sunflowers we sat eyes closed and faces pointed towards the source of the warmth, until my mother realised that we were in fact relaxing. A crime second only to murder in her court.
So in we came; chairs, newspapers and empty plates in hand. Plates were put in the dishwasher, papers were left on the kitchen table, and my mother set off in search of some housework that she hadn't yet done. I too began to leave the kitchen, pausing only to glance at the topmost newspaper section; property. Much like the prediction that up and down the country shorts too are getting their first outing of 2011, you can bet that every weekend my mother and I will stare longingly at these pages, dreaming of a garden where there are no unwelcome sights and sounds. A garden made for the 10 days a year we get sunshine. Because this is what we British do. We head outside as soon as it hits 18°, then wonder why it rains the rest of the year.
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