I am at least ten years too old to be in the first ten rows of a Metronomy set.
Having a festival companion of some considerable height is useful when looking for him in a crowded field.
Having a festival companion of some considerable height will ensure you’re subject to vast grumbles from everyone standing in the six feet of space behind you.
If “media drinks” start in the press tent at 5pm, they’ll have been devoured by 5.02pm. Don’t expect there to be any gin and tonic left if you rock up at 5.05pm.
M&S pre-made gin and tonic in a can is STRONG stuff.
Kebabylon might just be the best name for a fast food truck in the history of ever.
Some festivals attract such a certain type of intellectually curious person that there will be more people crammed into a tent to hear a Radio 4-hosted discussion on whether science needs art, and the discovery of the Higgs Boson than to see Tim Minchin. It probably says something about me that I am cheered no end by this fact.
You can pitch your tent in as compact a space as you can find: you’ll still come back in the middle of the night to find a group of grubby boys have found a way to squeeze theirs into the smallest space next to yours, affording you no privacy whatsoever, and ensuring total guy rope entanglement.
Augustus and chums (no, really) will spend a good 45 minutes at 4am discussing - at length - any or all of the following: that they should have brought kindles because reading by torchlight is, like, SO not cool. That Tom has MDMA and ketamine if anyone wants any. The whereabouts of the peanut butter.
Some people will insist on mispronouncing artists’ names even when the artist in question has come out and announced themselves, thus removing any doubt (FYI: it’s Bon Ee-verre, as in French, not Bon Eye-vuh, as in wrong).
Lana del Rey incites teenage screaming the likes of which I assumed was reserved for Beiber.
There is an inexplicably large proportion of any audience that seems intent to experience any set through the medium of their iPhone / camera screen.
Pop-up tents aren’t made to withstand torrential rain.
Once said torrential rain starts coming through the roof of the tent, through the sides of the tent, and leaking in through the seams at the bottom, it’s highly unlikely you’ll be able to sleep for more than ten minutes at a time due to your sleeping bags resembling dishcloths. Deciding at 6am that you can’t take any more and then having to pull on wet jeans, wet jumpers and wet socks do not a happy festival-goer make.
The Writer has such status and sway at these things that he now has his own bridge.
My future attendance at any festival whatsoever will be predicated on there being sufficient waterproofing. Of everything. And if that could stretch to the bottom of the clouds for the duration of my stay in a field, that’d be grand.