Latitude festival. Like the man in the phone charging stall said ..'just a big village fete'.
Getting there: Mi. and I take the special coach from Victoria because I still don't have a car. Me, tent and rucksack scramble on and I wonder if I'm the oldest there. I am, but the other passengers don't care. The driver says it's the third year he's done this route. 'They're always no bother' he adds as a Toyota Almera swerves in front of him in Newham. It turns out he's clipped the almera's wing mirror. The Asian driver, the driver's dad and all the passengers at the bus stop which the coach is now blocking have a big row. Mi. and I are sitting in the front so I insist on offering to help as they all argue. I try to calm them down but mainly take inept pictures of a scrape on the side of the bus for future ref. When we set off we try to keep the driver talking as he looks shaken. He seems a kindly old man. He then adds that Britain 'isn't what it used to be with all these immigrants...' and 'they can't drive back in their own country so why drive here'. We shut up.
Arriving: Get to camp site after traditional long march through fields. tiring, especially while listening to Mi praise all those clever people who pack light. Ml., the friend who invited me, has given instructions where to camp. So we look out yellow C as we trudge past thousands of people camping inches from each other, marking out territory with windbreaks and unloading beer. I wonder if they had this sort of camp when jesus went to speak? And do the continentals do the festival thing the same way? They must be more stylish.
When we get to C area, I procrastinate over which exact spot to pitch on. I can't decide between the top of the hill by the recycling or the middle near the lumpy bit. I know it will rain and which is better? You never know where the famous east anglian hurricane might strike.
We are next to a big group of rather posh sounding teenagers. Later we notice that posh teenagers everywhere, and names like Silas! and Holly! are called out through the fields while Gap shorts glide below long hair swishing in the wind. The ones next to us have the loudest voices and drink vodka from a coke bottle. We listen to their conversations and compare notes the next morning. One girl claims she is a 42G bra size and the boy thinks there are not enough black actors in shakespeare.
As we walk into the performance area, there are blue, pink and green sheep! Wow! psychedelic village fete! I am beginning to like this. There are also thousands of buggies, and yummie mummies and daddies with blonde children who know how to sit still in the poetry tent. Other toddlers smile cherubically while dads hoists them on shoulders as they both headbang to Nick Cave. Child swings a miniature light sabre, dad sings the words to 'In the ghetto' looking tough.
Weather: The first time I see forked lightning in the UK happens to be the same night I am sleeping in the open under it. When it starts raining, we sit in an empty green peace tent and look out onto the rows of wellingtons crashing across the bridge. Mi. has not bought rain gear so we use my new rain poncho to form an army issue pantomime horse back to the campsite. But I still stay relatively dry, which is pretty amazing.
It's put me in a good mood. Not as friendly as glastonbury, and not as many eccentric characters (shame) but lovely nonetheless. I am impressed there are so many young people crowded into the poetry tent.
People highlights? the 'cooky' blonde girl I had to swap life stories with at the 'School of life' coaching session. She tells me about her obsessive love affairs in a high voice, and puts on a serious face when I tell her I have never been obsessive about anyone. She also enjoys knitting.
5 foot tall puppet wolf manipulated by very funny man who hurls abuse at anyone who walks past him. I am a gardenia (quite nice as it goes) and Mi. is an earthworm. comes from the pickled images company
3 blonde men with massive thighs and who look like greek gods who power an alternative phone charging stall by pedal power. they are raising money for great ormond street hospital and we discover they have cycled to morocco to raise money for them too. Impressive.
And trees lit with neon 'signs that say harmony' and tranquility while there two simultaneous clubs blare out dance music in earshot. I like latitude.
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