First festival at fifty one...?

A weekend of steroids, sparkles and Sri Lankan street food

It’s been a long time coming…

About thirty years ago I got my paws on Glastonbury tickets, but even then, in my carefree early twenties, my anxiety went through the roof as the date approached. If I’m honest I think it was probably more my ‘can’t be arsed’ness than anxiety back then; anyway a couple of days prior, my bestie and I decided to bin our tickets and watch the whole thing from her flat in Kingston, under a blanket, casual spliff in hand. We watched the mud and the wellies, the deluge and the delirium, and scanned the TV for our friends out there in the rain, in the delightful knowledge that we had hot food, cold beer and a clean bathroom on hand.

Our Grace Slick days could wait, and I’ve never regretted it for a minute.

Fast forward a few decades and with teenage daughters on the cusp of festival mania, it made me reflect that I had still never actually been to one. Not a REAL one. The Reading Festival ‘Rite of Passage’ loomed large for us this year as my eldest finished her GCSEs, but thankfully she chose not to go, much to my enormous relief (as it seems to have disintegrated from a brilliant, if intense, weekend for like-minded twenty to thirty-somethings into a feral, tents on fire out-of-hand party for unaccompanied minors). Whilst the headliners at Reading were unquestionably incredible acts, the music is but one part of a much wider whole.

I began to consider what is at the heart of the appeal of festivals? And how do you navigate the experience?

In order to discover some answers, whilst also assuaging some of my daughter’s ‘I’m not going to Reading’ FOMO, we booked to go to a different festival this summer, as a family. The first time ANY of us had overnighted at such an event, and we went all-in. Three days, with ‘glamping’. Wellies, face-jewels and everything.

Photo by Jen Theodore on Unsplash

Except I forgot the wellies.

Which one to choose?

There are now so many available, it’s quite overwhelming, but having been recommended the ‘Victorious’ festival in Southsea by several friends, it fulfilled quite a few appealing criteria:

• not too far from where we live (can get home)

• by the sea (can swim)

• ‘glamping’ available (can sleep)

• eclectic line-up satisfying teenage daughters, muso-choosy husband and me (can enjoy)

• tickets not sold out! (can go)

Game on.

How was it?

My health had taken a dip in the week prior, so with my skin raging and the prospect of a weekend on a campsite, with minimal access to showers and the possibility of being alternately sunburnt and drenched, I reverted temporarily to steroids, which turned out to be a great decision. Without side-tracking into that debate for now, it kept me well, and able to enjoy the days without discomfort. Sometimes the drugs really do work. Perhaps someone should tell Richard Ashcroft.

We did have a ‘glamping’ tent - in the loosest sense of the word - in that it was pre-erected and had blow-up beds in it (albeit ones that kept deflating), but we’d have been as well off in our own tent. The campsite itself, which was offsite and served the festival with a constant stream of shuttle buses, had a dearth of hot showers, and I won’t describe the sinks and loos as you never really need to read that kind of thing. So far, so expected.

Everything was overly bright and really loud, but the chip van did sell gluten-free chip butties which was a bonus for coeliac daughter - until we ordered one and it was randomly sprinkled with mouldy cheese. You win some you lose some.

At this point I will forego the temptation to write this as a review or report of the festival - the logistics, the acts, the highs and lows, as that’s not really my style; so this is more a reflection on some of what has stood out to me about the whole experience.

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Festivals aren’t cheap

Well if that isn’t the understatement of the century. I’m not sure what I expected, but any notion of hippy-dippy frugality can go straight out of the window. Lightweight bag of pick & mix for £16? You got it. Thimble of Prosecco for a tenner? Yep. Snack for a family of four?...get the mortgage broker on standby. £6.50 for a ‘99 flake - you get the picture. And that’s before the sparkles, the ancillaries, the hair braids, the glitter and all the other weirdly juxtaposed un-environmentally friendly guff.

Bags are searched for contraband food and drink upon entry, but in the spirit of a good old Ryanair hand-luggage hack, we managed to smuggle in enough snack bars, crisps and apples in our pockets to keep the teenage hunger at bay in between hot doughnuts and Buddha bowls. I was almost surprised that the water was free.

Kothu Roti is insanely good

That said...the selection of food was actually incredible - every type, nationality and flavour you could think of. Crepes & galettes, Bao buns, burritos, pitta gyros, paella, fries loaded on a sliding scale from dirty to pure filth, clean salads & juices, vegan bowls, gluten-free options, Tibetan curries, hand-pulled noodles, ramen & rice...I discovered ‘Sri-Lankan Street Food’ and just wow. Under intense ‘front-of-queue’ pressure I ordered a Kothu Roti, which turned out to be a wondrous discovery of stir-fried chopped up roti bread, vegetables, egg, onions and spices (meat optional) - just sooooo good!!

Trolleys are a thing

Everyone except us seemed to have received the trolley memo. No chairs or anything resembling a seat were allowed in, yet everywhere we looked, people were wheeling trollies that looked like they had ben sequestered from a nearby garden centre and be-decked in fairy lights (whilst generally housing a toddler wearing ear defenders or a very sweet older couple). One to note for next time - I’m sure I could sew a whole pizza or two and a few beers into the lining of one of those.

I really don’t like drum & bass

This did not come as a surprise to me or members of my family - I was always more of an indie/rock kid than a dance bunny, and I’ve moulded ever further into folk and country music over the years (which I think is inevitable even without the upbringing I had?), but I do still like the odd ‘banger’. I loved Annie Mac’s set, but when the girls took me to the ‘Beats’ stage to listen to DJ Fresh, I started to feel my organs separate from their casings as if I was driving a rickety tractor.

Feeling my ‘whole body vibration’ risk rapidly escalating towards some kind of haemorrhage, I made a sharp exit for the soothing tones of Newton Faulkner in the acoustic tent, concluding that a) drum & bass really is just ‘noise’ and b) I don’t ever need to listen to that shit again.

There’s rain, and then there’s rain

As I sat on a hay-bale with my husband listening to the aforementioned Newton Faulkner, the rain started, and as we found ourselves fortuitously situated under a large tree, a magical moment unfolded. The raindrops were captured in the haze and soft lights of the stage, casting rainbows out into the night; the air was warm, and we remained dry and sheltered - just perfect.

As the music petered out and the rain eased, we headed for the bus, only to be suddenly met with a cloudburst of biblical proportions in the scant few minutes between hay-bale and vehicle. In that time we got SO wet that none of our shoes were wearable again for the entire festival, clothes literally needed wringing out, and we had a very cold night’s sleep (no warm showers in operation obviously) - but hey - it’s all part of the adventure...??

Music is a shared experience

We did a lot of the festival as a foursome, even though we had widely varying acts of choice. We introduced our daughters to the Charlatans in a brilliant time-machine of a set that took us straight back to the early 90s. They introduced us to Raye. We gave them Belle & Sebastian, they gave me...er...DJ Fresh...oh and Sigrid (who was epic!!!).

We found a different way of knowing each other - them seeing us punch the air and belt out tunes from our youth, being the people we were before they existed; us seeing them inspired and empowered by lyrics that light their fire, in an insight into their world.

Sometimes we went our separate ways. Whilst hubby sat through Raye and even a bit of Natalie Imbruglia; Ellie Goulding was simply a step too far so he opted for The Vaccines. He and I did the Inspiral Carpets and the Divine Comedy whilst the girls went off for hair braiding. I circumvented the Beats stage with ever widening circles which took me nicely into the acoustic area for Badly Drawn Boy.

On the middle night, however, we had a conflict of ‘Headliners’. They went to see Alt-J, and I stayed for Kasabian. It was an unbelievable set, and whilst I loved it, it just wasn’t the same on my own. No-one to share the ‘wow’ with. I stayed for thirty minutes and then joined them over in electronica, glowing in the cheesy acknowledgement of the importance of sharing the moment - whatever it may be - with those you love. (Although Kasabian were epic - #justsaying)

Resilience is king

Nothing about a festival is relaxing.

‘Chilling’ is...well...chilly. Bordering on freezing in the sea breeze. In the absence of being a toddler wrapped up in a ‘fluffy- blanket-filled-fairy-lit-stolen-garden-trolley’, there’s nowhere to rest. There’s a LOT of walking. The ground is hard or wet or strangely both. Seating comprises wooden benches with ketchup cushions. There are crowds. Every sense is susceptible to overload. It takes stamina!

On the first evening it was so cold we flocked to one of the ubiquitous ‘poncho’ stalls and rapidly adorned ourselves with clothes we will likely NEVER wear outside of such an environment - save for finding ourselves at a full moon party in Thailand.

Although I have fallen in love with my sunflower bucket hat so you can firmly expect to see that again.

On day 2, in the aftermath of the cloudburst, with my trainers still drying out, I opted for flip flops. At least they’d survive the weather. Except on the way in, tragedy struck. In a category of disaster that probably sits just above ‘first world problems’ and below ‘overheard at Waitrose’ - my Havianas broke!!! OH. MY. GOD.

Trying to walk on a broken flip or a flop is simply not possible, so I threw the pair in the bin and became a barefoot festival maiden - which was all very well in the daylight, but thankfully I was sensible enough to purchase some emergency mint green ‘vintage’ trainers from a second hand stall before it got dark. I don’t even want to think about what I would have squelched into without those. What you can access at a festival is random and unpredictable, so the motto has got to be ‘adapt and overcome’ (and bring cash)!

Tea really is the solution to everything

There was a point in every day where we just needed a time out. Emotions fragile, bodies weary, senses overwhelmed...and it came in the form of tea. Tea and doughnuts (GF pancakes for little one), and then everything was suddenly all right with the world.

Simple.

People are lovely

Overall it felt like a microcosm of people at their best, and at their silliest - but certainly not their worst. Yes there was a fair amount of drunkenness, but generally the atmosphere was buoyant, non-threatening and full of joy.

I used to work in that part of the world so I got to meet up with a few old friends who were there, and that was seriously heart-warming. Unexpected reunions with people I haven’t seen for over a decade, that felt like we’d been together yesterday. Coming together on a sunny afternoon at a low-key stage, listening to a Beatles tribute band and singing our hearts out to Twist & Shout even though it’s on the ‘wrong’ side of the repertoire.

I dropped my phone at one point in the middle of a field (without realising), and a stranger kept it for me. My husband noticed someone drop a tenner out of their pocket and they were delighted to receive it straight back. An inflatable ball came into my daughter’s arms from the crowd and she gave it straight to a toddler (in a trolley obvs) who wrapped it up in his blanket and kissed and hugged it tight. People sharing moments of knowing and affection, an ethos of care and camaraderie.

I asked my family what their top three moments were, and this was what everyone came up with:

• Alt-J; time with the family; loaded fries

• Tea and doughnuts; Alt-J; The Kaiser Chiefs

• Nostalgia of the Charlatans; Sunday afternoon with friends at the Beatles Tribute band; the best pitta gyros ever

For me, I can’t contain it in three points so I’m going for:

Hugging friends in the sunshine; Kothu Roti; laughing in the rain, face sparkles with my girls, dancing to the Beatles, Charlatans memories, total family togetherness at the castle, hot tea in the tent, campsite breakfasts, fireworks at Ellie Goulding, me & he on a hay-bale, finding a hot shower, seeing my daughters experience ‘safe’ freedom, warm sugared doughnuts, my blistering love for our family of 4, and singing our bloody lungs out at the Sunday night finale.

Mumford & Sons - you rock. Little Lion Man was something else.

Would I do it again?

Emphatically yes.

Advice I’ll pass onto myself for next time:

• visiting a World Music stage is ALWAYS a good idea

• the right rain is a truly beautiful thing

• the best things are those you stumble across without planning

• bring clothes with pockets and preferably ones that dry in an instant

• believe in the goodness of people

• eat Sri Lankan food

• drink tea

• don’t even consider drum & bass

• go with the flow...and...

• don’t forget the wellies (or pack a spare pair of Havianas)

In the meantime, how do we register for Glastonbury?

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What festival experiences have you had? I’d love to hear.

Love & lemons 🍋

Em xx