A Comedy of Errors (or my first festival)
Just to give you some context on the following story, I have not camped since I was twelve.
That's twelve years old. Just remember that.
I'd always been slightly embarrassed to say I hadn't been to a festival. I mean not embarrassed enough to actually go to one. But mildly embarrassed. Much like when I tell people I can't drive. It's sort of humiliating but I am still making absolutely no effort to learn.
So.
'Twas the Monday before Bestival and - such was my level of disconnection from the whole 'festival scene' - I was blissfully unaware. I was just going about my non-festival related business, clean, dry and perfectly happy.
Until a Whatsapp arrived from Amy (i.e. one of my best friends in the whole world whose taste and judgement I explicitly trust) basically saying she had two free tickets to Bestival and did I fancy it? Strangely, I would have expected my knee-jerk reaction to be absolutely not. I love you, but no. But almost immediately I replied. Why not? I said, breezily, as if of course I had a pair of wellies, a sleeping bag and a roll mat on standby for just these sort of occasions. But say yes I did.
And so the shopping began. I agonized over wellies, picking a slightly try hard 'biker' style from asos complete with 'biker' chain (which I would later hack off with scissors), an inoffensive khaki mac and a hideous blue Arctic standard sleeping bag. I was really doing this.
Amy and I had a series of crisis calls over the course of the week, one particularly urgent one from Shoe Zone where Amy was loitering, massively reluctant to buy wellies (particularly when the only ones she could find were 'Kangol' branded). She decided yes. And thank god she did.
Amy's friend from work drove us and the journey started as it meant to go on - wet. But not with the rain - the bag of wine we'd purchased in Tesco had leaked heartily, seeping over the backseat of the car and into our trousers. The smell never really faded over the three days. It was at this point Amy's friend coined the trip 'a comedy of errors' before it had even begun. He didn't know how right he was.
The point at which reality hit me came that night on arrival, when we were standing in the pouring rain and the pitch dark, struggling to find a spot to pitch the tent because we were so late. One of the tents was unusable leaving us four people and a three man tent. About to comfort myself with the usual niceties one whips out in one's own mind when one is standing in the dark and the rain - 'it's ok, we'll be inside soon' - I realised these words would not apply for the next 48 hours. This was our home. This was it. Lucky I had an Evian bottle full of vodka, then.
It was Amy who really identified my festival skill to a tee. It became know as 'The Spruce.' I was just incredibly skilled at sprucing. A water wipe here, a mist of micellar water there, a dab of refreshing serum, a compress of rejuvenating eye tonic. I think the whole thing was summed up by me emerging from the tent with my beauty blender held aloft, wondering how I would dampen it in preparation for my foundation application. All I saw before me was a sea of beer cans and wet wipes and - taking a photo to remember the moment - I surmised I must surely be the only person at Bestival with a beauty blender.
My hair was another matter altogether. Even my favourite OUAI texture spray was useless in the face of comedy-level rain and a complete absence of heat styling tools. Consequently, I was forced to master an extreme side parting which implied my hair was possibly intended to be styled in such a way. By day three this didn't really fly. The Pinterest-inspired, centre-parted, low chignon I'd envisaged for this stage of the proceedings quickly turned into a frizzy high bun in the cruel light of day.
Then there was the matter of my clothes - of which I had bought far too many. I wasn't sure I could even change once, so unappealing was the thought of taking my clothes off doubled over under the sweaty canvas of our small shared tent. I applied the same logic to my disposable contact lenses, keeping them in two days and two nights until my eyes simply refused to open.
The one useful thing I did bring was my precious old leather jacket. So precious is it, that I talked about it just last week in this post as the item in my wardrobe I have probably had the longest and worn the most. And it saved me more than once peeking out from beneath my rain coat, making things a little less bland.
Whilst we're on the subject of clothes, Amy and I had a grand old time rummaging through the onsite Oxfam Vintage. In fact, that's an understatement. Amy found the actual dress of her dreams. It was simple, elegant, subtly beaded with an amazing flowing skirt. The problem was, it was white. It was basically a wedding dress. We debated over whether it was weird for Amy to purchase a wedding dress in readiness for a future marriage. Or whether it was simply absurd. We reluctantly landed on the latter, but we sort of wish we hadn't. So much so, that Amy has since emailed Oxfam enquiring about the dress. It's like the start of a novel. I'll keep you updated.
I'm not exaggerating about the rain, by the way. We awoke on Sunday to find the festival had been shut due to 'extreme weather conditions'. Brilliant.
Amy and I ended on a high, slithering out of our sweaty shared tent into the freezing rain. Unable to find socks we forced our bare feet into our wellies (possibly the most unpleasant sensation I've ever experienced) and trudged in the direction of a bacon sandwich. Finding a wooden hut without seats, we just stood and laughed at the revolting absurdity of our situation. Well that's what friends are for, hey?
Anyway, you get the moral of the story. Do things you think you'll hate. Say yes when you'd normally say no. Not all the time. Just now and again. It's my dad's favourite phrase but it really does the job - 'character building'. It's also an experience Amy and I will laugh over for our whole lives. And it's because of her I said yes. Because she was the perfect person to do it with and I love her. It was just right.
And I have to say, I'm definitely a lot more relaxed about my appearance now. If I can get away with zero showers, zero heat styling and zero washing of the face for three days, I'm doing ok. I might even do another one next year...
That's twelve years old. Just remember that.
I'd always been slightly embarrassed to say I hadn't been to a festival. I mean not embarrassed enough to actually go to one. But mildly embarrassed. Much like when I tell people I can't drive. It's sort of humiliating but I am still making absolutely no effort to learn.
So.
'Twas the Monday before Bestival and - such was my level of disconnection from the whole 'festival scene' - I was blissfully unaware. I was just going about my non-festival related business, clean, dry and perfectly happy.
Until a Whatsapp arrived from Amy (i.e. one of my best friends in the whole world whose taste and judgement I explicitly trust) basically saying she had two free tickets to Bestival and did I fancy it? Strangely, I would have expected my knee-jerk reaction to be absolutely not. I love you, but no. But almost immediately I replied. Why not? I said, breezily, as if of course I had a pair of wellies, a sleeping bag and a roll mat on standby for just these sort of occasions. But say yes I did.
And so the shopping began. I agonized over wellies, picking a slightly try hard 'biker' style from asos complete with 'biker' chain (which I would later hack off with scissors), an inoffensive khaki mac and a hideous blue Arctic standard sleeping bag. I was really doing this.
Amy and I had a series of crisis calls over the course of the week, one particularly urgent one from Shoe Zone where Amy was loitering, massively reluctant to buy wellies (particularly when the only ones she could find were 'Kangol' branded). She decided yes. And thank god she did.
Amy's friend from work drove us and the journey started as it meant to go on - wet. But not with the rain - the bag of wine we'd purchased in Tesco had leaked heartily, seeping over the backseat of the car and into our trousers. The smell never really faded over the three days. It was at this point Amy's friend coined the trip 'a comedy of errors' before it had even begun. He didn't know how right he was.
The point at which reality hit me came that night on arrival, when we were standing in the pouring rain and the pitch dark, struggling to find a spot to pitch the tent because we were so late. One of the tents was unusable leaving us four people and a three man tent. About to comfort myself with the usual niceties one whips out in one's own mind when one is standing in the dark and the rain - 'it's ok, we'll be inside soon' - I realised these words would not apply for the next 48 hours. This was our home. This was it. Lucky I had an Evian bottle full of vodka, then.
It was Amy who really identified my festival skill to a tee. It became know as 'The Spruce.' I was just incredibly skilled at sprucing. A water wipe here, a mist of micellar water there, a dab of refreshing serum, a compress of rejuvenating eye tonic. I think the whole thing was summed up by me emerging from the tent with my beauty blender held aloft, wondering how I would dampen it in preparation for my foundation application. All I saw before me was a sea of beer cans and wet wipes and - taking a photo to remember the moment - I surmised I must surely be the only person at Bestival with a beauty blender.My hair was another matter altogether. Even my favourite OUAI texture spray was useless in the face of comedy-level rain and a complete absence of heat styling tools. Consequently, I was forced to master an extreme side parting which implied my hair was possibly intended to be styled in such a way. By day three this didn't really fly. The Pinterest-inspired, centre-parted, low chignon I'd envisaged for this stage of the proceedings quickly turned into a frizzy high bun in the cruel light of day.
Then there was the matter of my clothes - of which I had bought far too many. I wasn't sure I could even change once, so unappealing was the thought of taking my clothes off doubled over under the sweaty canvas of our small shared tent. I applied the same logic to my disposable contact lenses, keeping them in two days and two nights until my eyes simply refused to open.
The one useful thing I did bring was my precious old leather jacket. So precious is it, that I talked about it just last week in this post as the item in my wardrobe I have probably had the longest and worn the most. And it saved me more than once peeking out from beneath my rain coat, making things a little less bland.
Whilst we're on the subject of clothes, Amy and I had a grand old time rummaging through the onsite Oxfam Vintage. In fact, that's an understatement. Amy found the actual dress of her dreams. It was simple, elegant, subtly beaded with an amazing flowing skirt. The problem was, it was white. It was basically a wedding dress. We debated over whether it was weird for Amy to purchase a wedding dress in readiness for a future marriage. Or whether it was simply absurd. We reluctantly landed on the latter, but we sort of wish we hadn't. So much so, that Amy has since emailed Oxfam enquiring about the dress. It's like the start of a novel. I'll keep you updated.
I'm not exaggerating about the rain, by the way. We awoke on Sunday to find the festival had been shut due to 'extreme weather conditions'. Brilliant.
Amy and I ended on a high, slithering out of our sweaty shared tent into the freezing rain. Unable to find socks we forced our bare feet into our wellies (possibly the most unpleasant sensation I've ever experienced) and trudged in the direction of a bacon sandwich. Finding a wooden hut without seats, we just stood and laughed at the revolting absurdity of our situation. Well that's what friends are for, hey?
And I have to say, I'm definitely a lot more relaxed about my appearance now. If I can get away with zero showers, zero heat styling and zero washing of the face for three days, I'm doing ok. I might even do another one next year...
Comments
Post a Comment