It’s the End Of The Road #080

How to survive a festival

Three weeks ago, I was bemoaning not recognising a single festival act. So naturally I found myself at the End Of The Road festival this weekend…

To be fair, I did at least recognise Saturday and Sunday night’s headliners as well as some of the authors on the Talking Heads stage¹.

Camp weather

The booking was made months ago. Well before we knew we were going to enjoy the most sublime summer weather, climate change aside, at least until this weekend.

And so it was, me and three lovely friends found ourselves ‘glamping-ish’ at the festival in a 1970s tent.

I say ‘ish’ because the tent zip didn’t quite fasten. The pitch of the slope meant we were in danger of rolling off our blow-up singles, and the first night it rained so hard my ill placed clothes got soaked.

The weather blew in and out. Alternating between August showers, pounding rain, and sunshine, a rainbow never far away. The chilly wind keeping the wily weather moving.

Wellies and cagouls on, off. Brollies up, down. Clothing wet, dry. Sheltering and basking. We had it all. Surely a conversational treat for us weather loving Brits - knowing the trees, plants and grass were thankful for the in, whilst indignantly proclaiming how it could have held off for another day or two regardless.

Camp folk

The crowd ranged from babes in arms to those in their 70s and even 80s, with a gaggle of men of a certain age drinking ale and reliving their youths.

I smiled at the T Shirts adorning some of my fellow festival goers, my favourites being:

• It’s strange being the same age as old people

• “You can have him Jolene”

• Unmistakably Northern

• Walker? Bacharach? Wilson?

• T**T – Nigel Farage

Camp essentials

The morning shower queues were a sight to behold. Dazed, PJ’d, dishevelled, bleary folks, patiently awaiting their turn at ‘Poshwash Showers’. Woe betide anyone who forgot to slop out their cubicle on exit. As for the ‘long drop’ toilets…I barely dared think when a long drop become a short drop…

The non glamping tent variety was impressive. Ranging from single person ‘pop-ups’ to full camp-circle bell tents encircling a canopied living space.

Our mornings officially rescued by our early-rising ‘campette’ friend who appeared as if by magic with black americanos, cinnamon buns and pain au chocolates at 0830 on the dot each morning.

North London does camping!

Camp games

Saturday afternoon was the weather low. Retreating to our tent, we cracked open our wine boxes, popcorn and pretzels and played Bananagrams. Several games of. Closely followed by a fast-paced game which was new to me - guess the identity of a famous person. A cross between Articulate, Name that Tune and Charades. The hilarity fuelled by cabin fever and rosè.

Mercifully, the weather started to clear about 6pm allowing us to venture out to seek sustenance from the marvellous array of street food stalls.

Camp music

I’d heard of Self Esteem before her Glastonbury set but knew little of her music. I eagerly awaited her performance.

What a show. Her particular form of girl power ripe for the times - sassy, rebellious, poetic, poignant. A woman with something to say, at the peak of her game. Sharing her limelight with her supporting singers and dancers. Most of all she was having fun.

I also loved Sharon Von Etten & The Attachement Theory evoking memories of Siouxsie Sioux, Lena Lovich and the Cocteau Twins. Not to mention the entrancing electronic dance band Caribou.

We saw many acts I’ve never heard of before – Hayden Pedigo, Florist, Lisa O’Neill, Eva May, Sylvia Kreusch and the beautifully sensitive spoken word artist Rob Auton who left not a dry eye in the house.

Camp experience

As I people watched I couldn’t help wondering why everyone was there?

The music and the performers were ostensibly why people chose to gather; but the reality, for me at least, was so much richer. The shared experience of living, washing, eating, dancing and being part of something. Being outside and close to the elements. Being under canvas. Being grimy, muddy and slightly feral. Being disconnected from the real world. The most precious thing being time spent with good friends.

At nigh on £600 for the weekend I wondered if this middle-aged adventure was worth it. By the end I knew it was priceless.

You

I’ll never be a regular festival goer but I do know I experienced a special weekend. It may have been curated but we made it our own.

As ever, I’m interested in you.

Are you a festival type or does what I describe sound like hell on earth?

Whichever camp - pun intended - you’re in I’d love to know your thoughts.

Fire up your calor gas stove or flick the switch on your kettle, make yourself a brew and drop me a line, I’d love to hear from you.

And if you are uncertain whether or not to take the festival plunge, my advice to you is just do it – I’m sure you won’t regret it.

Remember, you’re never going to be any younger than you are today, in the words of the spoken word artist Rob Auton:

“Thank all your yesterdays for getting you to today’.

Until next week my friends,

Ruth x

Thank you for reading 1000Weeks. If you enjoyed it, it would make my day if you left me a comment, liked, shared or subscribed to my blog. Thank you

1. I was drawn to the Talking Heads stage to listen to the super cool Miranda Sawyer, a 90s music journalist and author. She was followed by Stuart Murdoch, the singer song writer of Belle and Sebastian, who has written a semi biographical novel about ME, his set interspersed with two fantastic acoustic Belle & Sebastian songs.

I also listened to Joe Dunthorne, author of Children of Radium and, previously, Submarine which later became a cult film. He’s also the bro of a friend of mine.

The highlight of the literary set for me being the supremely talented Samantha Harvey, author of the sublime 2024 Booker Prize winning book Orbital - if you haven’t read it, do.