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Published: August 30th 2007
It starts on a grey summers morning. Myself, the Keepers & the Small One all packed into Snowy - our trusty little van - for a trip out to my first live music festival. Tribfest
. No flying involved this time but a new horror was being introduced.
They call it CAMPING.
Talk on the way was of very exciting things. We had gold VIP passes for the weekend, so I was greatly looking forward to the full 5 star treatment. However, our suite turned out to be a nylon room, pegged to the ground. The toilet facilities were - err - basic to say the very least & the A La Carte was actually Off A Van. Nonetheless, we erected said tent (with the help of a mallet borrowed from Stan Laurel) whilst listening to The Beatles & settled in for the afternoon session.
Coldplay put a pretty convincing set together despite the apparently small crowd. T-Rex followed although at this point we headed for shelter from the drizzle with a bottle of champers at the VIP bar. Then toodled off & bought some fine hats from
a Dundonian chap called Mark, running a fine boutique marquee by the beer tent.
Half an hour later it became apparent that the video camera was no longer with us. A re-tracing of steps was organised, ending back at Marks gaff. And being the Top Man that he is, Mark clocked straight away the ne'er do wells who had absconded with our piece of kit & set forth to the beer tent with Dad - leaving Mum & The Small One in charge of the shop.
A brief discussion entailed. The lad with the camera in his hand could neither explain off the top of his head why his camera would have a sticker on it denoting passenger status on the ferry from Ko Phangan to Samui or explain from where that may have come from, hence the item was handed over with Dad holding his temper with a straightforward "Lets leave it at that then." leaving the naughty boy feeling somewhat small. On departure, Dad grabbed a couple of seconds on the video of the bad lads for insurance purposes.
Time for the next band. The
Jam. A favourite oldie from the late 70's/early80's but still very fresh. Concerned a little over the advice regarding Going Underground or being Down In a Tube Station At Midnight. As the nearest London Underground station from Driffield would be either Cockfosters or New Barnet - some 200 miles away - possible to do but unlikely given the inclement weather & 3 hour timescale before the last train.(Although the Metro in Newcastle would have been a considerably quicker jaunt - the reality of the theme would have been lost). At the end of this session, Dad was approached by a man the size of a house who offered an unusual procedure involving the removal of his intestines with no surgical instruments whatsoever, if he were to attempt to film him again. As it turns out, he was one of the gang of optimistic camera thieves. Dads knee was up & ready to get one in the nuts in first as he commenced his remonstrations at the guilty fuckwit standing a few feet behind the giant, but Mum dragged him away before the inevitable occurred. Mrs Giant did the same to her pet thug.
We held our
ground & hung on for the Sex Pistols. Things hotting up now with some obscure colloquialisms of the English language that made even me blush!. A fantastic performance from the spikey haired four, really setting the standard for the rest of the weekend. They even finished off with a song about God saving Me. Cool.
The Arctics Munkeys were next. My favourite! Unfortunately by this time, the Small One & Myself had to escort the keepers back to the nylon room as the beer had made their legs go funny, turning it more into Tripfest as they took out a few guy ropes on the way back. A kind of party induced coma followed after being lullabye'd to the sounds of rain, Oasis, rain, U2 & more rain.
This is where the pitfalls of this camping lark become apparent. It seems no matter how flat soft & smooth the ground looks when base camp is set up, it morphs in the night to become a slopey spikey bed of nails above the tiny source of one of the worlds greatest rivers. Waking up in the morning is a journey in itself, rather
Really not my cup of tea but a damn good set all the same.
akin to that sense of creaking old age that transpires after spending a night in a washing machine on a cold wash cycle. Believe me - I've been there!
I woke in a puddle with the top of a tent peg sticking in my back. Arms like lead, unable to feel my feet. Next time - we get a camper van.
Around 8 am, after a coffee with milk & water kindly donated by Oliver Hardy, The Keepers & The Small One took me for a trek to loosen our limbs to the nearby 24 hour Esso garage. Supplies were purchased including paracetamol & Alka Seltzer. I took a nap while Dad watched Match Of The Day on the little telly he had cleverly wired up to Snowys' cigarette lighter. Time for food. Still grey & drizzly we took a wander around the main stage field & grabbed some brunch. Chocolate & Banana pancakes - Yipee! By this time the bands were firing up again, one of the first out were the Scissor Sisters. We had mutually agreed to miss this lot out but got stuck sheltering from the now very heavy
These boys really are the dogs bollocks. I'm gonna grow my hair & buy a motorbike.
rain beneath the very short roof of the soggy sausage roll van. They turned out to be absolutely 1st class. Got my little feet going for sure! We met a guy called Adrian, selling his book of his travels around South East Asia who billed himself as "Bridlingtons Answer To Michael Palin" Strange concept but bought a book for a fiver.
Next up was a visit back to the VIP area where the girls got a free make-up & massage session courtesy of Virgin Vie whilst Dad started filling Cool Mark up with beers again. Followed by the highlight of the weekend. Live Wire AC/DC. Better than the real thing. These guys have both the original singer Bon Scott (who died 25 years ago) & the relative new boy Brian Johnson. How someone who's been dead for so long can be so full of life is gobsmackingly fucking amazing! Even the handful of coppers at the back were raising their arms in the chorus of T.N.T.!! We've got tickets to see them in Huddersfield next week already. Mister Munkeys hot music tip. Go see this lot if you get the chance.
We'll do this gig
Some Stay On To Do Their A Levels. . .
This guy has been in short trousers since 1973
again. Next time with some kind of funky campervan methinks . . . . .
All in all a cracking weekend. Despite the weather & the rather uncivilised accommodation - a good time was had by all.
Thought for the day: In order to become old & wise. You need to be young & stupid first.
Mr. M. :-)
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