I have just rolled in from a weekend of attempting to be a festival bunny, stinking to high heaven after abusing baby wipes, eating cold beans, curry and burgers for breakfast.
Last year, Kendal Calling was my first ever festival and it was amazing, the sun was shining, it didn’t rain once and nearly every act we saw was unbelievable. This year was a tad different. Instead of being woken up by the smell of bacon and birds tweeting, we were woken by rain battering our tent, something that we had been totally prepared for, not so much for the mud.
It was so damn thick, yet managed to outsmart us. We thought this year, we would be crafty and pay for a pre erected tent to save our little arms carrying everything, since last time we all had arms like Mr Tickle; the mud had other ideas. It took us forever to find our tent, we nearly lost our wellies getting stuck in the mud and we all had burning calves after the trek through the depths of churned up fields that smelt pretty suspect too.
Nothing a few drinks couldn’t solve! So we made a little funnel out of tin foil and decanted our Bourbon into two Capri Sun pouches, shoved them down our pants and skipped off to wade through the slop again. The first night was a slight blare.. We listened to some cool music, hit the fair, the silent disco and maybe the Glow Tent..my mind goes very, VERY hazy midway through the silent disco, after changing my headphones four times because ‘they were broken’. It was clearly me that was broken, I was a hot mess. On the mission back to the tent, myself and my friend ended up losing each other and wandering into the wrong field, I fell into 3, maybe 4 tents, fell over numerous tent ropes and caked myself in mud, before randomly bumping into my mate in the wrong field again.
This pretty sums up the whole weekend as we proceeded to burn a hole in our lovely rented tent, ended up sleeping on the floor thanks to some awesome blow up beds, wrapped up in foil blankets, heard a couple having some pretty uninspiring sex (or struggling to pack their tent up) and spent the whole last day speaking in an Australian Accent. I have never said the word ‘Salamander’ so much in my life. I don’t even really know what a salamander is, although I do know that it is not in fact, a baby dragon.
Although I absolutely loved the weekend as it was spent with two absolutely bonkers ladies that make me howl, it has made me realise I may be getting to old for this camping malarkey, even though I’m only 29!
I used to love a good four day bender, camping and not having to wash my hair for any long period of time, now I would rather the opposite! The post-camping smell is totally soul destroying, I can’t cope with sleeping for less than 6 hours a weekend and I bloody love a pair of slippers, a festival no-no. So next year, we are going to do it properly and make our own festival!
It wasn’t all bad, some serious life lessons have been learnt..
- Putting a gas camping stove on the ground sheet of a tent will result in a serious hole in the floor
- The truth about Dolphins
- The smell of a festival toilet never really leaves you
- Capri Sun pouches are an alcohol smugglers dream
- Don’t let Kayleigh drive shot gun, unless you like having perforated eardrums or listening to the ‘Miley Cyrus’
- My Australian accent is borderline offensive.