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If you go down in the woods today…

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… be sure to jump into a giant vagina on top of 6 strangers, whilst yelling “Wassup Cunts!” and then proceed to be hugged to death while your daughter films that shit on your phone from outside the labia. 

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“I close my eyes – pull back the curtains”

Yes people.  It could only be the Shambala Festival right?

In the words of the lovely Yolandii Visser of Die Antwoord,  “We’re gonna have nice time kids” and of Ninja, “Jump motherfucker jump!”

And in the words of my young niecelings at 9am in the morning, “This is the way we drink the gin, drink the gin, drink the gin”.  That may or may not have happened. There was some confusion over the water bottles, reminiscent of the tequila incident in The Lost Picture Show of 2015.  #parentinggoals

What can I say about Shambala?  Where to start?  It was, as ever, glittery, with an emphasis on the eco glitter.
I could eat everything there because all the food stalls were veggie or vegan. And before the carnivores turn up their noses and mock – they need to try a shakshuka breakfast from the Poco Cafe or a vegan steak and ale pie with mash and minted peas from the Young Vegans – a rival for Pieminister there – and I know a good pie when I eat one. I’m a Northern monkey remember.

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Some sort of North African poached egg deal.  Best. Breakfast. Ever.

 

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“Beef pie falls into my miyiyiyind” – (rare B-side by the Bucketheads)

But contrary to what Bman thinks – we don’t just go to these things “to spend £17 on macca cheese”  There was dancing to be done. Bouncing about to be had, skanking to do, a bit of the old kinetic two-stepping.  Faces to paint, parades to infiltrate while dressed as bees. Ice creams to be bought, Enchanted Woods to explore, mojitos to self-source, vaginas to jump into, Strumpets with Crumpets to yell excitedly at in the dark. (Sorry if I scared you ladies but I was thrilled you were there and then never went back to make a purchase!) There were acid heads to freak out with my Star Wars Disney ears. More alcohol to imbibe. Police Rave Units to chase. Offspring to embarrass.

After being told off by my youngest on Saturday morning, as we waited for an inordinate length of time for a fried egg bap, (bring back the Red Bus!) for “reminding her of all the people she hates at school” by being too loud and embarrassing apparently, I did point out that alcohol was a factor and I was not going to apologize for having fun,  as it was a fairly rare experience for a woman of my age.  I was not going to let her disapproval kill the joy of the great night I’d had before she went to bed, and then continued to have when I went back out again.  (Back off Childliners – she was not left alone at night in the tent, she was with my sister.)  However, of course, that is exactly what happened and Saturday afternoon I went back to the tent for a lie-down and a word with myself, and to hide.  After a brief disco snooze I chose to say Fuck it! I was going to enjoy myself regardless.
I have decided Shambala is a bit like the movie Cocoon and I am Jessica Tandy.  Rejuvenated and ready to party, albeit for a brief period of time.  I’m pretty sure that’s what those pods are at the Pod Cafe. My kids want to think themselves lucky I never got in one – I may never have left.

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Cocoon pods, fountain of youth and IN

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Point the way to the Kamikaze tent for the roller disco Mofos!

We roller-discoed on Friday (what’s up with that Shambala only being on one afternoon? – it was rammed!)
I say discoed. I mean, lurched around looking terrified whilst trying not to pass on the fear of falling to the younglings and muttering
“It’s not as easy as you remember is it?” as you try not to take out an undergrad from Bristol Uni in a gold morph suit, 1980’s Rossini windcheater and Unicorn head mask when you crash into the bale of straw.

Standard!

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Observe our concentration faces (and all hail Sexy Jesus)

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Yeah! We’re doing it… sort of. Vertical at least.

Sadly no pictorial evidence of my sister stacking it on her backside – but probably just as well. #tailbonePOW
   We probably only managed about 30 minutes worth. It got too busy and pretty much everyone apart from the actual Bump RollerDisco people was as shite as us and it was becoming a bit hazardous.  Flailing arms, unsteady legs and Shambala Sparkling Cider are a friend to nobody on 4 wheels in a crowd.  It wouldn’t do to break a collarbone with 2 days still to go, so we hung up our skates and moved on.  We needed to get ready to kneel before the Lord and feel him inside us.  ‘OMG It’s the Church’ next on the main stage.  Big up to anyone else wearing the Sexy Jesus Tees. I know I definitely hugged two different ladies and we praised Jesus together.  

 

Other bands of note this year were ‘The House Gospel Choir’ – after about 4 tracks of old skool classics done in a gospel style, I said, “ohhhhh I get it now – House!”.

Can I get a FFS! 

Just another mum moment, like the now legendary “Orange? or Lemon?/ Hmmm yeeaaaah!incident in Tenerife the other year.  My Childerbeast might well despair sometimes when I stare aimlessly around when I can’t find them after a trip to the loo or the bar. Or go into a Rango style petit-mal while they say “Mum. Mum. Mum. Mum. Mum” at me until I snap back to reality.  However, if it wasn’t for me, they wouldn’t go to festivals, gigs or whatnot. I’m sure they love me really.  Am pretty sure there’s some kind of caveat about being a mum that you have to be fairly embarrassing sometimes and say dumb things.  Ditto being able to snap out of stupid tipsy mum mode and into sensible no-nonsense first aider mode when some poor fucker had a fit in the Roots Yard on day one. Easy now brother. Pace yourself. He seemed to be okay once he’d come round. Bit his tongue though. (he bit his own, I didn’t bite his tongue) Bit of tequila on that bad boy and I’m sure he’ll be reet.*  Hope you enjoyed the rest of the festival fit-free fella.

🙂

Day three I particularly enjoyed hearing my young neiceling being told to sort herself out or there would be no more treats, and her swift retort of “I’ll just ask Aunty Kit”No flies on that lass!  I may have accidentally bought them ice creams every day and unicorn horn headbands.

Other phrases of the weekend were “Fifteen million pounds for a mojito!!”, “Let’s tickle the crikey” (whilst sat inside the Lady Garden Vag).  “You need to queue if you want food”  – I seemed to do an awful lot of queueing and waiting. I’m sorry dumpling dudes, the Dorshi dumplings were alright but not 35 minutes of queueing worth of alright. I also learned not to give Rhona’s name for Ghanan food as it is too easily confused with ‘Anna’.  I hope Anna enjoyed her free extra portion of mixed whatever it was.  

Shambala had replaced ‘Fruity Friday’ with a less offensive name I forget – Non-Binary Friday or Gender Neutral non-denominational day of the week or something. Anyhow, it still seemed to involve a lot of cross-dressing and stick on moustaches.  We ventured into the Botanical Disco fairly late doors Friday and I’m not entirely sure what was happening in that boxing ring?  It was like an episode of GLOW but with Pete Burns from Dead or Alive and Divine on a shit load of cocaine.  We didn’t stick around.  It was a bit intense.
    We enjoyed the secret venue. Not in fact called the rave cave after all. I have since discovered it was the Data Mine, which explains the old computers and 1980’s tech.  The House Party was alright but not worth the queue. The Enchanted Wood was, as usual, a bit mind-bending. Great music in there. I particularly had fun with the weird hand machine thingumyjig. 

Cabaret was mix of aerial acts, jugglers, jokers and acrobats.  Great comedian on the Saturday night. Very funny. I vaguely remember it. Luckily I took some pictures inbetween drinking honey rum from a bottle a dude next to us generously shared before telling me he’d found it outside his tent.  I’d forgotten all about that too until the childerbeast reminded me about it two days later saying I shouldn’t accept random drinks from strangers. So that was me told!

Cabaret involved a lot of me and my sister looking at one another saying “Yup we could do that!” then laughing hysterically.

Fancy Dress parade on Saturday was something else!  Seems we were not the only ones with the Bee & beekeeper idea. We were Manchester Bees specifically but we were only a small part of the hive!  We managed to infiltrate a group of drumming bees and join them in the parade. The theme had been ‘Avant Garden’ and Shambalans did not skimp on the costumes (unlike us, who chose to travel light).  There were mushrooms, gnomes, giant insects, baby insects, Her Majesty’s Lady Garden, butterflies, Green Men, walking hedgerows, bejewelled nipples, you name it!  Good job people!

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Pre parade PRU rave off

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Different day. Different ice cream

Sunday was a bit of a chilly washout in the daytime. We sought sanctuary in the morning at The Lost Picture Show watching Fantasia. Cue 150 kids whispering loudly “Mummy when is Mickey Mouse coming on? You said Mickey Mouse was in it” And where else could you lay on an enormous bed being spooned by a stranger with dwarfism dressed as Cruella De Ville while you watch a Disney classic?  Not round here that’s for sure!  And I love that that’s okay.  You comment upon it but only to say “cool” or “nice one bruvva!” (sorry, had to get that one in here somehow).  Not about to let the rain put us off, we then took refuge in the Wonky Cock pub with a good old halloumimayo wrap and a few more pints of Shambala’s finest sparkling apple juice.

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Cold but not yet beaten

Sunday night was the final showdown. This time my sister was ready to party (ready in fact from about 4pm!)  After the excellent closing ceremony which was all fireworks, slacklining across the lake, spangly ladies in hoops etc.   

I apologize to the lovely young people trying to get into the Swingamajig on Sunday to find their pals who were intercepted by the queue police (AKA my sister, resplendent in sequins, full of wine, mojito and rum and having none of it that they should get in front of us).  A negotiation was reached where I played peacemaker and she then decided to “bomb it off, I can’t be arsed waiting” about 2 minutes later.
Top night though.  So glad the Oxfam man didn’t make you go back to the tent palfinger sister of mine. Rhona thinks you’re a legend for getting her right to the sweaty, topless (for some) front at the
‘Electric Swing Circus’ gig when we eventually returned to the Swingamajig.  Man it was warm in there!  Geezer next to me was so sweaty his back had its own tidal system!

It turned into quite the girls night out!  Allie missed out but her time will come, I’m sure.

 

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Tickle the crikey and who left their coat outside the cunt?

 

We ended the night back at the Wonky Cock. As you do. But we did not look quite as lively in the morning.

 

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fresh fresh fresh

 

A most excellent adventure into utopia. And a utopia it was. It was clean. Even the loos seemed clean in comparison to Boomtown and other festivals. Everyone was polite and cheerful and happy and helpful.  When I had a gloom moment on Saturday that was part of the issue. I had an epiphany that beautiful as it was, it wasn’t real. I would have to go home to my non-utopian society where not all the food is vegetarian or vegan. Where most people are actually assholes and wearing sequins and glittery facepaint to the store is frowned upon. 

I told the childerbeast we probably wouldn’t go next year for cost reasons, given my new venture into enjoying my work but not getting paid as much as before.  However I don’t think I can miss a year. Where else am I going to be able to cut loose, glitter up and jump about?

Thank you Shambala. I have probably forgotten a whole load of brilliant elements of our lost weekend. A lot of it I guess you had to be there, to be honest anyway.  Super well done though on being so tidy and clean. Particularly at the end.

Remember kids.  Rave safe and don’t be afraid to touch the monkey, or the gecko, or the tarantula. Love your mum. She’s funner than you think and deserves to bounce about and be lairy from time to time. (Funner is totally a word. Probably)

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chinny but actually quite fabulous

 

 Ciao Ciao Tutti. Xx

*FYI I did not actually douse the tongue of an epileptic boy with Jose Cuervo. Just to clarify.

 

 

 

 

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*Halloumimayo – Boomtown and OUT! (Caution. This post contains profanity and drug references)

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Childerbeast and I have spent last 4 days as citizens of the festival town of Boom, all the way down in the rolling south downs near Winchester.

Never been to this festival before and other than the British weather being a bit of a disappointment after 2 months of solid sunshine, we were well impressed. (Although not with the amount of litter – I do abhor a dirty camper! Sort it out Boomtowners).

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Dirty dirty bastards

 

5 hour train journey down.  Excellent shuttle bus service from the station, despite being a bit overpriced at £10 a head return.  Then a tenner for programme,  so I was £40 light before we even got to the gate!
  Saw a couple of casualties in the line, peaking waaaay too soon.  Had to go in a separate line because I had teens with me so then had to sign my life away with the promise to stay with them at all times on pain of expulsion from the site!  Not that I was going to turn them loose into the fray of already off their nut 20-somethings for a 4 day mum-free Class A fest! Despite appearances, I am a responsible parent dontchya know.  I’d rather I educated them than just release them into the wild untutored.

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So, once wristbanded up we had to join another line to get sniffed at by drug dogs.  Our fruit cordial,  in sustainable reusable water bottles (learn something here Boomtowners) was poured on the grass as it was considered contraband. Yet within 5 minutes of being inside,  people were firing up the green stuff and we overheard others touting their wares. “Es trips & wizz” 1990’s old skool style.  So Robinsons summer fruits was a big No No but crack on with the chronic y’all.

Essentially, and I make no judgements here, this festival was brought to you by the letters M. D. M & A . A bit of E and a shitload of K.  And you can have as many dogs as you like at the entrance gate but as they saying goes “if they want to get in, then they’ll get in.”

As I am now 46 and a parent of impressionable teens, I chose to have my festival sponsored by Old Mout, Hooch, Orchard Thieves cider and a hipflask or two of my old friend Jose Cuervo.

Standard.

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Old ravers never die as we all know though, so age and responsibility did not stop this mama from throwing some shapes at the D&B stage. My children are now immune and just let me get on with it. In fact they actually joined in, which was a plus.

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Bang Hai stage was well banging!

No 1 phrase of the festival for me was probably, “You know that kind of bass that you can feel in your bumhole?”

Yes. As it goes. I do.  Also, that level of bass that makes you dry heave.

Nice.

The premise of the 10 year old festival, is that a dude called Nicholas Boom established a small town.  It grew bigger. Everyone had fun, everyone was happy. Then some big corporation moved in and took over, telling everyone what they should be thinking and doing (erm, hallo? sound familiar anyone?). Boom then vanished. The corporate big cheeses took over. There was a revolution and then the corporation invented a major piece of sentient artificial intelligence which, in the finale closing ceremony on Sunday, blew the lid off the corporation.

Yes people.  These Boomtown lot have put a whole lot of effort into this shit over the last ten years.

You could get as immersed into this storyline throughout the festival as you wanted. We chose not to, mostly because it was difficult to tell who was part of the storyline, who was acting and who were just regular punters dressed up.  We were also trying to find our way around all the different areas, districts, mock streets, alleyways, barrios, ghettos and stages built from shipping containers.  In fact after 2 days we realised there was an entire area almost the size of Shambala festival that we hadn’t yet explored when we found it by accident behind a hedge!

I very quickly made the sweeping generalisation that boys from Bristol are bellends. A judgement made pretty much solely on the group camped behind us who found it hilarious to operate a loud-hailer with police siren mode. Shouting “LAPD, Hands up Motherfuckers!” every 5 seconds.  They were very close, within half an hour of our pitching up, of having said loudhailer shoved up their arses. I’m sure they’re lovely people. They just got on my tits very quickly. (Probably because I’m no longer 20 years old, nubile and fresh-faced with minimal responsibilities).

It was hilly as hell too. And after weeks of hot weather, a dust bowl – until day 2 when it pissed it down and turned the place into a mud bath!

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Hey let’s not take wellies this time.  #notmybestidea

Note to self kids: Do not leave the tent door a tiny bit unzipped please. You can mop that water up as much as you like in a panic while I am on the composting toilet, but if my rucksack was sat in a pond in the bottom of the tent then all my clothes will be soaked and I will be narked for at least two hours! 

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Camping on even the slightest of an incline also presents something of challenge at bedtime.  Feet down and you slide down the rollmat.  Feet up and you run the risk of waking up with your head even more beachball sized then before.  Sideways and you all inevitably end up in a pile on at the bottom of the tent by morning.

All the fun of the camping fair though.

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We’re the green dome, infront of the turquoise Teepee.  Taken by Allie from top of Whistler’s Green on opposite side of the festival    #decentzoomlens

No 2 phrase of the festival: – Can I interest you ladies in some ket?” – Me: “She’s 13 mate, fuck off!” as my youngest sat oblivious eating her ice cream – she hadn’t heard what he said.  See also “Merry Xmas beautiful, have some ket” as randomer tossed a baggie at my eldest as we packed away the tent and it flew in through the door. “What shall I do with it mum?” “Erm, I don’t want it, put it in the bin bab!” (but not before picture taken of her holding it was snapped for prosperity, possible bribery in the future or for use as a calendar for Grandma.

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Hadn’t realised anyone did that shit still. It was pretty dank back in the day. Can’t imagine it’s improved in the last 25 years. Hey kids. let’s tranquillize ourselves with veterinary strength painkiller then at least we won’t notice if it’s pissing down. Shit, we won’t even know who we are anymore or whether we have limbs. It’ll be awesome!

Just say no y’all!

Music wise we saw ‘OMG it’s the Church’ – go see them if you can – very entertaining. All hail sexy Jesus. They promise to turn your pain into cocaine and your pretty pleases into titty squeezes. Fact!

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Other highlights were ‘The Dutty Moonshine Big Band’, ‘Cult of the Damned’, ‘Electric Swing Circus’, ‘Muerte’, ‘Soul II Soul’ and ‘Gorillaz’, who drew probably the biggest crowd of the festival on the Saturday night.

Next favourite festival saying, “Snoop Doooooogggg! I love youuuuuu”. and“You know he’s not actually there right?” 

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Yes people. That IS Shaun Ryder

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The best set for me by far though was ‘Die Antwoord’.  After leaving it too late on the Saturday to get anywhere near Gorillaz at the Lion’s Den stage, we were front (and slightly off centre) on Sunday, well in advance for these guys.   It was so wet and muddy I did fear we might not make it into the bowl of the amphitheatre, or that we’d have to stay there til it dried out enough to scramble back out.  We also had to go dressed as jellyfish as our showerproof coats proved utterly useless against the torrent of rain.  We found that out the hard way, whilst waiting to see the Electric Swing Circus when we got absolutely piss wet through!

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Not even slightly drunk here so why do I look so terrifying – like Captain Birdseye on acid?

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Rocking the jellyfish mama look

Luckily it didn’t rain during the set – although I don’t think I’d have cared by that stage I was so excited.

We had been looking forward to these since we found out they were on earlier this year!  We were not disappointed.

WOAH!

Foookin L!   I forgot my kids were with me for a while!  In the zone. Me, my pocket pal Jose and my new mate, let’s call him ‘Cheddar Bob’ who tried to trade me his hash for my hipflask and who I had to stop from falling over several times.  I also employed some Team Teach tactics to help split up a fight and then I bounced myself stupid. Hands in the Muthacluckin air, singing along and having The. Best. Of. Times.  Made even better by the fact that my girls were also having a great time (rather than sitting at my feet on a poncho, looking fed up – which has been known at festivals past).

😀

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We love you Yolandiiiiii!  #zefstyle

I can’t put the videos on here that I took when I wasn’t jumping up and down trying not to piss myself, so I’ll include this link to their Baby’s on Fire video, which Bman has always said reminds him of Tyersal – and I have to agree TBH.  My favourite track is this one Banana Brain which in fairness could also be Tyersal. (Although the childerbeast did not appreciate my Yolandi impression as I burst into song in the tent at one point during the festival)  – “Muuuuum everyone can hear you outside the tent, shuuuut uuuuup!

Amazing set later and we followed the throng, to the Bang Hai Towers stage at the other side of the festival for the closing ceremony.  With the exception of one dude on a food mission, ploughing the opposite way to the masses,  just chanting to himself “chicken chicken chicken”.  I hope he got his fix.

The finale was also off the scale. Drum and bass-tastic. Laser heavy, fire blasting,  hardcore utter mental.  Then quite the spectacle of a closing show film with big mention of the need to clamp down on the litter and left behind tents etc (which drew a big whoop from me). And the promise of a Chapter 11 (after rumours that this year would be the last one – that also drew big cheers).

 

Chapter 11 – The Radical City (or something, I forget, I was a few shots in by that stage and still pumped up from Die Antwoord).

Then that was it. All over. Music off for midnight and Boiiing! Time for bed Zebedee.
Or not. maybe we’ll just upend all the bins and start a drumming circle to make our own music for the next two hours. Or sit on the loo farting and singing about butterflies (none of those things was us BTW).

It is hard to capture the essence of any festival if you weren’t actually at it. For all the photos you do take, there are as many you didn’t, and just have in your own head:-
A lone man dancing with a spider plant in a pot in the Hidden Woods.  The girl in the loos on the last day, having to be helped down the steps by her pal and wondering why everyone was packing up, as the pal very patiently explained that it was Monday and time to leave site. Yes it was largely populated by youngling rajjies, off their gourds, but they were harmless enough (perhaps not to their own brains and vital organs) but everyone was having fun, some perhaps a little too much too soon but still.  My girls loved it. I think they found it more educational than any shite PL lesson or whatever it’s called at school. They saw some shit.  Hopefully it will teach them something.  I’m hoping it’s “
let’s not ever get as mashed up as that fucked up couple at Hotel Paradiso who lurched in like something from the Walking Dead”.  They clocked them both, looked at me and we all did a synchronised “WOW!!” then shook our heads, laughing. My kids asked me, “what have they had then mum?”  “Everything” said I. “A shitload of everything!”

Bless them. I hope they had a great time, because they looked like total shit!  They’re probably still crawling around the South Downs on all fours, trying to remember how they got there. (The muntered couple, not my kids).

We’ve all been there to a certain extent, so don’t deny it!

I can’t even begin to process the dog’s breakfast of a journey home but to suffice to say it took less time to fly to Orlando last year! FFS!  A broken-down freight train blocking the line is not your friend when you are only one stop into a 5 hour journey home. Particularly not after four days of walking an average 10 miles a day, partying, sleeping on the floor and with all your camping gear on your back.  We’ve seen every blade of grass between Basingstoke and Reading from a rail replacement coach,  just to get on the same train we were asked to get off in the first place! Arriving home 2 hours later than planned even though we set off an hour before schedule.
I could have knelt down and kissed the platform at Leeds Station when we finally got there!

Good times. I was as happy as a taxidermied security badger in a pram.

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And we get to do it all again next week when we go to Shambala with my sister. Not quite on such a scale, but it’s going to be awesome and this time… I will take my wellies even if it’s 30 degrees with zero chance of rain .

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ciao Ciao Y’all. See you in a field somewhere soon Xx

 

*New greeting, arising from me awaiting my order of 2 haloumi wraps – Greek lady waved them at me saying “Halloumimayo?” as I just smiled aimlessly like a gorm, nodding at her because I thought she was greeting me in Greek or something. She had to say it another 3 times before I realised she was proffering me my food order.

 

 

 

Spooks and spills

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Ghosthunting season is back up on us.  Spent some hours raking about in the basements of Knottingley Town Hall on Friday.

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Wasn’t as keen on this one.  Even though we did manage to arrive on time this time.

The basement was good but I would have liked more time to wander around it.  Wasn’t as interested in the upstairs area, especially the part where two people in the circle seemingly had their hands raised in the air by unseen hands and remained there for 40 (that’s FORTY!) minutes while a man commanded by the power of St Michael, all that is holy and the power of Greyskull, for their hands to be lowered.  Linda and I were bored shitless so we broke the circle (“don’t cross the streams”). Rather than be allowed to perhaps go rogue at this point and do a little wandering or piss about on a ouija board, we had to sit /stand in the dark waiting for these sodding hands to be lowered.  I was very respectful but inside my head I was screaming “FFS put your bloody arms down you dozy cows”.

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Bored and sleepy, waiting for the arms to be lowered

So, despite the feeling that someone rather chilly was sat in my lap at one point in the cellar and that someone equally as chilly had walked through me during the stupid human pendulum, duck duck goose circle time – I wasn’t impressed with this one.

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Best part of night. These ‘Heaven’s Gate’ Nikes

Saturday morning I set off to Malton to meet Gill, as the rest of my Fam had gone to Farndale on Friday night while I was arsing about in the dark.  We had a most civilised luncheon in Malton and a float around the food fair.  I made purchase of some cheese, some pork pies for Bman and treated myself to two bottles of artisan cider brewed in Ryedale. 

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Civilised luncheon at a Tea Rooms

There were concerns that we may not make it all the way back to the house in the car due to the snow, but by the time we got into Farndale it was clear that most of it had gone.  However, there was still a bit of black ice. I discovered that the hard way when I got out of the car with 3 bags.  One second I was vertical, the next I was face down on the ground, laid in the mud, bleeding from where my chin broke my fall on a rock and now only in possession of one bottle of artisan cider. The other smashed to smithereens!

Ouch.

It really shook me up, I won’t lie.  Thank goodness I’ve got such a Desperate Dan chin to help break my fall.  Could have been worse.  Could have broken my nose or my cheekbone or lost a tooth and had to spend Saturday night at A&E – probably in Scarborough. Nightmare!

My broken face was a bit of a party killer and I ended up in bed by 10:30pm, so not the usual drunken shenanegins of a weekend in the Dales. But still a good laugh.  It’s only a shame that there was no video footage of me stacking it!

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How it looks today

 

The next day, as if I hadn’t hurt myself enough, I was pursuaded by my youngest to have a go at bareback horse riding.  Never having been on a horse, but always quite fancied it, I was game.  It wasn’t a very big horse. But it felt high to me.  I didn’t stay aboard for long before I panicked about falling again so I got off.  My youngest was like a natural though. Hopefully she won’t decide to take it up as a hobby.  I’ll be forced to steal one of the local piebald ponies that tend to wander freely around the neighbourhood and keep it in the garden.

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When we got home I fired up my remaining bottle of artisan cider and it was rank! I threw it down the sink.  Gutted!  It ended up costing me a fiver after the second one broke.

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Its half term now and I am ready for it.  Am about to head out to meet a friend for lunch.  Hopefully I won’t fall over on the way.

Ciao Ciao Xx

 

 

 

 

Boro en famille

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Two weekends in a row with the fam.  Boro with my mum,  sister and my brother from another mother and the niecelings.  This time in (actual) sunny Scarbados. Like actual, put some suncream on the kids, weather.
Good times seeing rellies and old friends; eating chips; drinking cider at Seafest and telling off idiots who were feeding the gulls.
However 2 days of beach times, carousing and supporting my Aunty’s book launch – sounds fancier than it was (Turquoise Patch by Sue Hardy, go buy it) have meant though that my gimpo leg is still strapped up and I’ve spent the last 2 days laid up, resting it and feeling elderly.

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I was overtaken by a dwarf at Leeds station – True story!

Warm cider, glitter & damp clothes

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I could write about the historical political events of the day but I’ll leave that to the rest of the Internet.  To those who really know what they’re talking about (& plenty who don’t!).

It’s Glastonbury time again!

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Let’s simulate our own festival vibe by drinking warm cider all day, glittering our regions, not having a shit for a week and listening to music we wouldn’t usually entertain.

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🙂

Did think about putting one of the tents (I have a selection) up in the garden, lighting the firebowl and camping out with the kids, but the eldest basically told me to stick that idea, and the weather forecast suggests thunder storms. So… I changed my mind.  Think I’ll just stick to the sofa with my Strongbow and wait for ZZ Top.

Keep getting messages from Shambala Festival announcing what’s happening there in August.  We’re not going this year as we’re Tenerifing en famille instead, but I’m a bit sorry about that now.  A hall of mirrors area. What could go wrong there when the *acid kicks in?  Lol.

My girls have both said they want to go to Glastonbury when they’re older. Fine by me. They’ll have a great time. They’ve been built up gently over the years, helping me crewing and have become immune to most things peculiar and unusual.

Bearded men in drag.  Not bothered.  Women in sequined nipple tassels. Barely batter an eyelid.  Near-naked, rollerskating men in Mexican wrestling masks. Unfazed.  Staying up way past bedtime, eating wood-fired pizza in the woods while mum sips tequila from a pink sparkly hipflask. On it!

So instead of going to Glasto or Shambala, I will share with you some of our adventures under canvas over the years via the medium of jpeg

You had to be there.

Maybe you should come along next year. Fancy dress optional. Leave inhibitions at home. BYO tequila.

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Ramones Tee. Essential.

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How they sleep so soundly astounds me.

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Roller disco. Standard!

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Read this as The Rapies after too many ciders. Thought it was a band.

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Youngest’s first festy

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Tent’s up. Cider open

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Goodnight Utopia, thanks for having us.

*not me or the kids on acid obviously.  I’m too old for that shit anymore & they’re waaaaay too young.