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Sh Sh Sh Shambala Pt2

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….So now on to Saturday.  Carnival day.  This year the theme was ‘Extinction’.  We had opted for blue macaws. Rio style.  My sister bought caped wing things and masks and this was the resulting glory.

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I had burst from the tent in slightly less, to a joint exasperated response of “NO!” from the teens.

😀

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Embarrassing mum Level 9

Bro in Law, always on board for a bit of fancy dress,  was meant to look like this….

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The Tick has lost a bit of weight

… but it was too hot for the old morph suit so he abandoned that look.
My sister was meant to don an amazing sequinned playsuit, but was too hot for that too (can’t believe I have no pics of that).

The teens opted out of the fancy dress other than the sweaty parrot masks on their heads, which compared to the other flock of blue macaws that we bumped into, looked pretty shite.
To be fair, eldest child tried to get involved last minute by wrapping a tropical island scene shower curtain round herself.

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I don’t know what my favourite fancy dress outfits were, but as usual, our fellow Shambalans went all out.  There were various animals, lots of dinosaurs.  A suited up group waving Shell placards and asking if anyone had seen any oil.  A lady just wearing a sash that said ‘compassion’ and I particularly liked the people dressed as Blockbuster video cards.

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This one is for you Mum

 

Saturday evening on the main stage was a strange and wonderful band called Henge who were like something from The Mighty Boosh.  If they’d sang ‘Eels up inside ya” I wouldn’t have been surprised. Best described as cosmic rave I guess.  Give them a whirl.

Mid Henge, me and the bro in law sloped off to watch 80’s snooker legend Steve Davis do a spot of DJing… like you do.  People kept running in and taking a photo and saying “Look, it’s Steve Davis!” and “Has he played Snooker Loopy by Chas n Dave yet?”

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Snooker Loopy

Such is the randomness of Shambala festival.  He didn’t have the crowds that DJ Rap,  Stanton Warriors or the amazing Helena Hauff did on Sunday night, but he was alright as it goes.

Saturday night I offered to take the little ones round the woods and then back to camp for late night camp hot chocolates, while sis and bro in law had some child free night time. I could also try to have a disco snooze to power up for the ‘OMG it’s the church’ 2am slot.  Niecelings had great fun shining their torches at me whenever I bent down in my sequinned skirt – “Aunty Kit has a big disco ball butt”

 

Eldest offspring had a bit of a hot chocolate/astrodust sherbert straw comedown and couldn’t quite cope with going back out into the melee, but she soldiered on, albeit with a face like a smacked arse.  She didn’t want to miss out on a bit of salvation from the Reverend and his Hail Marys.

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Where my hail Marys at?

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Sweet sexy cheeesus

While we were waiting for the show, we got talking to a man who asked us how festivals worked for us coming as a family.  He said in his capacity as a gay man there with his partner, he was interested in how different an experience it was for families.  He was a bit drunk and kept apologising, but was very lovely.  He told the girls that he hoped they were grateful to their awesome mother for taking them to festivals, because his mother had made him take part in a descant recorder competition as a teenager.  He’d spent his summer holidays practising ‘My heart will go on’ by Celine Dion.  I asked if I busted out a recorder would he be able to serenade us?  Sadly not, he said. He’d come last in the contest as he was so crap.
His parting words, before he fell over and after he’d kissed my grumpy faced eldest on the cheek were, “Think on!  Celine Dion.  Recorder contest.  That could have been you, but no, because you have a cool mum, you’re here instead. Be thankful”

Indeed kids.  Think on.  If your mother is a good ‘un – let her know you appreciate her.

🙂

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On Sunday, the festival had a new idea. They wanted to do a one minute silence across the site at 12 noon for people to ponder whatever they wanted.  Me and the eldest went to sit by the lake near the sand pit. The two younger ones went off to the Enchanted Woods, while sister etc were in the kids field.  At 12-noon a gong struck by the lake and you could have heard a  glittery sequinned pin drop! There was a small naked unknown child next to me at the time, eating an ice cream.  I put my finger to my lips and he just looked at me for a minute not making a single sound.  When the minute was up, the sounds of The Beatles, ‘All you need is love” rang out across site – and it was glorious. Utterly glorious…and very moving.  I may have had a teeny bit of sand in my eye.

The sun was still beating down and we’d been barefoot most of the weekend during the daytime – only employing the emergency ‘bog flops’ (a pair of Bman’s old flip flops) to wear when using the compost loos.

Sunday night after an amazing closing ceremony, I had a moment of pure joy, atop a podium in the Kamikaze, listening and dancing to Helena Hauff – a German DJ recommended to me by the Bman. The teens were at the Swingamajig listening to Tom of ESC DJ and life was good.  

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rave on mofos

I think this was my favourite Shambala yet.  I was calm throughout. I didn’t stress about seeing or not seeing any acts or joining any activities. I went with the flow and the flow was glittery, shiny, sunny and happy.  I joined in, I saw, I listened, I chilled, I had nana naps at camp (FYI the new blackout tent does not keep cool in the heat) and I survived the night time sleeping alone as my (bigger than me) babies were in a separate tent.


For the first time in 6 years I gained control of a hortisculpture pod and it was worth the wait.  I’ve already told my Pops he needs to get some of these over his pond at The Moss.

The younger teens even had a paddle to ease their trotters from the heat. They lost a hat but a kind man fished it out with a stick.

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As we sheltered from the sun in the shade of the Helter Skelter, Jade and I started giving the kids foot rides, which turned into seeing if we could still do it to each other like when we were kids.  When I finally finished laughing and got up off the grass to look around, I realised we appeared to have started a revolution. Well, not quite a revolution, but something… and it too was glorious.

.

 

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And just like that, all this was now a week ago… and I’ll have to wait another year.  I’m trying to keep the feeling alive by only drinking out of my reusable Shambala cup and not flushing the toilet or wearing shoes, but it’s not the same.

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Be more Shambala all year round people.  Keep Britain tidy. Don’t be a cunt. Eat less meat.  Show some sparkle. Be nice to one another.  Spend time with your family and don’t be afraid to be a bit silly…

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Shambala summed up in one photo I think

…and FFS pack up your tent and take it home you lazy dirty bastards. Love really is all you need (& maybe an education, some food and heating), but remember that not every police van you see is a Rave Unit and you can’t draw in chalk all the parked cars you see.

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So Shambala and Out for 2019.  Bring on the 20th anniversary for 2020 when hopefully Bman can finally join us (and please bring back the proper Lost Picture Show, it wasn’t the same this year).

Xx

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Thank you for being a friend

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Spent a pleasant weekend down south last weekend, visiting old school friends. Not as many as I would have hoped to meet, but the ones I did see made up for the lack of enthusiasm from the rest.

Balls to them.

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We caught up on who works where and with who. How our kids are. Where we’ve all been on holiday etc. We discussed Star Wars and crammed as much ‘plego’ as we could into a tub in Wilkinsons, using a plant pot to keep the lid in place.  There was loose threat of giving me a makeover as I scoured the shops for a hoodie (because I don’t have enough already).  I kyboshed that idea, fearing some kind of Pretty Woman/Sweetest Thing Movie Montage Scenario.  We had a decent dinner and had accidental espresso martinis and all got home in one piece, without hangovers the next day.

Bonus.

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Tomorrow is GCSE results day.  Eldest offspring is quietly optimistic. I am sure she will do fine, probably better than fine.  Certainly better than me and Bman did at that age.  She is going into school first thing to collect them and then meeting us at the train station, for tomorrow is also Shambala day.  4 days of what could go either way for me.  Could be a glitter laden cider fest of joy and dancing. Or… feeling morose and pondering the meaning of it all from within my sleeping bag, whilst muttering “Man I hate camping”.

I’ll let you know… Xx

 

2018 and out…

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Time for the annual round-up of the year in news stories, pictorial, musical, and meme-based form.

Clearly, the news story of the year (well the past two years TBH) is bloody Brexit. Well, fuck all that. Nobody knows what’s going to happen there and after this long, I’m not sure anybody cares anymore. Yet still, people are trying to get into this country in inflatable dinghies.  Why? I’m not entirely sure…

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Jack remind me again why we’re heading to Britain 

 

Meanwhile, for those of us convincing ourselves that we’re going on a health kick in the new year (yawn), let this lady be our inspiration… World’s strongest Vajayjay 

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Forgotten your bag for life at Lidl – no problem with the vag for life

World’s Strongest Vagina – and if that’s not a pitch for TV show for Channel 5 then I don’t know what is!  Women from around the world compete to lift and throw various items with their undersmiles.  If we’re not all lifting, nay, opening, jars of Marmite and cans of beans  with our twats by this time next year then I feel we haven’t put enough effort into it.  My aim is to lift, open and spread the Marmite onto my toasted soldiers and dip those bad boys into my boiled egg!  Pulling trucks with it. The lot!  Go big or go home y’all! 

(hands up who is clenching and unclenching right this moment – yeah you are, don’t deny it).

😀

 

Highlights of the year for me was probably seeing Die Antwoord at Boomtown Fair.  Right up there in my top lifetime moments. Enter the Ninja

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We’re gonna have a nice time kids

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I may have had some tequila at this stage

 

Shambala was, as ever, a brilliant 4 days too.  That time I jumped into a cloth vagina onto a pile of strangers shouting “Wassup Cunts!” Am already looking forward to next years Adventures in Utopia and I apologize in advance to my Childerbeast for being an ’embarrassing mum’ (but TBH I often relish it, just to annoy you).

😀

 

 

 

 

 

 

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never too old for a bit of roller disco with sis and the kids

 

Early in the year, I started a second job, teaching swimming. Then in July, I left my job of ten years to do it for my actual job and as my own business! No danger of becoming a millionaire anytime soon. I’m happy if I make enough to pay my bills with a bit left over each month if I’m honest.  Mentally though, much happier and a lot less grouchy, even if I am constantly damp and stinking of chlorine.

 

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This is me now

 

What will 2019 bring?

Who knows.


Got some gigs to go to. Visits booked with old mates. Hopefully, there’ll be more ghost investigations to do.  Family holiday booked for summer. It’s Rho’s GCSE year! My baby bird is so grown up. I’ve got that prom dress to ‘Molly Ringwald’ to the max so she can actually wear it in June!

Resolutions? Nah, balls to that. Am going to try and be a bit healthier, not as a New Year resolution but as basic common sense really.

Be nice, be kind, laugh more, sprinkle some fun into peoples lives; have a ‘pile on’ with sibs and friends; reconnect with people in real life instead of just ‘liking’ their posts on ArseBook.  Be silly, do something you’ve not done in ages or never done before (but not kiddie fiddling, robbing grannies or kicking dogs or anything).  Get a tattoo, learn to swim (I can help you with that), take up a hobby, wrestle in glitter, talk to a homeless person, quit your crappy job and get a new one.

😀

Choose Life people!

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This applies to a few – which makes me one lucky lady

 

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Duuuuuuuuuude! Pile onnnnnnnnnnnnn!

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Standard

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Hey Lamo, you know I mean you here right?

 

Utopian Shambalanegins 2017

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After a year off, it was time to venture back into the glittery bosom of Shambala Festival last week.  This time my sister and her family were coming along for the ride.

Sequinned clothing      CHECK
Novelty onesies             CHECK
Mary Berry masks         CHECK
Hipflask of tequila        CHECK
Further booze                 CHECK
Glitter & facepaints       CHECK

It’s difficult to put into words an accurate review of the festival. Partly because I am still struggling to form coherent thought processes to be honest.  I could write as much as this on all the things we didn’t get to do. (Sunday supplement cock drawing club etc)

😀

I may have to just resort to pictorial evidence.  

Fortunately there are no photos of me topless with my norks covered in glitter and sequins – essentially because that didn’t happen.  I left that up to the girls 20 years younger than me with a perkier pair.  If I had dared to bare though, I’m pretty sure I would’ve looked like this:-

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(in my own head)

 

My brother-in-law embraced the cross dressing element with a rainbow pride style tutu and still felt underdressed.  

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Shiny family goals 

 

Despite the raging midday heat, together we nailed the Run DMC Vs Shambala flashmob dance-off.  My sister abandoned us half-way through due to thinking she might pee herself with laughter (because it’s like that, and that’s the way it is!)  Not sure what the neicelings made of their daddy and Aunty Tit jumping about and falling on the floor with a bunch of strangers in a field.

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 sinking hopeful feeling we may end up in next year’s programme or 2017 highlights reel


My childerbeast are now of an age where I didn’t have to be in bed by midnight. In fact some of the acts they wanted to see weren’t even playing til the wee small hours. I was having to drink coffees in the early evening to keep my head in the game.  

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How did my girls get so big?

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We may have had a couple of ciders at this stage

At one point they even went to bed at 11pm for a disco snooze and asked me to wake them up at 12:45am to go see another act!  I daren’t go to bed myself or I’d have slept through til morning, so I was forced to go out to the secret House Party venue behind the woods in order to stay awake.  (The sacrifices a mother must make for her offspring eh?)  To be fair, I did feel slightly too old to be in there.  If I’d been wearing a pork pie hat and smoking a cigar it would’ve looked like that scene in ‘Uncle Buck’ when he goes to find his niece at a party.  

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Hey, I’m Buck Melanoma & I’m old enough to be your grandparent

 

The sun raged on over all four days and I commended my optimism at packing sun lotion.  I only hope that some of the bare breasted ladies had the foresight to lotion-up before they glittered up their disco tits, otherwise they’ll be needing some aloe vera right now!

Quality moments were me having a conversation in the woods with Lemka from Taxi about how my Disney ears worked.  Staring at the Avatar fibre optic tree in a pair of lovespecs (freaky).  My eldest almost losing her phone down a composting toilet and having to rake around underneath the toilet block with a camping chair as a hook to fish it out while a crowd watched on!
Also, my youngest niece having her first go on the “Big Eel” and loving it.

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The final night closing ceremony firework display was outstanding. Snaps to the lady spinning about in a flaming hoop whilst dangling from a crane.

The venues were, as ever, on top form. The Kamikaze tent was banging after dark, as was the Garden o’ Feeden & the Botanical Disco.  The Police Rave Unit never failed to entertain.  My childerbeast said they’d love to join them in their mobile quest to bring rave to the masses. Big up the P.R.U.  

Although boo to there being no rollerdisco on Sunday! What’s up with that Shambala?Didn’t get chance with all the other stuff to see and do to get our wheelz on this year! #gutted

😦

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I fucking love these guys – I wonder if they do school visits?

 

The Roots Yard was a great place to both chill and skank at the same time. I particularly enjoyed watching a watergun fight between a child and a grown man whilst several people sprang from their seats to throw themselves infront of the water spray to protect their pals who were skinning-up in the noon-day sun.

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feeling irie

The Enchanted Wood opened on Friday and was, as per, a sight to behold on a night time.  Amazing light installations, trees that sang when you hugged them, ‘bemusical chairs’ and a very popular Lady Garden area with cuntish cushions to envelop and comfort those who just wanted to chill.

Favourite phrases of the long weekend are;  “Feeling irie”  “Feeling un-irie”, “Utah get me two”, “Is it too early for a gin?”, “Pie o Clock” and “the best of times”.

New phrases coined, after needing a post pie blowout nap, include; “having a mid life pie-sis”, “needing a pie-down”, having a pie-ty” and “no dumpling ever made is worth queuing up that long”.

After the festival, I saw this on Twitter, and it perfectly describes how I felt on Sunday after having a vegetarian breakfast bap and a wild mushroom and asparagus pie with mash, peas and gravy all within the space of an hour!

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Pieminister rules! 

 

 

We still love the Anna Mae’s mac ‘n cheese of course,  but this year we discovered Club Mexicana’s jackfruit burritos, as big as sleeping bags.  Also Pieminister (who it is with great joy I have discovered have a restaurant in Leeds), Goldenballs risotto balls and dragon punch cocktails in the Roots Yard.  Yet amazingly I still managed to come home with money in my wallet!

It wasn’t all about food and drink though. Inbetween stuffing our faces and getting a bit pissed, we managed to see some bands.  Beatbox Collective – amazing again! (“it’s just his VOICE duuuude!) Some electro swing for my girls; The Beat for some Ska.  Stereo MC’s for some old skool classics – ‘On 33’, ‘Elevate your Mind’, ‘Lost in Music’ , ‘Connected’ etc.  Then perfect for a blazing hot Sunday afternoon we had Benjamin Zephaniah & the Revolutionary Minds.  All were fabulous.  I sang along. I danced, danced some more, went for a wee and did some more dancing.

The fancy dress theme was a fairly all-encompassing ‘Cloud Cuckoo Land’ and the Shambalans embraced it full-on.  I tried to take pictures of the parade, whilst also being in the parade, so I apologise for the wonky shonkyness. I was also having a bit of trouble (Betty) seeing through just one eyehole of my Mary Berry mask.  Yes, that’s Mary Berry – not Margaret Thatcher as I overheard one woman telling her children.
The idea had been that we go as Mary Berrycorns, in unicorn onesies and masks.  The unrelenting heat changed our plans and we ditched the onesies, which had taken up so much room in our bags and cost me in the region of £60 for 3 of the fuckers!  My sister and Bro-in-law didn’t even get to join in, as their littlies had a bit of meltdown at this stage and had to go back to the tent for a nap.  So our troop of Bezza’s was reduced from 5 to 3 and very quickly to 2 when my youngest decided to de-Bez after barely 5 minutes.

 

 

Was bloody brilliant to be there with slightly older childerbeast and my sister and her family.  The weather gods were beaming at us throughout. It was glittery, super polite; kind, friendly, totally vegetarian (sorry carnivores) and we did not want to leave and cannot wait to return. (I only ask that more of you shiny happy glittery people use the waste bins provided and not just abandon your empty cans on the ground).

Shambalans, you did yourselves proud and I am now seriously considering proposing a Glittery Tit day at school. Fuck Comic Relief or Children in Need! They’re old hat man.  We can do it to raise money for a worthy cause – namely my ticket for next year’s festival. And if I don’t at least make a cameo in the official 2017 video then I need to up my game in 2018.

Shambala and out…

Ciao Ciao Mo Fos.

Xx


Link to official pics here.  Can’t see us but it’s making me want to go back. 

http://photos.shambalafestival.org/2017/gallery/

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.

Deershed. Job well done.

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So it’s that time of the year when me and the childerbeast pack up life’s essentials (fairy lights, bunting, ponchos) and head off to live in a field for a few days.

This year, for the first time, my young niecelings joined us for our first time at Deershed Festival near Topcliffe in North Yorks.

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We’ve not been to this one before, but,  conscious that the younglings have never camped before, were attracted to the claim that it is one of the best family friendly festivals around.

It did not disappoint in this regard.

Me and my two travelled there by train and were at Thirsk station by 1030.  I regretted not booking a taxi in advance when the man who answered the number I had in my phone asked, “is it for today?” and then scoffed incredulously at me when I answered in the affirmative. Another family were also heading to the site and between us we found another number.  We were told “We’ve got nothing but I tell you what.  I’ll shout around the town and send anyone up to get you who has a car.

Brilliant.  Thirsk.  Bright lights, big city!

15 quid lighter we were dropped off 7 miles down some country lanes (which my dad – an ex native – had suggested we walk down with all our gear!)  We arrived just in time to meet my sister, bro-in-law and my niecelings in the car park.

We had a hassle-free site entry, found a decent camping spot and began to set up our living spaces.  My sister (god love her) furnished us with the ultimate essential of tent erection tools… party hats.

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Party on dudes!

 The grated cheese had been left behind in the fridge.  We didn’t have enough forks for us all to eat at the same time but at least we had novelty hats on.

😀

It was a great little festy for young families.  So much to do that we didn’t get anywhere near being able to do it all.  I tried two days running to get into the Head in the Clouds tent but failed due to not being able to be arsed to wait in the line.  Had I been arsed, I would have stripped off my shoes, donned a CSI style forensic white suit and spent 15 minutes trying to find my way out of a marquee filled from floor to canopy with pure white balloons!

And why not? 

I might get on ebay and buy a job lot so I can recreate it in my own home.

🙂

I love all that weird festival shit.  The live music for me is an aside to be honest.  That said, I enjoyed Villagers, The Pictish Trail, Hinds, Ibibio Sound Machine, The Felice Brothers and John Grant. 

We also introduced the younglings to Shlomo for some beatbox and garage vibes.  The youngest was totally getting her rave on and refused to wear her ear-defenders – fist pumping the air when the bass dropped.  Love it!

Hands in the air!

Hands in the air!

Bubbles were essentially the theme of the weekend.  Big old bubbles that drove the younglings nuts.  Big old overpriced bubble wands so we could try and recreate Sam Sam the Bubble Man’s bubbleologist show.

Also fab to see some familiar faces from festivals past.  Yoga lady and the lovely Pirates (who don’t do anything).

😀

Bubblicious

Bubblicious

Other than a suspected elbow fracture when my bro-in-law tried to Ollie an old oil drum and failed! I think the only casualty was my eldest niece’s strawberry ice cream, which went for a burton within seconds of purchase.  Despite applying the 5 second rule and removing the larger pieces of grass, she was distraught.  Aunty Tit employed a bit of subterfuge by telling her I’d go and get her another one whilst actually just hiding behind the ice-cream van and licking the ice cream into a new shape, then emerging triumphant with the ‘new’ ice cream.

I was the best Aunt ever. (if only for a few minutes).

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Not enough gin in my plum & gin sorbet but at least I didn’t drop it.

If only I had a tent that had insulated walls. It was bloomin freezing on the second night.  (Have invested in some thermals for the childerbeast for our next festival foray to Shambala at the end of August).

It takes a couple of nights camping in inclement weather to make you appreciate the small pleasures.  Simple joys like not having to put your shoes on to run across the grass to the loo in the dark.  Not having to cocoon yourself into your sleeping bag with just the tip of your nose poking out.  Hot running water.  Being able to take a shit without being conscious of a waiting queue outside. Bed.  My lovely, cosy, comfy, bed.

Family fun times in fields are awesome but getting home is blissful.

Still going to do it all again soon though.

Accio broom!

Accio broom!

Up up & away

Up up & away

Roar!

Roar!

Science

Science

Group hug

Group hug

Giant hula

Giant hula

Well done Deershed for being so super clean. An outstanding array of different food outlets.  (A fish finger sandwich van no less – genius!)  Not having any lairy, laughing gas inhaling acid casualties to alarm the children and for having the happiest, most polite security team ever.

We will be back next year.

😀

Festivals are a bit like Marmite

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I wrote all this out yesterday but them somehow managed to delete it during the editing process.  Laptop operator ineptitude, clearly!

In the words of King George VI;  “Fuck, fuck, bugger, fuckity fuck fuck, shit, bugger and tits!”

I forget what the post was about to be honest.  I’ve had a sleep since then.  Basically it was about my having watched Glastonbury again this year from the sanctuary of my own bed.  Hot and cold water laid on and lavatory facilities to hand that don’t involve an arduous hike through fields and a guy ropes.
I’ve yet to attend Glastonbury and every year I say I will go –  but then can’t be arsed. 

Oh my Christ! Feck that!

Oh my Christ! Feck that!

No stranger to the hygiene-impaired portaloo, I’ve attended a few festies in my time.  Indeed the childerbeast have pretty much been to at least one a summer, either as crew or punters for the past 6 years, as my regular readers will know.  We missed out last year but our ‘living space’ will be out in force this summer.  Fairy-light bedecked and camping stove fired up to turbo.  I will do my usual and hate it the first night and swear I will never attend one again.  Then I will quickly turn feral and start free-dancing in a yurt with a yoga guru called Tabby or Tristan.  The childerbeast will beg to go to bed and I will berate them for being dull and make them skank in the reggae tent in their pyjamas till the wee small hours or watch inappropriate films, accompanied by weird men playing tunes on old bicycle parts.  I shall openly discuss buying a camper van and retiring from the world to travel the countryside, home-schooling my children.   This idea will last approximately 48 hours and then I will recover my sleep patterns and have detoxed and normal stagnant reality will resume anew and I will pack away my poncho and hat for another year.

My girls have seen some sights bless them (and I don’t just mean their mother dressed as a witch, still mashed up on tequila, laid prone in the tent doorway.)  I think taking them to music festivals (and yes I do screen them from the unnecessary sights) will make them more tolerant and well-rounded individuals as they grow up.  Either that, or they’ll end up as nutty as their mother – it could go either way…

Before long they too will be going to these things on their own and falling asleep in an empty marquee then waking up in the full throes of someone’s set, surrounded by people dancing around them.*

I think the festival appeals to my eclectic taste in fashion.  If I could get away with the short shorts, wellies and poncho combo every day at work, I probably would.  Generally, Management & the Inspectors take a dim view of that kind of thing though, so I try to make an effort.  Went in my slackydaks today as I was out on a sports thing.  It’s been a while – I felt a bit like I was at work in my pyjamas to be honest.  I may not have gone into work wearing them had I known we weren’t setting off until 11:30 and the school inspector was in!  She didn’t see me so it was okay!

Meanwhile, do enjoy some snaps of festivals past…

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Capacity crowd at 0900hrs

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charging up my phone via pedal power

 

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Waiting for DJ Yoda

  

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Don’t ask….

 

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Mini Crew Members

Mini Crew Members

 

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* It was 1996, before I had children, s0 no need to call Childline!