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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)

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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/

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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 Рan ex native Рhad 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.

birthday party hats

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.

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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.

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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 Рfist 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).

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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 Рgenius!)  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.

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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!

 

 

 

2012. A mostly pictorial review of when the World didn’t end

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For my DHW retrospective of 2012 I shall attempt to not use any profanity.

 

2012 may well have stood out¬†as the year of sporting prowess¬†and nationalistic fervour, overuse of the words ‘Olympic’ and ‘Jubilee’ and the playing of the theme tune to ‘Chariots of Fire’ and of Bruce Forsyth not dying, but I will remember it for other reasons:-

I survived another Y6 residential; taught another successful end of year dance number; met up with old friends long missed; danced to Inner City, ‘Pennies from Heaven’¬†in my wellies; cycled my mobile back to life; finally saw DJ Yoda; visited a nudist spa (it wasn’t for me…) and despite feeling thoroughly¬†& inexplicably miserable a lot of the time, I have also laughed so hard I almost peed –¬†and I have my friends to thank for that because again, inexplicably… I do have some.¬† Bless them & love them every one of them! Xx

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 My favourite phrase of 2012 came at the end of the year from my eldest..

“I’m not beefing Mum.¬† I’m whining!”

Brilliant!

 

However for me, without question, the highlight of 2012 was the (eventual) safe arrival of my first niece in April…

Becoming an Aunt

Becoming an Aunt = awesome!

All the joy of being a part of a new life, with a slightly lower chance of screwing this one up because she doesn’t live with me 24/7.

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The force is strong with this one…

Maybe in 2012 I can introduce her to nights¬†under canvas, waterproof trou¬†and eating lukewarm noodles from a mess tin on one of my; “When can we go on a proper holiday mum?”¬† festival gigs.

Last year I managed to get to  3:-

Lounging - magic!

Lounging at Magic

An arresting sight

An arresting sight

Mum's brought us to live in another bloody field!

We’re living¬†in yet another bloody field!

Assume the cooking position

Assume the cooking position

One of them, even childerbeast-free!

Look at me. High up & child free!

Look at me. High up & child free!

Unlikely to manage more than one this year as I can only afford one, so will have to choose wisely (having blown my chances of crewing again for the Angel Gardens by being a massive dingus!) 

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Non-festival related nights out in 2012 were very¬†few and far between:-¬† Miss Sunshine’s birthday in January, Bman’s birthday in February, an 80’s themed leaving bash¬†and the odd village pub visit in Chester – making drunken accusations against TV personalities (several of which have turned out to be¬†purportedly ¬†true) and of baffling the Landlord by deliberately requesting drinks from the 1970’s.¬†

#cinzano #dubonet #snowball #maraschinocherry

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To top them all off… Only last week, the piece de resistance of “Not Quite Boxing Day”¬†when I was lured into going out in the Boro to see a ‘Thin Lizzy’ tribute act.

Not a big fan of the old Lynott, I’ll be honest, although I could pick out a couple of their best known songs if pushed.¬† I do know though that this is nothing remotely like a Thin Lizzy tribute act:-¬†

... the hell?

… the hell?

www.slydealive.com

Unless Phil Lynot has gone all “Bay City Roller” that, my friend, smacks of the old Noddy & Dave to me.¬†¬† Cup a soup anyone?

(Still, it gave me a chance to show off my new faux fur giraffe print jacket).

Mekon, her mum & I, clearly being the only element of glamour in the place, but not enough for any of the leering auld coots hunched around their pale ales to actually get up off their freshly ironed cords and offer to buy us a drink.  Shame on you, aging rockers of Scarborough.

To get to this pinnacle of festive entertainment, which had cost us ¬£4 a piece to get in, ¬†we had to sit through the bar owner’s brother’s band –¬† The Warriors (who incidentally bore no resemblance in any way to the movie of the same name).

They WISHED they looked like this

They WISHED they looked like this

…and only.¬† Only. In the Boro, could this song, be requested from the DJ and it immediately fill a previously empty dance floor:-

Keep smiling.. at least we're out-out!

Keep smiling.. at least we’re out-out!

I hold higher hopes for better things this year because in all honesty, 2012 was pretty much a wash-out in more ways than one. 

 

We’ve already booked for the Harry Potter Studio Tour in February, where I have every intention of embarrassing¬†the childerbeast by having my picture taken in full Quidditch garb, astride a Nimbus 2000 grinning like a loon.¬†

We have a holiday to France booked for July with the Anson Fam. I have tickets for ‘Cats’¬†and ‘The Woman in Black’¬†and I have every intention of dragging my sorry ass down to Northants to make DTR wish he’d never invited us down… be prepared¬†my old friend… be prepared!

I see from Slydealive’s¬†website¬†that they are booked twice to play in Chester this year.¬† I can see at least one other night out brewing…

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I leave you with some of my favourite snapshots from the year, which I shall leave uncaptioned for added randomness.

2012-12-27 22.01.44

 

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¬†¬†¬† And don’t forget… there are always pies….

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Ciao for now everybody peeps.¬† Thanks for sticking with me…¬† XXx

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I fucked up (again) so I’m sorry!

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Someone once nicknamed me Kit the Catalyst and this is one of the reasons why:-

Sometimes, in my fervour for freedom of speech I forget that my gob (AKA typing fingers), can cause harm, as well as make people laugh.¬†¬† Today I also tried to use a can opener on my Dirty Dancing mug instead of a can of beans with little sausages…

This proves that a) Despite being 40 years old I still need to put my brain in gear before I open my mouth and b) I am a doylem. 

Both of these unfortunate traits have got me in bother in the past and show no signs of abating with age and supposed wisdom.

What I am trying to say in my usual round the houses rambling way, is that I recently made mention of aiding and abetting (albeit in a small way, cos they were going to do it anyway)  some pals getting into Shambala over the fence.

This has brought shame and retribution onto¬†my employers¬†at the time – Angel Gardens, who have got¬†into trouble because of me with the Shambala people.¬† For this I am deeply apologetic and have no excuses.¬† I have done what damage limitation I can, but just want to to put it out there that in no way did Angel Gardens, Sam O’ Brien or Keith O’ Brien have any knowledge of this or condone such deception.

My Crew T-shirt is folded¬†away in a drawer as a reminder of what¬†a great summer these people helped me to have¬†by allowing me to work for them, ¬†and how I fucked that up by dragging their good name through the mud by association with¬†mine, and for that I am deeply sorry ūüė¶

 

Spotlight on Beacons

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Aerial shot of Beacons (obv. not taken by me)

Back from  Beacons Festival 2012 with the Crap Posse and about to head off on Thursday to Shambala! (Which Bman insists on calling Shangalang and asking if I am going dressed as Woody from the Bay City Rollers)

OH! NO! I’m not.

I seem to be spending swathes of my summer¬†holidays frequenting portaloos. ¬† Magic Loungeabout’s¬†were not bad but Beacons were shocking and far too few!¬†¬†‘Brimmage’ ¬†& ‘Overflow’ were the words of the weekend! You know they’re bad¬† when you catch the toilet emptying man (who must surely be used to that line of work) dry-wretching¬†after he’d opened the door to one particular loo!¬† Complaints were made¬†and feedback left on the website. I’ll let you know about Shambala shambaloos,¬†but I have high hopes for the self-composting long-drops!

It wasn’t¬†all piss up to the rim of the bowl & empty loo roll though (yuk!), I actually saw a band I wanted to watch without the children and¬†it was after 10:30pm!¬† To be fair, I didn’t drink as much as I’d have liked to on this rare night out as I had the fear of needing a wee every 15 minutes!

Toots and the Maytals @ The Stool Pigeon Stage – Sunday night.

We have the bunting, as proof that we were there!

Thanks to The Crinski I also discovered Maya Jane Coles (Cheers Crin!)

I was asked to leave the dance floor at the Ladybird Project Dance-Off.  My moves were not good enough.  My littlest was good enough though and won a First Prize rosette for the duet section.  She gets her moves from her Dad!

We also discovered a Flagarinth & a wall of mirrors – how much fun can you have in the rain, bobbing up and down laughing at yourself?

Flagarinth

I think I’d make a fab dwarf!

We juggled; we danced; we ate ice-cream late at night.¬† The childerbeast played clown cricket with water balloons and were taught¬†how to ‘chase the dragon’ (but not in a Zammo¬†way) – it was a just a game with a poor choice of name!¬† Much laughter was had round the camping stove with the¬† Aconley-Ferdinandos¬†and their losing¬†things that they had all the time and drunken lectures on coats and ties!¬† We pondered and mourned the death of Bruce Forsyth, which turned out to be a festival rumour, begun at the Impossible Lecture tent, presumably, to spark discussion on who would now take over on ‘Strictly’ (and a spate of festival goers in Brucie¬†masks the following day).¬† We sat on sofas & watched a ‘Pendurance¬†Test’, where grown¬†men and women competed to see¬†who could be first to get a biro¬†to run out by scribbling¬†on pieces of paper.¬† I didn’t get to see who won or what the prize was (a new pen?), because we were ejected¬†from the marquee when 2 of our company lit up cigs!

Alive Alive OH!

It rained.¬† It was sunny.¬† The mist rolled down from the hills and made the site look eerie.¬†¬† There weren’t enough lights in the camping area, making the spider-web of tent ropes a mission near impossible to negotiate after dark (& a few wines).¬† However there was a bouncy castle Koppaberg disco!¬† What more could you ask for?¬† (Oh yeah – more toilets and some better lighting, and a larger Family Area not right next to the drunken piss-up, foul language¬†¬†brigade).

There was the usual festy¬†oddities aplenty in the form of random gifts of spring onions; wandering theatrical types; amusing tent decoration; drinking casualties and the seemingly constant hissing sound of people with more money than sense¬†trying to get high with the aid of nitrous oxide & balloons!¬† WTF?¬† Head between the knees for a few seconds, then stand up as fast as you can and surely the same loss of brain cells could be achieved?¬† Difficult to explain to the childerbeast who kept finding the spent silver capsules on the ground.¬† “What are they mummy?”¬† Erm, I don’t know love”¬†¬†(I genuinely didn’t, until I asked someone else!)¬†

Maybe I’m just too old for this.¬† The average age of the punter at Beacons did seem to be mid-20’s.¬† Perhaps I should just start going to folk festivals full of beardies and Real Ale drinkers.

¬†Highlights for me were the childerbeast in the line to refill the water carrier, saying:- ¬†“Mum I don’t think the tap is working.¬† That man is just standing there staring at the tap,¬†it must be broken.” Cue 20-something,¬†¬†acid casualty seemingly thoroughly bemused by the simple operation of turning on a tap, with 3 other apparently¬†witless punters patiently waiting in line behind him.¬†¬†¬† “Kids, step away slowly and let’s leave them to it & find another tap”.¬†

Gav & Stace moment while Olympic-standard loafing in the giant deck chairs at the Ladybird Tent on sunny Saturday, Gill shouting to her son “OH!¬† JOE!” and a trio of young lads at the other end of the field yelling back “ALRIGHT NESS, YOU ALRIGHT?”

This tent amused me every day when we walked past it to get into the main arena:-

I dread to think what his eHarmony profile says!

In the style of the man at the water tap, I stared at this sign for far too long in the ‘Herd of Cats’ healing area, thinking,¬†“What are The Rapies?”

 

or… there are pies…

Doh!  Dumb blonde spacker moment.

Who’s that over there?

OH! It’s me – what a dumbass!

Sunday night was entertaining, when the main arena shut at midnight so 3,000 campers had to find something to do until the wee small hours rather than¬†dance the night away in a marquee!¬† At one point I saw a large 6-8 person dome tent being carried aloft by several persons down the hillside, spookily¬†silhouetted¬†¬†by the floodlights near the toilet block.¬† It had the look of a giant multipedal¬†beetle.¬† (Is multipedal¬†a word? If not, it should be).¬† People were cheering as it made its way to the foot of the hill.¬† We nicknamed it Bruce Forsyth’s funeral pyre.¬†(At this point we were still unsure whether he was actually dead or not)

Such drunken high jinx continued for a couple of hours and then it went suddenly quiet, like all the Strongbow had run out and the nitrous oxide had worn off and everyone crashed unconscious after 3 nights of solid partying.

Have to say, fun times aside, that a low point was the horrendous mess that the majority of the punters left behind, even though they were provided with binliners for their rubbish.  Despite the Programme specifically requesting that the site be left as they found it and nobody leave tents and stuff behind.  This is what the area looked like near us.  Suffice to say the Family Camping zone (all 20m square of it!) was left pristine without so much as a dog-end or a bottle top left behind. We made sure of it!

FYI – we witnessed¬†the yellow tent in this picture being used as a toilet by at least one girl, who had a shit in it at 11am Monday morning as we were packing up!¬† Skanky¬†dirty minging young ‘uns!

Shitter’s full honey!

 

 

 

 

 

That tent looked brand new when those kids put it up!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

WTF ?

I wasn’t looking forward to de-camping and heading home by train, but then the Bman rode in to the rescue on his shining steed (AKA bog-green Skoda) with an unscheduled day off and drove to Skipton to collect us.¬† Happy happy joy joy!¬† Stuffed the soggy, muddy tent in a bin liner and threw it in the boot, ready to dry off on the line back home.¬† Genuine!

Clothing all washed, dried and ironed and some of¬†it repacked ready to hit the road again on Thursday to Northamptonshire.¬† Rumours abound that a certain Mr DTR might be joining the shangri-la of Shambala.¬† I’ve warned him that if he wants to meet me at Ladies Night on Friday he will have to drag-up!¬† He says he’s all over it!¬† (I dread to think – I’ve seen some of his FB pictures, and they were just him in his back garden!)¬† ūüôā

Will only have a day back at the ranch after this gig before I head to Chester Y Fronts to collect the childerbeast who will be spending the next 9 days at the Moss with my folks.¬† Suspect M&D may well tire of grandparently duties after much less time than that!¬† Will have couple of¬†days there then back here for the last weekend before the September term starts!¬† October half term I think I will mostly spend doing not a lot at all¬†after this rampacked 5¬Ĺ weeks!

 

In other news, I am getting a new phone delivered tomorrow.¬† I am entering into the arena of the 21st century and getting an ‘android’ phone.¬† I don’t know what that means, but I am hopeful it will be able to do that knife between your fingers trick like Bishop on ‘Aliens’ and also bring me meals and cups of tea.¬† So apologies if over the next few days I either ignore your texts, ring you by accident during the night or don’t know who you are when you call.¬† I’ll be busy trying to work out how to use the fucker!

So call me baby, here’s my number!