“I’ve got a bad feeling about this…”
It starts like always: Pack. Idiot check. Shit. Tea. Wait. Retardis (our van) trouble. Wait. Half a cup of tea. Get in the van etc…nothing unusual, so I’ll skip to the ‘interesting’ parts.
Arriving at the port only to find that according to the ferry company our tickets have been used and we (apparently) departed hours ago, is always a great start to the day, let alone a festival you are supposed to be playing in a few hours.
BFL: 0 – IOWF: 1
After missing our ferry and scaring a few families heading in our direction, the port crew were Griff-napped to the max and gave us another ticket just to us get out of their hair, and onto a boat full of OAP’s, which we boarded with delight.
After getting hit in the head by and old woman quite intentionally, we dragged Rich to another part of the boat for some official contract signing business then onto the sun deck to get battered by wind strong enough to sit down/lean into/lose sunglasses…or in the case of the poor woman who tried to open the door, get thrown half way across a boat whilst losing all of your cans of Fosters to the deep blue sea. I think the picture says it all.
Ross, Lime, Richie, Griff (parting the seas), Rich & Dom squeezing in a quick pre-gig blow-dry.
Lime made friends with some Americans who hadn’t been sent their ticket. The most logical thing to do is smuggle them into the festival wrapped in sleeping bags and blankets, right? We powered across the tiny island, only for the clutch cable to snap two miles from the festival gates. The Gods of Valhalla shined down upon us: we broke down outside the only pub for miles.
BFL: 1 – IOWF: 2
Pint. Tree climbing race. Burnt out clutch cable. It was already a tedious day, and arriving to see a packed out tent for an Oasis covers band did wonders for our already sodden spirits, but we’ve played worse and come out on top, so we didn’t really think much of it. Lovely stage, a fairly drunk festival crowd, what could go wrong? Nothing on our end, if anything it was one of our tighter gigs…but I now feel confident enough to write a manual on how to clear a field, appendices and all. I say field, it was a glorified pub garden. They weren’t really ready for five, hairy, flowered, stick insects to waltz onto stage, swagger about like right tarts and play some heavy pop. They were all waiting for The Specials tribute band to go on. Can you guess the vibe yet?
You can’t judge a book by it’s cover, and you can’t judge a festival by the punter…well you can, and we judged hard. Unfortunately it was everything we expected and worse. Luckily for half of us, there was a ferry with three names on it. Myself, Lime and Ross Crick (on gangs) had the pleasure of staying the night and witnessing the full glory of a contemporary commercial festival. We saw the Killers live. Need I say more.
We were walking against a tide of the living dead. Hundreds upon hundreds of people heading towards the main stage, arms out-stretched, gormless faces all singing the words to one of the Killers many, incredible, pop hits. We had a long night ahead of us and had to find fun in whatever form it took.
Necking a hefty gin and tonic and then sprinting as fast as you can into a thousand-plus people going the opposite way is a good start, but can become boring once you near the end of the people-stream. We did what any other self-disrespecting, walking freakshow would do and strolled from one end of the festival to the other (it was in a straight line) trying to find anyone that looked vaguely, dare I say, alternative. Most people seemed more likely to jump you and take your watch than sit down, get mellow, and talk universe – or whatever else you kids do at these events.
We are good boys. That’s why when we fell out the van after [content deleted due to legal reasons] The Killers were all stood next to their behemoth of a tour bus clutching a beer, white knuckled as we rolled around on the floor puking luminous green god knows what and laughing hysterically. The night progressed very much in this sort of vein until the early hours of the morning. Things were ingested. Helter skelters were broken into. Trees were climbed…and subsequently fallen out of…
We soon got told off for keeping Blondie awake. Not too bad for a pikey fun fair disguised as a festival.
The van was broken. You now have to change gears with two hands. Once again, our ferry ticket had mysteriously been used. If anyone sees a bright yellow van named the Retardis MKII driving around with us in it, it is more likely than not our doubles…doing everything we do but a few hours before. Shoot them on sight. Bring us their heads.
Lots of Love, BFL.
BFL: 3-IOWF: 89
Score count lost due to unforeseen idiocy