That’s so hot right now

So I went to the (not so) Secret Garden Party last weekend. I’ve never been before so had no idea what to expect.

I didn’t have particularly high hopes for the music in all honesty. If I were to be generous, I would say that the line up was passable. If I weren’t, I would say it was a big pile of wank. But we were going mainly for the atmosphere (which I repeatedly told everyone to excuse the shitty music – maybe I said it too much…) And in all fairness the atmosphere was very pleasant. It was far more serene than some of the festivals I’ve been to before. I didn’t at any stage feel that it was becoming a soul-zapping endurance that I simply had to get through – unlike EXIT for instance. But unfortunately, serene tends to come hand-in-hand with a less enjoyable bedfellow. Dickheads.

Now you know me, I’m never one to make rash judgements but there are a lot of arseholes at festivals. I appreciate that this isn’t a ground-breaking observation but as much as I anticipate it, I still find it annoying.  I struggle to embrace the spirit of the festival as a concept. And as a result, find a lot of the aspects of them simply cringe-worthy. I’ll look at people in their 'fancy dress’ and think;

‘Why is that guy dressed like that? Does he seriously think that looks cool? He must be a massive prick. Why does he have friends? I bet he’s unemployed.’

And so on and so on.

When I should be thinking;

‘Lalalalalalala festivals are cool. Lalalalalala acid is great. Wooooo.’

Or some other hippie crap.

But, despite this view I did have a very brief epiphany over the course of the 3 days. It was Saturday afternoon and the fancy dress was in full swing (obviously not mine because I hate fancy dress). Then suddenly I realised that by not embracing a costume – when everyone else had – I looked extremely boring. I could tut and grumble as much as I wanted about how much of a knob everyone looked but they didn’t even know, let alone care.

So I made a bold move.

Over the last couple of evenings I had accrued a selection of bits of other peoples costumes. There was absolutely nothing cohesive about them but I thought that if I wear everything, I’ll look like a dickhead – and therefore fit in. But it wasn’t enough. My friend suggested (as a joke) that I have ‘CUNT’ written across my forehead in eyeliner. I thought it was genius and promptly got her to do it!

I became an instant celebrity.

Revellers who had spent days making their costumes got less attention than I did. I must have had my photo taken with about 20 different people over the course of the evening. I was a legend.

So since then, I have come to conclude that in order to truly enjoy a festival, you don’t have to wear a silly costume and prance around like a moron.

You just need to be a massive cunt.