Reading Festival Update II: The Rest
I've been extraordinarily lax in updating my journal this week, especially seeing as there's so much I want to record. I've already covered the bands I saw, so this entry is about the rest of the weekend.
Firstly I should note that it was the most painless journey down I've ever experience. Bongo and manniqueen_ came over on Wednesday night and had a couple of drinks before turning in relatively early. Despite oversleeping, we managed to set off about 6am, and squeezed into Julie's VW for the long drive down. Now for the first four years of going to the festival, we've endured queues of between 2-6 hours; last year was better as we were in a slow moving queue for about an hour; this year on the other hand, the *entire* queue was TWO cars in front of us when we got to the Railway Bridge.
So we arrived, moseyed over to Yellow 2 (almost opposite where we were last year) to find Holly's brother's friends had saved space for us. These were the same crew we were with last year, and despite being teenagers, were a damn good bunch to spend the weekend with. By 11am we had three tents pitched, a bottle of Jim Beam doing the rounds, a BBQ on the go, and we were sending abusive messages to the people who ended up in Leeds despite swearing blind it was rubbish and they'd never go again :D It's dead good getting there early and watching everyone else set up when you've already got a beer on the go, and nothing to worry about. Got wristbands early as well, it seems Reading has finally switched to the material bands they use in Europe, rather than the nasty plastic jobbies that will come off after a good yank.
Spent the first day wandering, drinking, meeting folk, drinking, lighting a fire, drinking, meeting more people, drinking, eating, drinking, helping Jess set her tent up in the dark (no we will not get a bloody taxi to where you are woman, get to the site earlier!) drinking and drinking. The general atmosphere round the campsite was a lot more laid back and grown up than in previous years. Yeah there were high spirits, but a lot less attitude and a lot less twattishness. There didn't seem to be any tent trampling, stupid fires, or gas bottle explosions (thanks to a well thought out amnesty program I'd imagine). Even the usual cries of 'bollocks' (or the traditional one of 'albatross' in my case and 'cum guzzling sluts' in Bongo's) abated after the first night. This feeling permeated the whole festival, and there was a feeling that Mean Fiddler had finally got it right, from the security (pleasant, helpful), to the toilets (as clean as could be hoped for), to the food (more than just rat burgers), to the showers (warm, clean, no queues). Even the bands were on time!
I think I took better care of myself than I usually do as well. I ate properly (Bongo had £15 worth of BBQ meat from his local butcher), showered, and waited until at least 10am before starting on the whiskey. Speaking of whiskey we made our way through a bottle of Jim, two of Maker's Mark, one of Jack, most of a Laphroaig and most of a Bushmills, which Bongo only bought because it features in a NOFX song. Bushmills was seen as a punishment drink, for when all else was exhausted. I'm not sure single malt whiskey should be aged ten years in charred oak casks and then mixed with Sprite either. All this was interspersed with the Strongbow and various beers had off the teenagers. And speaking of the teenagers, they were damned good company, and I think they were more mature than we were. Highlights were Rod's 'fat sticks', the liberal use of the word 'jism', a drunken Frankie, emosex, thongs, Phil jumping in on Jason and Gemma, then encouraging us all to leap in and start humping whatever you landed on, the return of Ed (the oldest member of the group by far, and the biggest kid), phoning Stephs boss and claiming we'd kidnapped her and no she couldn't go to work the next day, Jo losing his voice ('if you don't want Bushmills, say 'no' in a loud clear voice') and the surreptitious four way I stumbled in on one night.
It will not surprise Reading veterans to learn we invaded Caversham every morning, to laugh at Dr Goth (a dentist), buy booze from Waitrose ('are you 18?' 'no love i'm 23, wait no i'm 24, shit') and consume the now legendary breakfasts put on in the Prince of Wales. We even managed a Sunday lunch in there, and Bongo flirted his way to hot chocolates for us. We came to the conclusion that the shittest job at festival time, apart from having to work in one of the pubs, is to be the poor bastard from Waitrose who stands on the bridge and collects the trolleys from people. Even the weather was good this year. And by 'good' I don't mean 'sunny'. If it's too sunny it gets dusty, and that's never good. It rained enough to keep the dust down, and was sunny enough for me to tan a fair amount. Through cunning use of Bongo's ninja head tube thing I managed to both keep the sun off, and my hair out of the way for the entire festival.
Good bits keep coming back to me, but I've lost most of the cohesion in the above text anyway, so I'll skip to the journey home. Also uneventful, and again with no queues. Dropped Bongo off at his place near Burton and got home early afternoon. Bloody great weekend in all, and unlike the last couple of years, i'm not thinking 'this was my last year'. Here's to the next one.
Now time for me to do some work, I'll clog up your f-list later with the aftermath and the entry for the week gone by later tonight :)
Firstly I should note that it was the most painless journey down I've ever experience. Bongo and manniqueen_ came over on Wednesday night and had a couple of drinks before turning in relatively early. Despite oversleeping, we managed to set off about 6am, and squeezed into Julie's VW for the long drive down. Now for the first four years of going to the festival, we've endured queues of between 2-6 hours; last year was better as we were in a slow moving queue for about an hour; this year on the other hand, the *entire* queue was TWO cars in front of us when we got to the Railway Bridge.
So we arrived, moseyed over to Yellow 2 (almost opposite where we were last year) to find Holly's brother's friends had saved space for us. These were the same crew we were with last year, and despite being teenagers, were a damn good bunch to spend the weekend with. By 11am we had three tents pitched, a bottle of Jim Beam doing the rounds, a BBQ on the go, and we were sending abusive messages to the people who ended up in Leeds despite swearing blind it was rubbish and they'd never go again :D It's dead good getting there early and watching everyone else set up when you've already got a beer on the go, and nothing to worry about. Got wristbands early as well, it seems Reading has finally switched to the material bands they use in Europe, rather than the nasty plastic jobbies that will come off after a good yank.
Spent the first day wandering, drinking, meeting folk, drinking, lighting a fire, drinking, meeting more people, drinking, eating, drinking, helping Jess set her tent up in the dark (no we will not get a bloody taxi to where you are woman, get to the site earlier!) drinking and drinking. The general atmosphere round the campsite was a lot more laid back and grown up than in previous years. Yeah there were high spirits, but a lot less attitude and a lot less twattishness. There didn't seem to be any tent trampling, stupid fires, or gas bottle explosions (thanks to a well thought out amnesty program I'd imagine). Even the usual cries of 'bollocks' (or the traditional one of 'albatross' in my case and 'cum guzzling sluts' in Bongo's) abated after the first night. This feeling permeated the whole festival, and there was a feeling that Mean Fiddler had finally got it right, from the security (pleasant, helpful), to the toilets (as clean as could be hoped for), to the food (more than just rat burgers), to the showers (warm, clean, no queues). Even the bands were on time!
I think I took better care of myself than I usually do as well. I ate properly (Bongo had £15 worth of BBQ meat from his local butcher), showered, and waited until at least 10am before starting on the whiskey. Speaking of whiskey we made our way through a bottle of Jim, two of Maker's Mark, one of Jack, most of a Laphroaig and most of a Bushmills, which Bongo only bought because it features in a NOFX song. Bushmills was seen as a punishment drink, for when all else was exhausted. I'm not sure single malt whiskey should be aged ten years in charred oak casks and then mixed with Sprite either. All this was interspersed with the Strongbow and various beers had off the teenagers. And speaking of the teenagers, they were damned good company, and I think they were more mature than we were. Highlights were Rod's 'fat sticks', the liberal use of the word 'jism', a drunken Frankie, emosex, thongs, Phil jumping in on Jason and Gemma, then encouraging us all to leap in and start humping whatever you landed on, the return of Ed (the oldest member of the group by far, and the biggest kid), phoning Stephs boss and claiming we'd kidnapped her and no she couldn't go to work the next day, Jo losing his voice ('if you don't want Bushmills, say 'no' in a loud clear voice') and the surreptitious four way I stumbled in on one night.
It will not surprise Reading veterans to learn we invaded Caversham every morning, to laugh at Dr Goth (a dentist), buy booze from Waitrose ('are you 18?' 'no love i'm 23, wait no i'm 24, shit') and consume the now legendary breakfasts put on in the Prince of Wales. We even managed a Sunday lunch in there, and Bongo flirted his way to hot chocolates for us. We came to the conclusion that the shittest job at festival time, apart from having to work in one of the pubs, is to be the poor bastard from Waitrose who stands on the bridge and collects the trolleys from people. Even the weather was good this year. And by 'good' I don't mean 'sunny'. If it's too sunny it gets dusty, and that's never good. It rained enough to keep the dust down, and was sunny enough for me to tan a fair amount. Through cunning use of Bongo's ninja head tube thing I managed to both keep the sun off, and my hair out of the way for the entire festival.
Good bits keep coming back to me, but I've lost most of the cohesion in the above text anyway, so I'll skip to the journey home. Also uneventful, and again with no queues. Dropped Bongo off at his place near Burton and got home early afternoon. Bloody great weekend in all, and unlike the last couple of years, i'm not thinking 'this was my last year'. Here's to the next one.
Now time for me to do some work, I'll clog up your f-list later with the aftermath and the entry for the week gone by later tonight :)