03 September 2006

Baby we were born to run (orange)

Got back from the Electric Picnic earlier today and I have to admit it was pretty amazing. I didn't actually see any of the big acts (though I was having a beer under a tree while New Order were playing on the main stage and had a pretty good view of them; it was like being sixteen all over again), but what I really enjoyed was the festival itself.

It was spread out over a number of areas, so along with the mainstream stages and tents there were also smaller more interesting sections with Lost Vagueness, Cirque Idyllic and a bohemian costume rental tent adding a surreal flavour to one area, and the Body & Soul site-within-a-site adding a really chilled 'Greenfields' vibe in another. We finished up the evening with vegetarian Bento boxes in a yurt in the Body & Soul area with (amongst others) our mortgage broker. As I have mentioned before, our broker has a bit of the Clark Kent/Superman thing going on with his mild mannered job by day, and nihilistic party animal life at night. Although he only lives a five minute walk from my house, I only ever seem to meet him randomly and accidentally at two in the morning, and we have a strange habit of continuing on our conversation from when last we met as if no time had actually elapsed.

The Very Understanding Girlfriend and I camped at the festival last night, and I was reminded in distressingly granular detail why I hate camping so much. Its not so much the discomfort, and the cold, and the damp, and the general aches and pains; what I hate most about camping is other people.

There is nothing so unpleasant in the world as finally getting to sleep after 4 hours of singalongs to Bruce Springsteen coming from the tent beside you as to be woken up by someone vomiting on your tent. Now to be fair I'm sure the poor girl couldn't help the fact that she sounded like she was coughing up a furball made of steel wool, but I couldn't help but think that if she had had one less Bacardi Breezer mixed in with her cider while she warbled along to the Boss at 5 in the morning (while everyone else in her tent had moved on to singing U2 songs), she would have a little more of her stomach intact this morning, and the grass outside our tent would be a little less orange.

Our broker, meanwhile, drove down in a Camper Van*. He is, after all, a consummate professional.

(*note for our American viewers, a Camper Van is what we call an RV; you see its a van, that you can camp in. Pretty self explanatory. An RV, however, is a hideously unfunny Robin Williams film that I had to suffer through on the flight to New York two weeks ago because Aer Lingus are too cheep to buy any good films. The torture on the flight back was provided by Dr Dolittle 3)


At 1:57 pm, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Sorry about the camping hell!

On my trip to Ireland this time, the movie on the first flight was RV. The first movie on the second flight was The Shaggy Dog. The second movie on the second flight was... RV.

(Oh, and yeah, I'm safely back in SF, and due to jetlag am up before 06:00 and reading your blog...)

At 5:57 pm, Blogger Unkie Dave said...

Other such gems that I have endured on Aer Lingus recently have included "Herbie Fully Loaded" and "Chasing Liberty". I have this feeling that the person who chooses the movies for Aer Lingus also had a widget on their dashboard that counted down the seconds until the Olsen twins turned eighteen...


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