A festival in numbers

To remind myself that I am sometimes an accountant, after a weekend of behaving more like a blissed out, love-and-peace child from the 1960s, here is my tale of the festival in numbers.

• people other than me, seen wearing aprons as fashion items: 6
• feather boas purchased: 2
• conversations with my sister-in-law bemoaning the disgusting state of our fingernails: 5
• pirate ships danced on: 1
• visits to portaloos: 20ish
• visits to the eco-friendly composting toilets: 1
• books packed: 5
• books read: 2
• nights I stayed up until 2am: 3
• glasses of mead drunk: 4
• days of unbroken sunshine: 5
• conversations with people dressed as zebras: 4
• glasses of Pimms drunk: 5
• photos taken: 192
• glasses of kir Breton cocktails drunk: 4ish
• cold pints of cider drunk: 4
• minutes spent fretting about everyday concerns: 0
• cups of tea drunk: 8
• cups of coffee drunk: 7
• minutes spent fantasising about a nice hot bath: approx. 50
• minutes spent in the bath when I returned home: 42
• and many, many more hours spent lying in tents, lying outside on the grass, listening to music, dancing, chatting, people watching and grinning.

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If you want to see even more photos, head over to my flickr set.

The English summer

This song by Sheffield duo, Grandadbob, is one of my all-time, top favourite, Desert Island Discs. I am listening to it a great deal at the moment, because it is that time of year.

It has got me thinking too. The Grandadbob definition is brilliant, but what would mine be? A list clearly.

► Strawberries
► Broad beans
► Music festivals
► Drinking cider
► Damp grass
► Open windows
► Early dawns
► Tents
► Dragonflies
► Hay
► Midges
► Jam making
► Sunhats
► Cherries
► Sports day at school
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Last week was Sports Day and this coming weekend is the music festival.

On Thursday, G and I are heading off to The Secret Garden for five days of child-free, music-drenched outdoors relaxation. We’ve been to The Big Chill (many times), Womad and The Green Man before, but this is our first time to The Secret Garden. I’m looking forward to it so much.

For me a good festival is small, laid-back, beautiful, busy and slightly mad. I want to drink posh cider in the sunshine, read books, play games, eat middle-of-the-night bacon sandwiches, wear funky clothes, discover some new music and hang out with friends. I am sure all of this is going to be waiting for me at The Secret Garden.

There’s a festival packing list – obviously.

And my funky raincoat will be the first thing packed, but from the forecast it looks as though I won’t need it. Even an English summer is sunny sometimes!

See you all in a week’s time.
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