“I’m a tough cookie. I can handle a weekend without pampering and a couple of nights roughing it. I know how to murder a bag of wet-wipes in place of a shower – but do I have to?” And is the prospect of stalking Kate Moss around the sodden fields of Glastonbury really enough to convince me?”
Just a few short months into the UK adventure, I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and flung myself head-first into the Summer of Festivals, a massive buffet of seriously head-moshing rock and roll. And to my utter astonishment, not only did I survive the ultimate mud-fests like a trooper, but I found myself mysteriously seduced by the very scene I’d been so traumatised by. Well wouldn’t you feel the same way after seeing televised footage of tiny tents getting washed away in rivers of mucky brown stuff?
At a time when all the good girls were wrestling with their superwomen roles, raising families and holding down turbo charged jobs, I was up to my thighs in cider-and-sonic-powered Glastonbury mud. I’d not only downgraded – I’d regressed. Talk about releasing my inner teen! My mum always said I was a late bloomer, but this was ridiculous.
If anyone had told me that I would hit the ‘penny drop’ moment here at this mother of all mud-fests, I never would have believed them. As it turned out, taking shelter from the rain with a piece of fried chicken in one hand, and your sweetheart in the other while looking like a drowned rat, and not giving a damn, truly can be the catalyst for a real life reinvention.
Especially when in your past life, you’ve never done a festival in anything less than VIP style!
But hey, I wasn’t complaining about my new un-VIP-ed existence. Thanks to the UK festival scene I’d OD’d on my every rock `n’ roll fantasy, seen every artist under the sun, and completed my rock n roll credentials. Along the way I’d come face to face with my superheroes. ‘Hello, Courtney Love! How you doing Kate Moss? Relax I’m not stalking you!’ Just another grey old day at Glastonbury then!
My friends couldn’t believe it when they saw the photographic evidence. “You look like a little mud pie” roared one. “How could you?” grimaced another. “Easy!” I laughed as I sprayed champagne in their face. “I’ve never been so happy in my life!”
So for all those who thought as I did, that braving a soggy festival in a muddy godforsaken field would be the toughest, most gig going – I urge you to give it a try. Just see how you go. Because from where I am standing, it was a jive talking, mean walking, booze fuelled, foot stomping adventure. And I had the time of my life.
If you’re heading to London for the 2012 Games, and you want to spice up your trip with some rock n roll, tickets are still available for many of the boutique UK based festivals. Sadly there’s no Glastonbury this year since there aren’t enough portaloos to share with the Olympics, true story! For those keen to venture further afield and take in some glam Euro-rock, look towards Spain, Belgium, Germany, Sweden for their killer annual festivals.