Three festivals every week for a year. MARK GRAHAMpacks up a picnic
LIKE TWO seasoned gamblers surveying a racecard and discussing form, I was chatting to a mate about what might be worth a punt at the steeplechase in Stradbally this weekend. “There’s no point, you know,” he shrugged, “every year I make a list and when Monday rolls around to shake the tent, I haven’t seen a feckin’ thing.” Same fella has some buzz though.
Another friend has a unique approach to Electric Picnic. Her crew circle the tents around the ubiquitous gazebo. They decorate the mini village with fairy lights, flags, naked mannequins, inflatable gee-gaws, religious knick knacks and assembled tat. They then sit back in their playground for the deranged and inebriated and the festival comes to them.
It’s a sensory garden for people who have rendered themselves temporarily incapable. Lunatics gravitate towards their encampment like flesh-eating Walkers towards Adele with a nosebleed.
Over the past 12 months I’ve been to more than 150 festivals. I know! Despite being deranged and barely in a condition to hobble over the finish line of my festival quest at Electric Picnic this weekend, I’ve picked up a trick or two that could come in handy.
* Baby wipes are your friend in so many ways. Keep them chilled for an invigorating wipe to start the day.
* If you’ve picked a festival, chances are it’s populated with like-minded lunatics. Engage with the animals.
* Abstain from cracking open a can until your tent is pitched. Ignoring this can lead to homelessness.
* Some items to leave in your glove box for the homeward journey: clean, dry, comfortable underwear, dry woolly socks, Berocca, water and some jellies. If it’s been a particularly good weekend, a slip of paper with your name and address on it and a tenner (it’s usually Tuesday before pin numbers are remembered).
* Ignore the festival timetable for a while and drift. Pick an odd-looking character and ask them what they’re going to see next. Don’t make it seem like you’re following them, this can get you in trouble, trust me.
* Drinks companies sponsoring major festivals and purchasing monopolies that mean you can’t BYO in to the arena should be approached as a challenge. Hoods are usually good for three cans, but you need to walk away backwards from security checks. Hydration packs used by elite athletes, worn under clothes, can hold a full bottle of Buckfast and some ginger beer (The Foxy Monk!). Drinking it warmed to body temperature actually saves energy.
* Never ever trust a fart on a Monday morning after a hard weekend’s festivaling. Word!
* Bin liners can hold things, make unattractive but practical picnic blankets and when you find you’ve forgotten your rain-gear again, go work that trash couture baby!
* Never refuse an offered bottle. Brace yourself and drink deeply. If you’re lucky it’s Buckfast. If you’re unlucky it’s Buckfast.
* No matter how bad you get, take comfort in knowing that you are not the most woefully wasted person in the field. Except for that one time when you actually are. Embrace it.
* Ladies and gentlemen of the class of 2012, If I could offer you only one piece of advice for your festival future it would be this: hover!
Electric Picnic is the gig of the weekend and possibly the year, boasting a line-up that’s more impressive than the cast of Escape to Victory. But it’s not the only gay in the village and let’s be honest, it’s a costly caper for campers. The Storytelling Festival on Cape Clear ensures some happy weekendings and if you dig something a bit more underground, less showy and anti-commercial, the Sundown Gathering crew are providing some deep roots, riddim and culcha at a mystery location in Co Offaly. Think Mantua. I’m Just hoping I don’t meet the ex at The xx.
Safe travels, don’t die.
