So the Isle of Wight festival has been and gone, and I had a great time. We got there, tents already pitched (thanks men) and went to bed, only to wake up the next morning and promptly start on the cider. It rained, it was sunny, and it was fun. We drank, we danced, we ate horrible junk food from stalls, we portalooed (not a nice experience) and we listened to some great music.
On Saturday a few of us took the trip to the beach to get some non festival air, some food that wasn’t of questionable origins and to use a loo that wasn’t overflowing. I have never been so pleased to see a public toilet! We came back and had some drinks and then headed off for a boogie. Slightly worse for wear, I managed to burn my face, only with massive shades protecting me I now have a little burnt patch on the tip of my nose, a la Rudolph. It’s a good look.
So we had fun! Until Sunday. We were woken as the sun came up to the sound of heavy rain, and it didn’t stop, so basically we were caught in a minor downpour for fourteen hours. A little rain wasn’t going to stop us though, although I much prefer to have a power shower in the shower, without two hoodies and a rain mac. Just sayin. We huddled in one tent until we decided it wasn’t going to get any lighter, and us ladies then decided now was as good a time as any to put the tent down and pack it into the car to save time later. The boys each took prime position inside the warm tent (one grabbing a bag of Doritos, cinema style) and unzipped the window to watch us in action. Glad we could be of entertainment! In all fairness, if my tent didn’t need to go down I would have been there with the popcorn too; such was the levels of rain and wind. It was so windy that folding the canvas was a bit of an issue and at one point it was like having a parachute, but we powered through with little injury, and made the slippery walk back to the car. There were recovery vans trying to dig people out of the mud, and people leaving in scores, with me concentrating as hard as I could on not falling over. I’m clumsy at the best of times, and the river of mud was worrying me.
Thing is, if you are wet, you are wet. The others had an alcohol blanket to make them feel better, but Char gave me pure gold with her comment “Tink if I don’t laugh ill cry, so LET’S DANCE!!” and much hilarity ensued. In record time we all had UV moustaches and one of the girls had managed to acquire some beer goggles from a man who felt it was time to pass the fun along the line. We were due to get the ferry back at 4.30 the following morning, but by sixish we were sodden and fed up. Plan B interjected a bit of humour and we danced in our best dad dances for a while, but finally admitted defeat and headed back to the car; when your pants are wet through and there seems to be no sign of the rain relenting you sometimes have to give up.
The ferry journey saw us doing a smash and grab of the shop to feed up on cheese strings, warm tea to melt the coldest of hands and in my case, a crème egg. You can t go wrong with a crème egg.
To quote my friend Ben “Thanks Isle of Wight Festival for reminding me how much I love my bed and other furniture”.
Things I have learnt this weekend:
My wellies let in water. I need new wellies. Unless I want to get used to trench foot.
Always take a blow up mattress and ample pairs of socks to camping trips.
I am surprisingly able to rough it for three nights. The Geordie will die when she hears this.
I don’t like the flobby bit on bacon, when the fat isn’t cooked properly.
I can’t drink all day; it leads to memory lapses (“you know when we went to Swiss’s tent?” “WE WENT TO SWISS’S TENT?? Oh yeah….”)
But I am cheerful in the knowledge that I can turn my heating on in my flat and be warm, that my bedding won’t be soggy and that my roof isn’t going to fall in in the night if it rains too much. My feet are now back to normal (weeeeelllll…) and my toilet flushes. Much better.