Bestival
492 wordsInstead of going to Glastonbury in June, this year I joined a select group of festibuddies for Bestival, on the Isle of Wight.
As well as being smaller and less of a juggernaut, it was *supposed* to be a festival with more reliable good weather than Glastonbury.
I arrived on site in a biblical downpour to find it was already as muddy as Glastonbury on a very muddy year. I got lost in the dark because the way in wasn’t lit — later finding that I’d led a bunch of strangers through a winding woodland path, instead of the direct route onto the site. Then I wandered around with a rucksack and a tent for forty minutes getting drenched while looking for Tim and Richard at the campsite they had prepared.
What added insult to injury was that I’d turned down the opportunity to spend Thursday in a
comfy bed in a warm dry house, since Al lives in Ryde. I had taken the train to Portsmouth and boarded the FastCat ferry. Surrounded by festivalgoers, I decided I didn’t want to delay the festival experience. I phone Al and said that unless is was raining when I made shore, I’d get the bus to the festival. It started pouring shortly after I’d paid for the bus and lugged my stuff on.
Things did pick up. Bestival has got a smashing atmosphere. A good 70% of the crowd brought fancy dress (sea theme — lots of pirates and wenches, Nemos, submarines and Steve Zissou crew members) and there was much high-fiving of strangers.
It really was extreme weather, and they did an OK job considering, but nonetheless, the comedy tent never hosted an act, since a river developed running through it, and other tents were closed at sunset for safety reasons. There’s a lot less wacky stuff to divert you when you
want a change from music than there is at Glastonbury, and the weather eroded what there was.
Not that there was nothing. A favourite of mine was the live jukebox - a caravan into which a three-piece band is crammed. The front is done out like a Wurlitzer, the buttons on which are marked with eclectic songs. People push the buttons, the band has to play the song.
It’s not billed as a retro event, and I wouldn’t have gone if it were, but on Sunday I realised that I’d almost exclusively been watching golden oldies. The Wedding Present, My Bloody Valentine, The Specials, The Human League, The Sugarhill Gang, George Clinton…
Did I mention The Specials? They were a “surprise act”, and they were fantastic.
I think it would be lovely in the sun. But then again, so is Glastonbury. A muddy Bestival isn’t as good as a muddy Glastonbury. And a sunny Bestival probably isn’t as good as a sunny Glastonbury.
Still, it was a great weekend, and if I allowed myself more than one festival a year, I’d probably make Bestival a regular.
I’m gunning for Glastonbury next year though.