If it hadn’t absolutely pissed down on the Friday, camping would’ve been a much nicer experience. Sure the ground started to solidify towards the back half of the weekend, but that initial torrential downpour – coupled with the relentless boot-steps of hundreds of much-more-prepared campers – meant that trudging through slop was the background to our family holiday.
Uncomfortable rain and mud situations aside, being out in the open was quite nice. After all, it’s breaking away from the norm of everyday life and stepping out of the comfort zone that makes for an interesting experience. Things like paying over the odds for truck-based street food, questionable portaloo standards and spontaneously finding yourself up close to the main stage are the very definition of trying everything at least once. As for sunburn, that’s just a recurring annoyance.
My passion for writing about stuff like this has dwindled immeasurably to the point that even a jam-packed weekend full of the highs and lows of the whole festival experience doesn’t seem to get my motor revving. Maybe I need to question why I keep doing this, by which I don’t mean the weekly ramble, but the fact that I complain about not wanting to do it, like it’s some kind of chore that requires more strenuous activity than putting up a tent on uneven ground.
It’s only after I figure that out that I might actually feel the drive to actually describe the whole experience fully, instead of reducing it to a string of vague and incoherent nonsense. You know, like the Happy Mondays did on the main stage.
Coming off the back of a weekend of loud noises, loud people and loud music, you’d be forgiven for thinking I’d stick to something loud. However, given that rationale, you also might not be surprised at seeing (or rather hearing) something that’s quite the opposite; a total shunning of the festival atmosphere and of the various acts who performed for some mud-caked recipients in a field. This is the latter.
Okay, yes, it sounds like the kind of ambient music you’d get in a Thai restaurant or during a scented oil-fuelled back massage. But in amongst all the hubbub and shitstorminess of modern life, sometimes it’s nice to have something soothing and somewhat nondescript to turn to.
Four Tet – Two Thousand And Seventeen
Jamie Walsh 
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