Dirty toilets and sweaty tents - why I hate festivals
It's that time of year again when everyone gets a bit dizzy and excitable over the festival season. The rush is on to get the much coveted tickets to these massive music happenings.
Our green and pleasant land is about to be, if it hasn't already been, churned up by thousands of people stomping and jumping about, clamouring to catch a glimpse of their favourite stars on the big stage.
But let's face it, unless you've been camping there since January you're probably way back in the cheap seats getting neck strain and watching them on a big screen anyway. Which brings me to my point. You may as well have stayed at home.
Yep, I'm an old misery (I am frequently told this, blah blah – thanks KH). In my defence I have been there and done that and I'm never ever, ever doing it again. And this is why.
The expense: In these austere times, can we really afford to dig down so deep and pay more than £200 (in my day it was well under £100, tush inflation) to stand in a field, miles away, quite literally, from the front. Okay, on the plus side I guess you get your money's worth, you can see dozens of top names in one place. But on the down side, with the number of stages at these events, it is inevitable that all the bands you want to see will be playing at the same time in different places. Boo.
The camping: What can be nicer than being at one with nature, camping in a field and sleeping under the stars for the weekend? I'll tell you what, relaxing on your comfortable sofa in your clean and tidy home with all mod cons at easy reach.
Honestly, what could be worse than spending a long weekend in a big field with hundreds of other tents surrounding yours? Well, the fact that these tents all contain drunken youths who only venture out to get more booze or to wee up the side of your bolt hole, that's what's worse. It's grim. This does not make me giddy with anything other than nausea.
Keeping clean: Not being able to wash for days is just plain nasty. It comes down to a simple wet wipe wash which frankly makes me wince. And if it rains. Hell no. I have no desire to become a crusty swamp monster covered in mud.
The toilets: The facilities leave little to the imagination and should be avoided, but unfortunately can't be. Chemical toilets on a hot day (unlikely I know, this is England) full of other people's dirty doings. One word. Rancid. On a wet day, muddy, stinky and squalid. Which is preferable though? I think I'd start praying for sun.
The other people: Smelly, drunk, dishevelled, loud, bleary-eyed, young and old festival folk. The list is endless. Parents who bring their children; this is no place for little ones, screaming and running around. The girls who sit on their boyfriend's shoulders flashing their boobs and impeding the view of your fave band. And so on. Sigh.
The refreshments: You just don't know do you? Let's ponder over this. The food may be tasty but if everyone is sharing the same facilities, where exactly are the stall holders, who are handling the food, washing? It's all a bit grubby for my liking. And I really do like my drinks served the old fashioned way, in a glass not some warm plastic cup.
Some might say it's all part of the heady experience. But call me grandma and take it from me, I've learned from my very own dalliance with these grungy gigs and I can't say that I'm going to be feeling the love for the festival frenzy anytime soon.
