Water Water Everywhere - A Story of the Great Unwashed
blurred the memory a little, as the conflicting demands of sloth and childcare
have eaten into the daily round to such an extent that here we are approaching
Christmas and the report is still not up!
Proceedings were opened onstage by Mourning for Autumn, unburdening themselves of some deep and mystical moments, followed by Pog, Cracktown, and Wob – all of whom were interrupted to greater or lesser degrees by the power supply to the marquee – which sadly comprised one single socket, which was powering the stage, the PA, the lights, the bar, and the enormous suite of hair-dryers, curling tongs and other electrical goods all provided to ensure that Cracktown’s Silver Fox looked his best when they took the stage. We would like to congratulate the make-up girls on a gallant attempt, and would point out that given the extravagance of these preparations, it is only just that the power tripped off more times in their set than in anyone else’s. He did look rather magnificent though.
Some of this preceding paragraph may be untrue. What is true, however, is that everyone was jolly splendid, and a wild night of rock was had by all, hosted by the one and only Jon Beast, who had come south to engage with mankind and to scare their grandmothers. Not too wild, of course, because we had been advised that a previous event had been so loud that complaints had been received from a village two miles distant, and as a consequence we were on probation. Needless to say, being grown up and sensible, we were jolly well behaved all weekend and didn’t upset anyone. Bambi even cleaned out the toilet block on the Saturday morning – a task many were hoping to see Mr. Porter do as a penance for his execrable guitar playing.
morning the water ran out. No, honestly – it really did! With the
campsite filling up, and a lot of people weeing, pooing, and wanting showers,
the well simply gave up the ghost. The Goat is not on the water mains,
and a previous dry spell had resulted in very low water levels in the
reservoir. Clearly Cracktown’s incessant toilette had proved too
much, and there simply wasn’t any left. The bare essentials to keep
the pub open had to be husbanded, so everyone rose to the occasion and
made do by the following means:
On top of all this fun and frivolity, the event carried on with the children’s gazebos erected and face painting, clay modelling, painting, and all kinds of demonic craft/mess being made by the next generation. Meanwhile the galaxy of stars paraded across the stage in the marquee, and everyone seemed to have an enjoyable day. The sun shone, the Portaloos got smellier, we all got smellier, and only Cracktown – who we suspect may have been harbouring a secret cistern – remained fresh and well-groomed. Curse them for their youthful good looks and buoyant charm...
Blyth did their thing and wound up the evening’s proceedings. Highspots were the dancers on stage, and at one point we really were cast back in time to the heyday of Top of the Pops, with a line of shimmering teenage girls across the back of the stage, clearly havin been misinformed, and under the impression that they were, in fact, on stage with Cracktown. They did seem to leave abruptly at one point – no doubt the distant sound of Fox opening champers in his Winebago reached their youthful ears...
morning we all stank – either that or were all greasy with heavily
diluted cooking oil residue. Yum yum! Sunday kicked off with the promised
hymn practice, with a good turnout of young and old who spent half a precious
hour of their lives learning the silly words to a rude hymn about Mr.
Jessi Adams’ nose. This was then performed to him as he basked outside
his tent in the morning sunshine. We would like to thank everyone who
participated in this event. It was a defining moment in Mr. Porter’s
songwriting history, and one that none of us will forget. The performance
can be viewed on You Tube HERE,
should you feel so inclined.
Music on the Sunday was courtesy of The 5 Man Army, The Lying Scotsmen, Chris Butler, Boy in the Cupboard, Unicorn Power, Amateur Ninja Club, the New York Scumhaters, Scumbag Philosopher, Jammy Sammy, The Charlies and, again, Blyth Power, who took us up to the close of proceedings and off to our now quite ripe tents, to sleep, to dream, and in some cases, to ferment.
So it was that we packed our bags and left in the light rain of a Monday morning. It was a cracking do – thanks to The Goat for having us, they were brilliant. Thanks to all the artists and performers, they were brilliant too, and special thanks to everyone who came and made it special again, triumphed over adversity, didn’t wash, made clay models, drank, sang and danced, painted faces, were crap at cricket (or otherwise)and who proved that we can run the show over onto the Sunday night, and we will do again next year.
See you there.