I’ll be honest with you guys, whilst my Bestival review made it sound like I had a top notch time last weekend, I actually spent a lot of time wandering around on my own (sometimes in the pissing rain) feeling a bit low.
I spent a lot of time watching some of my favourite bands wondering why I still haven’t learned to play an instrument, and consequently why I’m still not in a fucking band.
I also spent a lot of time lying in my tent with some serious ulcerative colitis gut aches, wondering why I didn’t ask my doctor for a dose of steroids when I was at my routine hospital appointment last week.
I didn’t really tell my friends about any of this, but I’m pretty sure they figured it out. They’re a perceptive bunch who would probably just try to help me if I actually gave them the slightest chance.
I suppose I could’ve brought the steroids bit up. Festivals are the most appropriate place to talk about drugs so I could’ve indulged in some banter with the chemical loving Geordies who camped next to us, but alas, another opportunity missed.
I also didn’t want to be a bloody miser, so it was safer for me to wander off and see all my favourite bands whilst they did the same. It was easy to meet up after and chat, so I don’t think anyone got too offended by my absence (if you did, soz mate).
I also wasted a lot of time wondering what other people thought of me as I trudged about with no eyeliner on, and last night’s glitter smeared across my face. When I was standing alone in my dungarees and sunglasses rocking my shabby chic blonde bob watching Wolf Alice for the sixth time, people probably made the mistake of thinking I was at best ‘cool’ and at worst ‘brave’ for standing on my own.
I am optimistic in my low moments though. I had a bit of a Mark Corrigan Peep Show moment when a nice man spoke to me in the crowd waiting for Wolf Alice. Don’t panic, I didn’t tell him he was “the one” or ask him to marry me, I just told him how much I loved Wolf Alice and I thought his job as a festival technician sounded cool. Then Ellie Rowsell came on stage and I lost all interest in conversation.
The optimism is there though because a) it’s genetic, my Mum is a chronic optimist, and b) music always makes me feel better. The right song rarely fails to help me out of whatever self-indulgent hole I’ve crawled in to. I am a creature of habit, and hearing my favourite songs again and again rarely bores me.
I love music (and most musicians) with an adolescent intensity. I’m waaaaay past my teens, but I still feel the same urgency when I hear a new band that I originally felt when I first discovered there was an alternative music chart (which was embarrassingly late, but I’ll save that for another blog).
Bestival 2016 had a lot of flaws (I heard a rumour Prince was supposed to headline Sunday, which is why the line-up/organisation was screwed) but it reminded me that it’s okay to feel low, even if everyone else is feeling high. What makes it alright is the comfort I took from Robert Smith’s voice, Wolf Alice’s lyrics, and VANT’s topless frontman.
I am having the time of my life, but I’m also having a hard time trying to do it when my faulty body constantly keeps trying to stop me from having one.
ANYWAY. The Cure reaffirmed my ability to fall madly in love with music again, so below is a song about the undying nature of that love…
Side note: Turns out, if I’d just checked my emails one last time before I left…I could’ve met up with at least two people at the same stages across the weekend. It’s like I bring it on myself, honestly…