The Glade

Matt B. couldn't have known when he sent me the e-mail about The Glade that he'd be switching me on to my first ever music festival. Though, having been the year before, he surely knew how amazing it would be. Dammit if he wasn't bang on about that one.

3 days and nights of camping, electronic music and all the dancing you could muster. Everyone there had the same agenda: have a fabulous time amongst thousands of other people, all having a fabulous time. It took everyone to make it happen, but in the end we all succeeded!

I could go on about the beautiful weather, the dazzling decor, the music, the vibe, the bond, the way everything so seamlessly came together to make The Glade an unforgettable, unrelentingly incredible experience, but I'd fail if I tried. So instead I'll throw a few pictures at you, with a couple of captions to boot, and a little bitty video clip for good measure.

Welcome to our humble abode.

Beth was totally the chef!

Various elements of the decor.

The early morning queue for the showers. Most people abstained from what I could tell. I took one all weekend, and it was magic.

Most of the stages at Glade were inside giant tents. The Origin Stage was one of two exceptions. Hard thumping music got us kicking up the dust each day til sunset.

Things may have cooled a bit at night, but inside the tents it was nice and sweaty!

At 4am the main stages would all shut down til noon, but at the tea hut right on our camp doorstep an afterparty was always underway with great tunes, hot drinks and just enough happy dancing people to make staying up a couple more hours a worth while trade for a hot and stuffy tent come bed time!

Let loose. Wear a lampshade. You never know who you'll meet!

I'm told meeting and getting to know lots of different people is what's at the heart of any great music festival, and The Glade was no exception.

Of course the best part of all is you end up even closer to the one's you're with.

But what about the dancing? Its a tricky thing to describe, and photos simply don't work, so below is a small video sample of the vibe going down in the late afternoon at the Sancho Panza tent, our favorite place to boogie down at The Glade by far. The music is entirely distorted in this clip, nothing like the shiney beeps and happy thumps we bopped and waddled to, but the dancing comes through clear enough. Enjoy!

Coming Soon!

Apologies to anyone who might actually be reading this blog. I meant, by now, to have posted photos, video clips and tantalizing tales of the Glade Music Festival I took in last weekend, but London has been on a proper melter all week so I've been shunning my computer for hot fun in the summer sun. First rainy day, however, and that festival is getting blogged.

I'm house sitting in Anna's flat while she's away which is a real treat. Dan Payne's just arrived back in London again and is minutes away from ringing the bell. Cold beers on the balcony it is!

Leaving Lymm

Yesterday morning I awoke at 7am - a full 40 minutes ahead of my alarm - to find two pidgeons at the foot of my bed. I think they were trying to tell me something.

Many years ago this tower was derelect and a home to many a roosting pigeon. When the tower was acquired and repurposed as a far-out, funky, modernist/minimilst family home, the birds were exiled. The theory goes that pigeons, or perhaps specifically homing pigeons, will try to return to the place that was once their or their ancestor's home. Apparantly these pigeons, aware that today is my last day in the tower, were letting me know in advance that the room was once again theirs.

Needless to say, I got out of bed and, in a sleeping stupor, shooed the birds back out the open window they'd used to come in through. Needless to say, it was weird.

I Hardly Knew Ye

Molly the dog was put to sleep this Monday morning. I've never really known anyone who lost a close pet, let alone someone I've worked for and lodged with, like I do with Russell, Jannette, James and Sophie. I felt a bit like Nick Guest from The Line of Beauty at parts throughout the day. Not the gayness so much as the boy living in a privilaged family's world and awkwardly orbiting around the cusp of one of their small yet private tragedies. I felt out of place, and then guilty for harboring such a selfish concern in the midst of the suffering from which I felt the alienation. So I made them some tea.

Molly was very old. As long as I'd known her, which was for about two months, she'd been blind, deaf, and barely supporting herself on four very rickety legs. And she slept a lot. But she seemed entirely content and befriended me quickly when one night, early on in my stay, I slipped her some chicken from my chair at the dining room table. In fact, most of my memories with her involve secret people-food feedings of one kind or another. Eventually all it would take was for me to open the fridge door to summon the slow but steady click-clack click-clack of her paws along the smooth white flooring.

What a lonely thing it will be to open the fridge door tomorow.