Unable, as I was to afford the hefty price tag for two days, I opted to go up to Ashton Court on one day only. Saturday, as it turned out, with a couple of good friends. I first, of course, had to endure the journey there. The depressingly expensive bus ride that takes you not quite near enough to be useful, and then the arduous ascent to the Festival site. Stumbling up a steep, stoney path in equatorial temperatures, I used up nearly all my bottled water reserves before I even got there!
At the barriers I was then relieved of most of a tenner, and the deeds to my house, so I could gain entry, and was injected into a melting throng of sun-baked punters and chavs. They really need a seperate enclosure for the chavs. I prefer the flies. At least the ticket price reduced their number, being as it was too much of a chunk out of their court fine repayments.
So, after considerable negotiations over mobile phone, I linked up with my friends, and we started wandering around, sampling the stalls, and catching some of the venues. We loved Shorty in the 'dance' venue. We took shelter from the rays in the Colston Hall tent and watched Orquestra Montpelier - a local Salsa band, who were excellent. Listened a while to Rizla on the main Orange Stage, before eventually reaching that point unavoidable at any festival, no matter how much one tries. The need to partake of toilet facilities. There were rather less 'turdis's' than indicated on the map, and so each one had a substantial queue of somber people waiting. It's such a downer queueing for these things. It took half an hour to get to the door, time enough to contemplate the ordeal ahead. And then, when finally it is your turn, and you lock yourself in, you pause. You pause to spend time in sheer horror. You further pause to ponder your disgust at what you have to do. Then you pause to seriously consider whether to abandon the whole thing and hold out 'til you get home. Of course, males have the unspoken 'third' option of a few moments amongst the trees, but my friends, being female, were adamant that this was not a realistic option for them.
I will not speak further of what happened in that confined space, but it was grim.
As the evening drew on, the sun lowered itself to a more comfortable level, and I began to experience a kind of festival-love-in feeling wafting over me. Or, it could have been the Bath Ale doing refreshing wonders within. A pint of Gem is a beautiful thing on a balmy summer's evening. The ghastly-burger I purchased later fell short of that description. So, for the final hours. In the Acoustic Tent I went to see the wonderful Rose Kemp. She was nervous, but delivered a pretty wired set. Then I plunged into the midst of the main stage mosh pit to see a bit of the Go! Team, which went down well, before extracting myself to find sanctuary in the Blackout venue to watch the end of The Heads. Now this I was impressed with. They're another local act, with a heavy progressive / Psychedelic sound and superb visuals. They must rate as one of the least egotistic bands I've ever seen, since they were actually quite hard to make out amongst the projections, being no more than shadows for much of the set.
Then it was time to go home. It took over an hour to get out as thousands of people, who had previously arrived at different times during the day, now all stampeded the exit route simultaneously, staggerering down the previously mentioned stoney path in near-darkness. Until, that is, some clever Security guys let us through a fence into an open field so we could swish through the long grass down to the bottom. Where we met a bigger fence. But, we needn't have worried, as determined punters soon broke that down and got through. I expect they're still rounding up the deer even as I write two days later.
At the barriers I was then relieved of most of a tenner, and the deeds to my house, so I could gain entry, and was injected into a melting throng of sun-baked punters and chavs. They really need a seperate enclosure for the chavs. I prefer the flies. At least the ticket price reduced their number, being as it was too much of a chunk out of their court fine repayments.
So, after considerable negotiations over mobile phone, I linked up with my friends, and we started wandering around, sampling the stalls, and catching some of the venues. We loved Shorty in the 'dance' venue. We took shelter from the rays in the Colston Hall tent and watched Orquestra Montpelier - a local Salsa band, who were excellent. Listened a while to Rizla on the main Orange Stage, before eventually reaching that point unavoidable at any festival, no matter how much one tries. The need to partake of toilet facilities. There were rather less 'turdis's' than indicated on the map, and so each one had a substantial queue of somber people waiting. It's such a downer queueing for these things. It took half an hour to get to the door, time enough to contemplate the ordeal ahead. And then, when finally it is your turn, and you lock yourself in, you pause. You pause to spend time in sheer horror. You further pause to ponder your disgust at what you have to do. Then you pause to seriously consider whether to abandon the whole thing and hold out 'til you get home. Of course, males have the unspoken 'third' option of a few moments amongst the trees, but my friends, being female, were adamant that this was not a realistic option for them.
I will not speak further of what happened in that confined space, but it was grim.
As the evening drew on, the sun lowered itself to a more comfortable level, and I began to experience a kind of festival-love-in feeling wafting over me. Or, it could have been the Bath Ale doing refreshing wonders within. A pint of Gem is a beautiful thing on a balmy summer's evening. The ghastly-burger I purchased later fell short of that description. So, for the final hours. In the Acoustic Tent I went to see the wonderful Rose Kemp. She was nervous, but delivered a pretty wired set. Then I plunged into the midst of the main stage mosh pit to see a bit of the Go! Team, which went down well, before extracting myself to find sanctuary in the Blackout venue to watch the end of The Heads. Now this I was impressed with. They're another local act, with a heavy progressive / Psychedelic sound and superb visuals. They must rate as one of the least egotistic bands I've ever seen, since they were actually quite hard to make out amongst the projections, being no more than shadows for much of the set.
Then it was time to go home. It took over an hour to get out as thousands of people, who had previously arrived at different times during the day, now all stampeded the exit route simultaneously, staggerering down the previously mentioned stoney path in near-darkness. Until, that is, some clever Security guys let us through a fence into an open field so we could swish through the long grass down to the bottom. Where we met a bigger fence. But, we needn't have worried, as determined punters soon broke that down and got through. I expect they're still rounding up the deer even as I write two days later.
