fist pump

I hesitate when it comes to dedicating a post to a music festival. The generalisations of music festival goers and the fear that I am thrown in with the lot of teeth grinding, fist pumping, drug popping, singlet and boob popping bikinis, tan show-offering dweebs scares me. However over the years I have managed to stay clear of the fascade and continued to get loose in a totally clean and happy go lucky fashion, with groupies to prove it.

Future is now officially in the past. I may not be coming down from drug intake, but am surely coming down from the best festival I have ever attended.




suppose to be home base, pretty sure it got knocked over in a mosh

 

I drunk, lost, stole, shoulder hopped, cried, rejoyced, forgot about food, roller skated, reconnected with my youth, reconnected with the handful of friends I could keep a tab on and danced till my limbs said no more ; and all in the space of 10 short but ridiculously sweet hours.

This is the first festival that from the word go I had double booked myself every hour of the day. The fanatical lineup of djs, bands and too jolly side activities presented a challenge and pushed the boundaries of choice to the core. Throwing in the amount of people from all walks of life I was planning to rub or hop shoulders with for at least a few minutes and it becomes obvious that not even Hermione with her time turner watch from the Prisoner of Azkaban could of seen it all and lived to tell the tale.

The day started like any other, and it wasn't until I accidently stole a slushy from 7/11 that I realised what drunken potential lay before me and how utter maddness it would be to dance the new found energy off. As though being drunk before entry wasn't enough, I thought it would be even better to take my $600 camera boyfriend along for the ride and try and get as much dust, foam, sweat and water on it as possible. So many people. All lined up in their festival uniform. (shorts, shirt, shoes that like to dance) All smuggelling something in. secrets, pills, sexual intentions, vodka, STDS.

Like 100% of attendees, we had our hearts set on Ke$ha. Standing 50 metres back and still being able to feel the 20 people squished up touching my body I got the dizzees and had to step back. As babe as Ke$ha was theres no point almost touching guys balls trying to get a glimpse of it. However she definetly was encouraging it. After stepping back where the air was frequent, In a last attempt to get a look at her I decided to wander 5 metres forward by myself and force some poor fella to let me monkey on his shoulders for a few songs. So much fun, it wasn't until I hopped down and thanked the poor soldier for his efforts (this bloggie does weigh almost 60 kgs, try pumping that in weights at the gym) that I saw my first mistake of the day, leaving my wingman. In a desperate attempt to see Ke$has underwear I had lost the one thing that mattered the most; My wingman. I cannot stress enough to importance of a wingman...and holding hands. Without someone to enjoy it with it wouldnt matter if I was watching Mark Ronson or sitting in the gravel with not even the bottle of vodka to keep me company. Bottom line is, its not fun without the homeboys, groupies, best pals, amigos. Whatever you like to call them, they matter more than music. They most often are the music.

To loose something at a festival is a tragedy. Im told to not search, desire or think about the possession for the rest of the day because it will downright consume you and you'll be left feeling lonley and as disapointed as when MGMT played their new shit. Im sorry guys. I love the whimsical film clips and quirky nature of your voices...but to sing me lullabys at a festival and occupy so much of my precious time without even playing the only song we came to hear...well thats another story.  This pic below pretty much sums up Petes facial for the whole MGMT. Dont be fooled by the sunnies, not a happy chappy.

With all the 2 and a half year solid festivality experience under my belt I knew that I could very well be rolling around looking for a needle in a haystack for hours. This one time at Good Vibes I spent 4 hours by myself. not kidding. I cant grasp the irony. People travel to the other side of the land of Aus and casually bump into someone they went to primary school with out of the 20 something million people that inhabit the best country in the world - or so im told it is. Yet here I am running around in circles, pulling my hair out because the few kilometres of caged in grass is too hard to spot a familiar face in. When the half an hour of lone maddness almost seeing me giving up and going to the foam party to contract some pink eye by myself, I beat all odds and stumbled right across my partner in crime. I think at this point I had tears in my eyes and Kate was much the same having being doing the same. From there onwards I didnt let her or anyone else I congrugated on the journey out of my sights. Adding to the fun were these two. Of all the groupies to stumble across these 2 were the icing on our cake and we danced off into the night...in a yellow submarine...a yellow submarine. Here you can see Pete and Emilys first ever silent disco.

I wont list the acts I saw and the acts I didn't. At the end of it the show seem to blur together and Im left recalling the whimsical times had with the people I was with. Rollerskating into the sunset, getting covered in dirt. And funnily enough, after all the waiting the hear MGMT play kids, after minutes of bouncing silent disco a killer remix came on and all of a sudden it didnt matter if it was live in front of us or not

At days end we were nothing but a flock of bambinos, kicking our boots up,  covered in dirt and ultra  Good times. This ones going to be a hard one to beat kids