So weirdly enough I spent last weekend in a field, for yes, dear Reader, I was partaking in what has now become an estival ritual for us UK dwellers - the summer festival. Strange how in countries where it is sunny all the time, they are quite happy to do these sorts of things indoors, whereas we insist on sleeping under a thin sheet of nylon to get our live music kicks. I haven't camped since I was 18, and that was with the Guides (where you have to re-approximate civilisation by creating washing up stands out of bamboo sticks and string - this is actually true, and no exaggeration), so this was a bit of new one on me. I was attending the Fairport Cropredy Convention, and very good fun it was too, even if I am not a true folk person at heart (it all sounds a bit the same to me after a while). The highlight music wise was Friday evening when 10cc played (I love my 80s cheese too) and also thanks to my Dad I also knew all the words to all the Hollies stuff they played (that the bloke from 10cc actually wrote). The highlight flirting wise was Saturday evening when I met a very nice boy called Adam (unfortunately he didn't introduce himself to me by saying "Madam, I'm Adam", which I think should be obligatory if that is your name). The highlight overall was my return on Sunday. I had slept in all my clothes as it was so cold, I hadn't washed my hair for three days, my jeans were stained with mud and (if you looked carefully enough) blood (trust my stupid period to arrive when I am camping and have no spare trousers), I was wearing a wool hat and a Guatemalan embroided top, and a pair of walking boots also covered in mud and grass. I know for a fact I must have looked ill/homeless/like three kinds of shit because on the way home I got offered a seat on the tube TWICE!!! Yes, twice! I have cracked how you get people to give up a seat for you on the tube!
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