“I’m Still Standing“
Surviving Bestival 2013
Packing for a festival is difficult at the best of times. (Correction:
packing for a British festival is difficult.
Packing for a sun-soaked festival off the coast of Croatia or Spain is as easy
as suncream, swimsuit, tent.) However this year we found ourselves packing for
Bestival having hardly even unpacked from our recent jaunt through Eastern
Europe. Luckily the clothes required for an outdoor festival on a windy island
off the coast of England in the early reaches of autumn with a forecast of rain
are polar (like the pun?) opposite to those just donned for the last month in
32 degree heat.
My very organised and professional boyfriend had secured a
slot to DJ at the Hidden Disco over the weekend. On Saturday to be precise. Or
so we thought until at lunchtime on Thursday upon re-reading an email we
realised his slot was at 1pm the next day. Doh!
What ensued was a frenzied whirlwind of unpacking rucksacks,
repacking rucksacks and a whizz round Lewisham’s finest locales to find a nautical
themed costume (you can’t come to Bestival without some sort of fancy dress!)
and some blank CDs to create a last minute set list to supplement the vinyl
collection. We managed to leave the house eventually and had a fairly smooth
journey despite the fact that about 48,000 people (crew, artists and traders
included) had already made the trip to the Isle that Thursday.
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| Bestival Hoards |
Smooth journey behind us, finding a camping spot in the dark
while a tide of drunken, wonky-walking youths surged the other way towards the
main action was a voyage in itself. It was particularly disheartening when
every other person that was still able to string a sentence together had only
the words “good luck” to impart as wisdom. And luck indeed we needed if we were
to find a spot that wasn’t about 5 fields away from the actual festival site. It’s
at times like this, when carrying multiple tents, bags and jellyfish costumes
past rows and rows of pitched tents, that one realises quite how massive
Bestival is. 50,000 punters have got to sleep somewhere I suppose!
Despite the shaky start, Bestival can’t help but inject the
party vibe into even a weary traveller’s veins. The energy hits you in the face
on arrival and I am yet to meet a Bestival-goer that doesn’t treat their fellow
revellers with respect and a blast of mutual merriment. Even the weather can’t
dampen spirits. Friday dawned wet and windy but we were still woken at 7am by
an incongruously cheerful voice affirming “I F**king hate camping” while
queuing for an all day breakfast bap.
The show must go on however so we set off in search of the
hidden disco to report for DJ duties, hoping that the small bit of blue sky
visible would elongate into a legitimate summer scorcher. The best-laid plans
however were scuppered by the very hiddenness of the Hidden Disco. The irony wasn’t lost on us as we frantically
scoured the site for secret entrances concealed in phone boxes or behind trees.
Nor was it lost on the half dozen security guards and stewards we appealed to
who proffered some imaginative variations of “How should I know, it’s hidden!”
when faced with our dilemma. Despite the various obstacles we “found” it
eventually. Found being a loose term since it wasn’t even hidden at all! Perhaps
this was a purposeful ploy, with the thought that if people assume it isn’t the
Hidden Disco it makes it all the more elusive…but anyway. Fortunately the sound
system was so crisp and loud the music succeeded in pumping away any remaining
cloud and we were basking in some early September sun. A great start to the
weekend.
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| DJ Duct on the decks at the Hidden Disco |
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| The Port Stage at sunset |
I don’t feel as though I saw that many of the headlining acts but I wouldn’t want you to think
it was because we were spending all our time waiting for people, queuing for
loos and traipsing between stages. We were in fact navigating through mazes,
hanging in hammocks, riding toboggans, exploring the ambient forest, painting
naked men, getting married in the chapel, heckling comedians and making friends
via the medium of walkie-talkie. This latter pursuit is not one offered by
Bestival and we had to provide our own equipment, but I have half a mind to suggest
they add it to their repertoire as it was genuinely the source of a good few
hours of entertainment. On channel 7 we chanced upon a voice that stood out
from the drone of security babble and a beautiful friendship was born from
opposite ends of the festival site. Most of the talk was pure nonsense but a
number of comically ingenious songs were exchanged eulogising sausages and also
burgers(?) . Clearly no one was feeling so creative on sloppy Sunday afternoon.
The radio-wave bond was so strong we made a plan to meet by the “Big L” of
Bestival but the crowds for Elton John scuppered this plan so alas we will
never put a face to those crooners on the other end of channel 7.
We did of course see
some music over the course of the weekend but I was left with a confirmed
conviction that smaller festivals are where the best performances are seen and
heard. Not only are the artists less famous so still perform with the
enthusiasm and energy that makes live music so invigorating (Snoop Dogg you we
more S.H.I.T than P.I.M.P) but you also have a chance in hell of actually
seeing the performer at close range without standing at the front for a few
hours before they come on.
All things said, Bestival you did us proud. As did the
punters whose nautical costumes did not disappoint. We saw it all from sailors,
pirates and deep-sea divers to flapping seagulls, flashing lighthouses, glowing
jellyfish and even a team of David Seamans made an appearance. The level of
innovation and effort made by the Bestival massive matched if not surpassed
that of the festival curators’ who had clearly spent thousands on creating this
marvellous maritime madhouse. I might have just about recovered in time for
next year…
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