If you can't change your circumstances, change your mind
Calne Travel Blog› entry 1 of 10 › view all entries
Despite the fact that I knew for months that my friend was getting married in Edinburgh, I still managed to double book myself to meet 2Win at a gig in Chippenham. It was going to be possible - but would involve getting no sleep at all on Friday night. And I was really tired frmo work already. Soooo not a good idea. But how could I turn down a trip to Mark Ronson, in a stately home, with Rubz?
What with being tired, and practically living in my office right now, the first hiccup was the realisation that my ID was in my office, not my bedroom. This meant a seriously sneaky trip into work in my gig-going short skirt.
There we go. the chief executive's secretary stops me on the way out to ask about a report that wasn't quite finished, and frankly, with everything else that was going on, hadn't occured to me as a remote priority. So I scribbled something down, wearing the aforementioned gig-going short skirt and eyeliner, and hoped that no one else would see me. I sprinted home to get the taxi to the station, and made it in the nick of time.
I was staying at walkabout hotel in Bristol - that's right, Walkabout, as in the pub you always pledge not to go to until 1am sees you cheerfully on the stage.
I woke up twenty minutes before my booked bus to the gig, that's why. I totally failed to notice that my purse had come out of my bag and was tucked under hte covers, and only realised on my way into the festival.
In the meantime, there was no bus - very few people had booked, so the festival organisers had got us a cab instead. Hooray! Lovely comfy cab! Except that lovely comfy cab, and lovely driver, drove like a total whirlwind. Which only added to the excitement of the journey. There he was, thermos of soup in hand, telling us how in Hong Kong the concert would be cancelled because of the rain, and I was telling him how if we cancelled stuff coz of rain we would never leave our houses, and he swerves off the M4 Motorway to check his wheel, still drinking soup. Joy, I thought.
On the way in, having found my ticket (thank God) in my pocket, I realised my purse was not there. No worries, I thought, I'm sure Ruby will lend me a fiver for some juice.
Then I thought about it. Well, I couldn't leave; I had no way to get home until the cab came. And I couldn't get money, and I couldn't get water.
Grow up, I said. Worse things happen.
The first band was fronted by Leon Jean Marie, a sort of rock-y singer, who was quite good. Better than that, he was fun, and quite pretty really. At one point the band lost power and the drummer kept the beat going, and the rest of the group played frisbee with the crowd. A lot of people would have stormed off, but they played frisbee. Respect.
Next was Natty, a reggae singer from London.
Cut Copy, up next, were sooo boring that I remembered I was freezing cold, soaking wet, dehydrated and surrounded by hyper-cool rich kids half my age. Literally in some cases. It was with huge relief that I cheered Sam Sparro to the stage. In fact, from Sam onwards I forgot the rain. A man who will appear on stage in the clothes he was wearing, and sing a medley of late 80s/early 90s house classics, deserves serious respect, and despite the fact I prefer Indie to Dance, Black and Gold has to be one of the songs of the year, especially live. He had energy, charisma, astonishingly white teeth, and backing singers with his name pinned to their fronts on paper letters. What more could you ask?
And the crowd really kicked off with Calvin Harris, who had far more charisma than I had expected from either his singles or radio interviews.
Mark Ronson was great too, and not just because by then security were handing out water (nothing ever tasted that good!).