Clitheroe Travel Blog› entry 85 of 129 › view all entries
Excitingly, I won tickets to a festival in Lancashire called Beat Herder. I had never heard of Beat Herder before, but free is always good, and my festival calendar was looking a little bare this year.
The Boyfriend’s reaction was rather more muted. When asked if he was free and up for going, his first question was if this clashed with any sort of football. Once every four years, getting even the most active and music loving man out of the house becomes a serious effort. Having established there was no relevant football, we agreed he would come and I accepted the tickets. The week before the festival, he had a lot of work to do in the evenings, which he decided to tackle by sitting watching Family Guy re-runs.
The night we were meant to go, I had all the camping stuff out on the floor and was just packing it up when he announced that we couldn’t possibly go to the festival until Murray had finished playing tennis. “When will that be?” I asked, and instead of saying something comforting like “an hour or two” he said “whenever they’re done.” This year, one of the tennis matches lasted ten hours. I was not reassured. It doesn’t help that I hate tennis even more than football. At least stuff happens in football. Entertaining goal celebrations, fouls, disallowed goals, blatant elbows to the face and interestingly bad decisions. You don’t get any of that in tennis.
So when The Boyfriend FINALLY announced that he might consider going to a festival now, he was surprised to find me in what could loosely be termed A Bit of a Bad Mood.
Still, we wrestled the tent into the car and headed off into the wilds of rural Lancashire. And we stood in an epic queue to collect me free tickets, which had mysteriously been deposited under the name Suzie.
Beat Herder is absolutely lovely. It is tiny, even by the standards of boutique festivals, but there are loads of little tents with stages in them. The main stage looks like the third stage at any larger festival, but no other festival has a fake working man’s club set up with cover bands and comedy in a tent, and I have never been to a nightclub under some trees before. There was also a whole tent with rugs on the floor and shisha pipes. I didn’t have any myself, but they smelled fantastic. It’s just that I am asthmatic and a wuss. The focus is more dance and less indie, which is new territory for me, but worked really well in the setting.
We saw a couple of bands and then danced under the trees for a while.
We were woken up at about half past five in the morning by a bunch of people sitting in a corner giggling outside our tent. Not that we minded. It’s a festival after all, and once upon a time I was nineteen and didn’t need to sleep either. But we are sleepy and getting to be adults now. Iain looked over at me and suggested that we drive home to get some sleep, and I agreed.