Bestival

On the coast path.

OK, one last hurdle and then I can stop living in a tent.  Er, I mean one last festival to enjoy... specifically, Bestival on the Isle of Wight, well, somewhere I've not been at least.  Seems like a pleasant place, though finding where I need to be to sign in proves tricky, and quelle surprise, I'm not working until Friday again.  Well, off for a walk on the Thursday then, I'm able to walk straight out of the site and into fields, and the island not being a terribly big place, it only takes a couple of hours to get to the coast, at Seaview.  From there, I follow the coastal path around, past Ryde where a hovercraft turns up to disgorge festival goers, who then get in a huge queue for shuttle buses.  Obviously my plan to walk back via East Cowes is better, well... it turns out that going all the way to Osborne House was not worth it, as English 'we're not bitter about the National Trust at all' Heritage want £16 just to see the outside of it.  Still it is a pleasant route inland along the Medina estuary to Newport, sadly from there I have a mile or two along the very busy, verge-lacking road to the festival.  At least there is a pub I can stop at before going back in.

Boutique camping.  You can stay in an actual hutch.

To work on the Friday morning, I have drawn 'boutique camping' where people have paid extra for more showers and actual flush toilets, or in some cases much, much more to stay in tipis and the like.  They are not a lot of trouble to steward, I mainly have to politely inform the non-boutique customers where the nearest showers they're allowed to use are.  Then into the festival... hmm.  Turns out Bestival is not for the faint hearted, they have many kinds of music here, including thumpy, shouty, and indeed thumpy and shouty.  Seems to be the sort of thing they play on Radio 1.  Slightly out of place are Duran Duran on the main stage, still they are pretty cool, and I find an oasis of music with actual instruments at the unpromisingly named 'Pig's Big Ballroom', the Caravanserai is nearby, as is the People's Front Room.  Just for a change, I watch the Men That Will Not Be Blamed For Nothing, and then make the long walk back to my just about upright tent... has been a long day.

In the lovely Caravanserai.

Feel kind of broken on Saturday, don't really do much before my shift starts at 4pm, same place, even less to do now as the punters mainly know where stuff is.  At least my fellow stewards are pleasant company, and time goes quickly enough, and at midnight there is still plenty of festival going on, albeit mainly of the shouty and / or thumpy kind.  Worse, I struggle to find beer, there is a crew bar, but frankly it is rather horrid, being, surprise, the home of an ear destroying DJ, and also a bunch of people queuing to buy cocktails.  I find myself paying £5 for a can of tuborg in Club Dada, recognisable as the Pussy Parlure that was, I decide to knock it on the head after that.

The Jacksons!  Only four of 'em, but four out of five ain't bad.

Sunday, my shift starts at midnight, yay, so I have a largely sober day.  Turns out there is more of the festival that does not suck, up the hill towards the pub there are various cool things, I wander around in an actual maze (the always turn left thing works), and watch a string quartet doing their thing.  More music in the Big Ballroom (it is not big), the Caravanserai for the Woohoo Revue, a look into Club Dada (the Ohmz, they are local), and then to the main stage.  It's the Jacksons, again a little out of place here but they've still got it.  And then the rain, which has defied the forecasts and held on 'til now, starts to come down.  Well I had to get back to the Oxfam field to eat (shout out to Nuts Cafe), but after that I lurk in my tent and hope the rain stops.  It does not... well, I at least am well prepared for my all night shift in the wet.  My younger colleagues aren't so well equipped with waterproofs, but to their credit they build a serviceable shelter from a discarded and broken looking gazebo.

I manage a few hours sleep the next morning, before being woken by gale force winds that try to blow my tent away with me in it.  And then, off to get a ferry, and that is it, no more festivals.  To be honest I could do with a rest... not sure if I'll do this again, if I'm in the UK next summer maybe I will do a festival or two.  But not one every week I suspect.  And not one in a poxy camper van.

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

Yorkshire Wolds Way

Start of the Yorkshire Wolds Way - more or less.

The festival season is almost over, and after that I have other plans - which will be revealed in due course :)
Before that, I have a few days free, so, time for some proper walking.  Seem to have got quite a few odd days in over the summer, but I want to actually complete one of the long distance trails end to end.  Thus I find myself staying with Chris in Sheffield again - when will I learn that a curry from his local takeaway is not ideal preparation for a hike?  Then up bright and early the next morning, to ride along the M18 and M62 to Hessle, just outside Hull, and at the northern end of the really rather impressive Humber Bridge.  This is the starting point for the Yorkshire Wolds Way, which at seventy-seven or so miles long should be just about doable in three days.  Of course, by the time I've parked up the bike, had a coffee and so on, it is nearly 11am, not ideal as it is a twenty-six mile day.  Time to get a shift on then.  Well it is pretty flat walking along the Humber estuary, although the bit where you have to walk through the mud slows me a little.  Then the route turns away, off into farmland, can't say it is terribly exciting, but it is nice to be out by myself, no responsibilities, no goal other than to keep walking until I've done the distance.  In the event I get to my evening stop for 8pm, pretty good with a full pack, the owners say I must have run.  Then in to the village, seems the pubs have all shut, but there is more of the ideal hiker food, curry.  Hmm.

A glaciated valley.

Day two, a 9am start, but I'm moving a bit more slowly I confess, body seems a little annoyed about yesterday's exertions.  Today I begin to see why this route was chosen, as I walk into a unique landscape.  The ground here is chalk, much like the South Downs, but up here they were beset by glaciers during the last ice age which cut easily through the soft chalk.  The result, an array of steep sided valleys, dales in the local parlance.  With no rivers running through them, they look like nothing so much as railway cuttings, all rather interesting.  The route sometimes leads through them, easy enough, sometimes up and down the sides which is, um, tougher.  And this is a long day, maybe as much as twenty-eight miles.  By the time I reach the abandoned medieval village of Wharram Percy, I'm not really feeling much excitement, not least it is raining.  But I press on, reach the campsite for not much after 8pm, it doesn't look too inviting though - I can see a few caravans, but the only sign says I'm on CCTV.  I press on to the village of North Grimston, where thankfully there is a pub, the Middleton Arms.  At first they say food is over, it is just me, the landlady and one old guy in there to be fair.  But she relents and provides a sandwich and chips, and even better lets me camp in the beer garden.

Archeology at Wharram Percy.

Day three, and I have about the same distance to do again, pleasant enough going to start with through a series of forest tracks.  I'm not seeing so much glaciation today, rather a lot more agriculture, though as with the previous days the route doesn't go through much in the way of towns and villages.  I don't know if I've passed a pub even... still, the miles roll by, after a while it becomes pretty much a straight line towards Filey, so when I do meet a valley it is straight down into it and up the other side.  Nonetheless I make decent enough time, reaching a couple of huge caravan parks a mile or two outside town by 7.30pm.  Had rather hoped given the size of these things there would be a bar and restaurant, but no such luck.  And it is raining of course, using my phone to find a pub is a bit tricky, and in fact I'm not terribly pleased to have to walk all the way into Filey to find something to eat.  Oh well, at least the beer is cheap, four cask ales on at £2.50 a pint cheers me up rather.  Less good is when I return to the campsite, pitch my tent during which process the howling arctic gale which is what passes for the climate of Filey snaps my remaining undamaged tent pole in two.  Oh well, the tent still refuses to die.

Carved acorns and twisted benches / in these ways shall ye measure the wolds.

I knock the last few miles off the following morning, turns out the route finishes a mile or so outside Filey along the coast, obviously this means climbing up and down the cliffs a few times.  Well, this was all fun, insane pace notwithstanding.  No messing about here though, I have to get to Birmingham for, ahem, a music festival.  Don't think I'll bother blogging about Moseley though, not sure the world needs to hear what I can remember of the drunken / hung over adventures of Austin's 40th celebrations.


Photos to go with this post can be found here.

Shambala

The festival site, seen from over the lake.

Another weekend, what shall I do.  Oh yeah, joy, yet another festival.  Not really feeling it after last week's fiasco, but I turn up nonetheless at the 'secret location', which turns out to be Kelmarsh Hall near Market Harborough.  Of course, while I have to be there on Wednesday, my first shift is not 'til Friday afternoon, ho hum.  At least I find a pub for some beer and fish and chips, then on Thursday I bugger off to Birmingham for pizza and pub with Austin.  Nice to be somewhere with normal people who live in houses and cut their hair...

But I have to go back and work of course, still, it goes pretty smoothly, manning fire towers, info points and so forth.  Seems like a nice vibe here, lots of hippies, lots of families, all having fun.  Before long it is midnight, I can have a beer or two, and find some music in the 'Social Club' - a band plays disco tunes, all decked out in huge afros.  Oh, festivals, I can't stay mad at you.

Stage, in a tree.

Same shift on Saturday, well I'm free until 4 then, time for a wander around site.  Seems pretty cool, lots of little stages, Chai Wallahs is here and seems to be stage 3.  I watch some bands that seem familiar from the green fields at Glastonbury, then check out the 'Enchanted Forest', where there is a stage in a tree, and kids run around dressed as foxes, trying to steal rubber chickens while other kids with red coats chase them.  Back to work, mostly involves watching the festival go by, wow there are a lot of costumes here, people have gone to town with the Space theme, I feel rather umderdressed.  Again my shift goes quickly enough, and as I don't have to work tomorrow I may as well party - dancing until the early hours in the Social Club ensues.

Return of festival mojo.

Sunday, and it rains a bit, but no matter, plenty of indoor venues here.  A girl playing at Chai Wallahs can make the sound of a trumpet with her mouth... a wander through the forest where a keyboard and violin duo are playing up the tree... to the rather cool Sankofa's, basically a bunch of huge tipis stuck together, to hide from the rain, where I sit through an hour of self-help twaddle / eastern mythology, there is talk of chakras and the third eye.  Poverty is desire apparently, or not as a paper aeroplane landing near me says.  I hang around Sankofa's most of the day, they have a South American theme going on, some rather excellent bands from Colombia and Venezuela, then three part harmonies from Voices.  Watch the fireworks over the lake, shame that there is no set time for them so me and the rest of the crowd have to listen to a pretty terrible DJ first.  Then off to spend my last meal token, I get a tasty pizza and eat it in the People's Front Room, probably the smallest music venue here.  Then a last look into the Social Club before bed - work at 7.45 tomorrow.  The less said about the Monday morning shift, during which the rain does not let up at all and I need all my layers on a typical British 'summer' Bank Holiday, the better.

The People's Front Room.