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.

Beautiful Days. Again.

Here be dragon.

No let up to the schedule, this week I'm at Beautiful Days in Devon - which I stewarded last year as well, and indeed wrote a blog entry about.  That festival finished up on a somewhat sour note with a crane accident, and doubtless as a result of that, this year I have to sit through a twenty minute health and safety induction before being allowed on site.  At least when I do get to the campsite I have a bit of luxury, as for this festival only I have borrowed my brother's campervan, so I have a proper bed and even my own shower, oh yes.  Nice to have a refuge for the Wednesday and Thursday, as there isn't a lot going on at the festival other than rain.

Friday, and my shift starts at 10am, guarding the beer of all things behind the main bar.  It is safe in my hands.  Then I shift over to the main arena, which is rather cool, not really anything to do other than, I assume fill a requirement for so many stewards per paying customer.  And I get to watch the bands, starts off with Kim Churchill (male, Australian), and then Coco and the Butterfields (none of them seem to be called Coco).  Then off to party, I watch the Moulettes on stage two, then I quite fancy the Circus of Horrors in the theatre tent, but it is full.  Good news is 3 Daft Monkeys - well, two of 'em - are playing an unscheduled set on the bandstand, most cool.  Of course I end up in the Bimble Inn, watch Flight Brigade and Land of the Giants, then generally jump about.  All good fun.

Monkeys!

Saturday and I'm feeling a bit worse for wear, good thing my shift doesn't start until 6pm.  Well, I have a book to read... eventually I emerge from the van, go watch Hobo Jones on stage two (includes playing of guitar with a hammer).  Then to work, again mostly on the main stage, so this time I get to see Hudson Taylor, Hoffmaestro and Idlewild.  Then just as the Dropkick Murphys are starting, disaster strikes.  I realise that I have managed to lose the keys to the van somewhere.  The spare set is in Surrey... this is really not good, and now the fact that it is chucking it down with rain changes from something I can cope with to a bit of a problem given I have nowhere to sleep and all my dry stuff is in the van.  I retrace my steps, but really it is impossible, so I call the RAC who eventually answer the phone, and promise to send somebody to try to break in.  But then looking at the van, I realise I can get in through a loose window, just about.  Cancel the RAC, still have the problem of getting the spare keys to me though.  Oh and the window I opened won't shut again... oops.  I try a bit harder, maybe it is just a bit bent, oops again.  With various popping noises the hinge breaks on one side, and one of the plastic window panes breaks.  At least I can shut the damn thing now and try to get to sleep, with little success.

The lovely Bimble Inn, with Flight Brigade.

Next day, and more bad news as I realise the awning at the side of the van is also broken.  Sigh.  At least I get in touch with my brother and he reckons he can get the key to me via UPS.  A little worrying leaving the thing unlocked while I go to work for Oxfam, but I get away with it.  Also kind of hard being the 'smiling face of the festival' today.  I watch Katzenjammer, Gogol Bordello and the Levellers of course, I am on the main stage again.  It provides some distraction from my woes I suppose.  Less good is when Dan phones to say UPS don't guarantee twenty-four hour delivery, so I could be here until Wednesday.  Aargh.

Gogol Bordello.

In the event my sister in law Donna heroically drives all the way to Devon with the key, which does mean we can spend the evening and next day around Lyme Regis, which is nice.  There is even a funfair...  Of course it would be better if we didn't get soaked to the skin while walking down to the sea on the Tuesday morning, but obviously it has to rain every single day.  Well, I hear on the radio that it isn't the wettest August since records began, just the wettest in a hundred years.  So that is OK then.


Photos to go with this post can be found here.

Boomtown

Final safety checks in Barrio Loco.

Another weekend, another festival.  This has a somewhat intimidating reputation, something like the most hardcore dance areas of Glastonbury expanded to make an entire festival, this and the pretty awful weather forecast means I'm feeling a little doubtful when I turn up.  It's a short ride from my parents anyway, and can't complain about the Oxfam marquee containing a real ale bar.  Still feel like getting out of the site on the Thursday morning though, so I go for a wander as far as Twyford and get a pub lunch.  Pleasant country here on the South Downs, not far from Winchester in fact.  Getting back I am due on shift, which turns out to be guarding exits on the Poco Loco, in the downtown area - all dance music here.  At least in Poco Loco there are live acts, and while it (rap?  hip-hop?) isn't really my cup of tea it is still cool.  In fact the shift goes pretty fast, shame that when I finish at midnight, all the music does too.  Not least I am starting to get the feeling there is some pretty good stuff going on around here...

The Jolly Dodger.  Yaaaar!

Friday, and I have the whole day free, well, except for having to go on shift back in the Poco Loco at midnight, until 8am.  Trying to put that out of my mind I wander the site, and what I find is really rather awesome.  The festival consists of a large number of little themed regions, for instance there is one part where uniformed figures patrol and subject the revellers to searches and authoritative notices warn of dire punishments, though of course it is all a hastily constructed facade - but enough of the drug policy enforcement at the entrance.  There is also a Wild West town, an Aztec temple, Chinatown, a South American barrio, the dystopian future of DSTRKT 5, and many more.  All the areas have a one or more main stages, plus numerous little venues often accessed through quirkily designed fronts, appearing to be anything from a post office or job centre to a saloon, brothel or who knows what.  I spend a lot of time at the pirate ship - the Jolly Dodger - and also the Old Mine, the Town Centre, and the Rusty Spur.  Shame I can't really drink other than a few pints at lunch, and the less said about the all night stewarding shift the better.

An actual band.  Jellycats I think.

After a few hours sleep on Saturday morning I venture out again, there is so much music here it is hard to stay in one place long, so I don't really get a handle on the bands I watch.  A lot of them though... while it is mainly dance music here, of many varieties, there is a lot of live stuff too, plenty of Gypsy, Klezmer, Ska, Punk, anything you can dance to really.  I jump up and down with a big grin on my face, and I do remember a few names, La Pegatina, Jellycats, Flogging Molly, Formidable Vegetable Soundsystem!  To finish the evening I watch the pirate ship circus which is rather excellent, trapeze wenches, a live band accompaniment and a fire, fireworks and cannon show to finish as the pirates fight their way into the old town of Boomtown.  Can't really make this a late one though as I am on shift again at 7.45am on Sunday.

Rather than back at the Poco Loco, my Sunday shift is listed as 'response' - basically means I have to cover if the stewarding team is short in any way.  This turns out to mean I get promoted to supervisor when one of the guys doesn't turn up... OK, I can do this.  In a rather cool combination of festival stewarding and long distance hiking, I actually walk along the South Downs Way to get to my shift location, turns out I'm responsible for a vehicle crossing point and one of the 'forest parties'.  It is nice to be walking around rather than stuck in one place, and I manage to remember all of my team's names and get their breaks in at reasonable times.  It is a little stressful though, dealing with security who seem to have pretty high expectations of us stewards, when after all we're just untrained volunteers.  Still I get through it, sleep deprived though I may be, feel just a bit tired when I finish the shift though.  Only have a little lie down though, there is a festival happening after all.  I watch the pirate circus again, seems it is a bit earlier today.  Gradually feel a bit better thanks to the healing power of wine, and by midnight I'm dancing around to the cowpunk sound of Pronghorn with my big grin back on.  I get to do this every week!

With my supervisor tabard on.

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

Boardmasters

Burgh Island, and 'the contraption' crossing over to the mainland.

The next festival keeps me on the South West Coast Path, but quite a way along it, Boardmasters being just outside Newquay.  A long way to ride even from Dorset, so instead I stop for a night at Bigbury-on-Sea, scene of many a happy childhood holiday.  Can't complain about £6 for a night's camping, and I get my fill of nostalgia by taking the hydraulic sea tractor - or, as it'll always be to me, 'the contraption' - over to Burgh Island (pronounced 'burr').  Lunch in the Pilchard Inn, then as the tide has gone out I can walk back to the mainland, pack up and ride to Newquay in time for the steward briefing, after which I manage to get to Porth for a beer or two.

Boardmasters camping filling up.  The wind turbine is where Oxfam were camped, yay.

Wednesday, and my shift handing out wristbands goes smoothly enough, nice to have some useful work to do at least, not that it is too busy this early in the week.  Finishing at 4pm means I can get into Newquay itself, which is pretty quiet midweek, still I have a few beers, a pasty, find some live music and even have a little dance.  It is a long walk back though.  More wristbands on Thursday, this time 4pm 'til midnight, so in the morning I wander down to Porth and along Trevelgue Head, interesting place, site of an Iron Age cliff castle apparently.  I get some cans from the nearby(ish) Tesco express before getting on with work.  Wow, there is an awful lot of booze getting confiscated from the teenage festival goers.  Really didn't need to buy any...

Some Cornish coastline, including Padstow lifeboat station.

Friday, and I have the day off, so believe it or not I go for a walk.  Bus to Padstow and then the Coast Path back to the festival site, really not far as the crow flies.  Seems the path is a bit flatter here, indeed quite often it is along the beach, but, it does really make an effort to follow the coastline, faithfully sticking to the line of every inlet and headline.  This makes for a very long walk back, and it is 8pm before I reach the festival, just in time for Everything Everything on the main stage.  They're pretty good, but the crowd is entirely made up of teenagers... I'm sure they're individually lovely, but en masse they are hard to take.  I retreat to the 'Land of Saints', where there is a pub!  The 'Keg and Pasty' has, well, beer and pasties, but also a stage with music more likely to appeal to grown ups.  Such as the entertaining Lounge Kittens... I also wander over to the nearby acoustic stage, where me and a small number of others brave freezing winds to watch the charming Laura Doggett.

Saturday, still no work so I wander the festival site a bit, check out a few bands (Mahalia, the Alibis) over the course of the day, but decide to get away from the teenagers for the evening and spend it in Newquay instead.  The crowds of hen and stag parties are as entertaining as ever... Then on Sunday I am back to work at 6pm, so, I have the day free, might as well do a bit of surfing.  Turns out I'm still not very good at it, but never mind.  Work passes swiftly enough, I variously shout at the drunken revellers though a megaphone, or gesticulate air hostess style while somebody else shouts.  All good fun.  As was this festival really, though I'm not sure I'd pay to come here, drunken teenagers have a limited appeal to be honest.  Anyway, back to Surrey for a rest - wow that is a long way to ride.

Cowabunga!

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

Camp Bestival

Classic telephone box at Tyneham.

Another Wednesday, time to rock up at another festival site, this one at Lulworth Castle in Dorset.  Crew camping is ideally placed next to a pub, so after the Oxfam briefing I sink a few pints, there is even a band, named 4GoMad.  I get the reference.  No work and not much festival on Thursday so off for a walk of course.  Just a mile or so to the sea, but on the way I find Tyneham, the 'village that died for D-Day'.  Fascinating to see the ruined houses, evacuated in 1943, and the restored church, schoolhouse and farm.  From here I walk through the Lulworth Range, plenty of evidence of ongoing military activity here, wrecked tanks litter the landscape.  On to the charming Lulworth Cove where I eat a truly huge pasty, and then need a lie down.  My route has followed the South West Coast Path, and it is clearly a tough one, climbing one cliff after another from sea level.  I leave it at Durdle Door, a rock arch eroded from the cliff between two bays, from here it isn't too far back to the pub.  Oh and the campsite.

Durdle Door.

There is a festival on of course... and I have work to do.  I start my shift at 8am on Friday, patrolling the kids fields which make up around half of this most child friendly of festivals, and it really isn't much work.  Mainly we give directions, enjoy the sunshine and listen to music at various venues dotted around.  Then I have 4pm on to myself, more music then, seems to be a bit punk here, Buzzcocks are on for instance.  I find my home for the festival at the Caravanserai, there is gypsy music as you'd expect, and the rather good Immigrant Swing.

A job suited to my skills.

Saturday, and my shift doesn't start 'til 4pm, so I have a lie in then head back to Durdle Door, I've been told you can swim through the arch, round the headland to a different cove.  Turns out you can - it is pretty hard work though.  Then back on shift, the kids field again, seems I can magically reunite parents with children merely by starting the process of reporting the situation over the radio.  Then a few hours on an arena, yay.  Seems that from 7pm the main kids arena does 16+ comedy, it is rather cool, and very rude.  I get off at midnight, time for a few beers, and back to the Caravanserai for steampunk shenanigans with The Men Who Will Not Be Blamed For Nothing.  I had forgotten how metal they are...

Dolly the giraffe.

Same shift again on Sunday, so, I spend the morning wandering the site, and lying down a fair bit.  I eat a sausage and raclette baguette from the thoroughly middle class food court, then back to work.  Still the kids field, but today mostly on a gate, so I get to watch the festival go by, this includes among other things a giraffe and a velociraptor (both life sized puppets), Bob Geldof (probably not a puppet) and a most impressive parade.  Then off to the castle, where us stewards get the best seats for the rather awesome festival closing fireworks.  And still time to get to the Caravanserai for more familiar faces, the Guns of Navarone.

Well... this was really good fun, a lovely part of the world and a great festival, somehow the kiddiness of it adds up to a really great atmosphere.  Certainly recommended to anybody with children.

Photos to go with this post can be found here.