Got back last night from 4 days of basking in the glorious sunshine, drinking ridiculous amounts of shant and spending my life savings on shit food. Was such a sick weekend!
Cam and I got needlessly caned on the boat on the way there and after five minutes of arriving at the harbour Cam got pushed in with his brand new BlackBerry in his pocket. With no numbers of people Cam knew, we were left to fend for ourselves all weekend. We then set up our embarrassingly shit £10 ASDA tent amongst loads of expensive, proper 8 man tents, chucked our stuff in and proceeded to catch the last of Pendulum. Basement Jaxx followed, who were amazing, and the night went out with a bang when The Prodigy owned it:
I can’t remember what we did after this but it wasn’t anything as hectic as the next two nights. We headed back to our tent about 3 and proceeded to chat shit to the people in our neighbouring tents, who described Cam and I as “better than TV”. After waking up we returned to the boat to stock up on drink and after Cam had been in once before, he couldn’t get enough:
The rest of the day was spent wondering around drinking, soaking up what the festival had to offer. The Strongbow tent was rad; open plan with music & beanbags – ultimate cotch. We watched Calvin Harris, who was sick, and decided we’d rather party than watch Stereophonics after meeting a bloke from Newcastle who had lost all his mates. The three of us then drank a few pints in the Carling bar which was a massive open plan pub with sofas and an open mic, and then progressed into some night club which I didn’t know existed. We then bumped into Ross (skateboarder from some of my videos), who I had no idea was there. Some more stuff happened that I can’t remember but we ended the night sitting on a bench outside a burger van with some French fella who was 23 but looked about 30 and had learned all his English from American TV shows! We chatted to him for about 3 hours and returned to our tent at about 5, where we continued drinking for a bit while making diabolical roach-less fags out of torn up pocket Rizlas.
Sunday was spent doing the same as Saturday and during our daily trip back to the boat for more booze we were surprised with a proper sick air show, it was unbelievable how good the pilots were, especially with the synchronised choreography. We then watched some music for a change – you may recognise this. We were invited to a champagne bar by Simon (the person’s boat we came on) and after rinsing a £35 bottle of champers we met up again with Gwen, the Frenchman, outside the same burger van which I had though thought we had gotten friendly with the owner of, but later events proved me wrong. Long story short, there were about 10 of us sitting around this table, each of us knowing just one of the other people, all drinking our own drinks as well as this French vodka mix that Gwen had prepared us (1 litre vodka, 1 litre orange in a 2 litre water bottle) all singing, chanting and banging on the table. Eventually the owner of the burger van had enough of our constant demand for free food and rowdy behaviour and asked us to leave. So we then picked up the table (which belonged to the burger van) attempted to carry it to another location where we would be more welcome but didn’t even get it a foot when it completely fell apart. Inspired by the Basement Jaxx song that we were all singing five minutes before, we then proceeded to chant “Where’s your table at? Where’s your table at!” I was ridiculously drunk by the time we eventually left and I remember struggling to walk back to the campsite but don’t actually remember reaching it. I woke up laying half out of my tent and half in it, asked Cam what happened and he said “you fell over and wouldn’t wake up, I thought you were dead”.
