Old Electric Picnic Post

Found this today, about the Electric Picnic 3 years ago. Made me smile. Good times.



I will not let this feeling die, no matter what. I am so alive with ambition, ability, love, affection and contentness after that weekend. I now just have to keep that going. I work too hard but I can use this feeling there. I can finish this. I have one more month before college is again upon me, I can't wait.

From the drive down and pushing signs to the windows and waiting for sexy back to be on the bloody radio, to walking for miles and miles to the campsite. to being told to move because a gazebo was going there, to the first glimpse of everything. to the rain tht held off for a while and then called in the debt that night, to inflatable church weddings, to seeing a band id never heard before, to dancing like fools to brass music trip-hop, to the falafel and noodles, to massive attack, to the man in the mask dancing with devandra banhart, to leon who wrote a song about patty hirst, to being able to wander, to organic pear juice, to seeing people I thought i would never see again, to FESTIVAL, to the trees and the flags, to the raving security guard and the beangarda in the o2 tent (check her out on youtube.com), to the feeling, to the cinema tent and ferris bueller at 8 in the morning, to herbal pills making other people's eyes look amazing, to surface water in the tent, to a man auctioning the last of the proper ponchos, to conway who i hadnt seen in a year and his friend shane dancing in the mud, to a postmodern windmill, to the gigs, to the folk, the trance, the ska, funk, acid jazz, and all in between. to the lampshades, to wristbands, to madagascar and amnesty international not toasting right, to the big tree and the knitting tent. to the drunk dude crying at anthony and the johnsons and his two mates hugging him, to the teddy on a stick to sparklers to graffitti allowed, and messages left in chalk, to the feeling that pervaded and allowed everybody to talk to everybody. to body and soul, to regina and the message altar, to the body and soul, to being silly and it being fine, to english girls in high heels and little else to pete the 48year old from newcastle who was telling us the kids couldnt keep up with him as he burnt his runners, to the civil defence who sewed my jeans, to the grass that would never stay dry, to the chairs in the nokia tent, to the idea of lost vagueness, to the frames and the human pyramid, to seeing those faces i will forever see at these things, to the johnsons for being around anthony, and to the music just the music everywhere, to the hippy kids and the comedy. to broken social scene, to kevin then singing with bloc party, to the idea that it didnt matter just for one weekend, for the guy too busy drinking to go to the atm, and the bacardi bar girl who went for him, to the conversations, to the aero and jaffa cake milkshakes, to the sunshine burning my neck and ears on sunday, to the cds in the trees that split the light this way and that.to the fact marketja was so small i couldnt see her over the piano, to skylarkin, to mic, to the feeling standing there for an hour afterwards singing at the top of my voice to music that was not just pretend anymore, to the whole feeling, to the acceptance that this was not real.

to the electric picnic.