June 13, 2011

Isle of Wight with Dwight


This festival weekend was a chaotic to say the least ~ from the time we got on the coach to the Isle of Wight it was non-stop chatting, working, drinking and the occasional shut eye!
Shortly after getting on the bus with Dwight I mentioned my blog, he looked it up on his iphone and it was then that I realised my image had been hacked and replaced with a disgusting porn photo. “What kind of blog did you say this was, Morgan?!” The horror!
We were put behind the VIP bar and worked 10-12 hour shifts each day which left little time for sneaking off to see the bands. Luckily my manager got fed up of hearing me harp on about how excited I was to see Kings Of Leon and he let me slip in amongst the crowd when they were playing so I sang along for about an hour!! :) (and got paid to do so….) I had died and gone to groupie heaven. They were amazing!
Back on earth I faced the reality of camping with a giant guy. Dwight turned out to be a fine camping buddy and I was grateful for his company - he had an awesome alarm tune and kept sleazy camp neighbours at bay! Our staff camp site had warm showers available to us in port-a-potty type structures - sounds lovely in theory but in practice it was a different story. One morning I had lathered up completely (with soap AND shampoo) when the water ran dry. As in, I stood there like a freezing bubble monster, covered head to toe in soap suds. I banged on the shower head until it started to trickle out and I spent the next half an hour trying to rinse off bit by bit. This can be awkward when you’re trying not to touch any of the shower surfaces!!! I was very late for my shift but luckily my Manager saw the humour in it as I looked like a drowned rat when I ran in to the bar.
By Sunday we were exhausted and we woke to the pitter patter of rain on our tent roof (quite nice and relaxing if it weren’t so damn wet!) Our 30 second “pop up” tent took about 30 minutes to “pop down” and figure out. Luckily a seasoned camper came to our rescue and wrestled our tent back into its’ small bag!
For those of you who have never had the pleasure of experiencing a British music festival here is how I would sum it up : muddy, grubby, wet and disgusting, overpriced (if you’re not working), drunken, messy and yet totally worth the hassle somehow. You come away feeling like you’ve survived something with a band of brothers and in dire need of sleep, a hot bath, a decent meal and a fresh pair of dry socks.
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