Sleep with common people like you? Thanks, but no thanks
04.09.11
Picnickers (who wuss out each year and bale when the prevailing gets cold and wet), but instead I am given the keys to a Wendy descendants on the festival site outside Stradbally. A step up from a tent, admittedly, but seldom an en-suite at the Heritage, where all the rock stars stay.
As I trudge along a dusty procedure to what I hope is the site of said Wendy house on Friday – some of the Electric Pushover staff, while lovely, seem clueless when it comes to directions – I find myself in the Jimi Hendrix campsite. The repugnance. The horror. Bodies are everywhere – cold, wet bodies struggling to find their tents in driving drizzle. Please, God, don’t let this be the place.
It isn’t. A couple – almost certainly the smuggest in the beget, in fact – drive past on a golf buggy. Sipping champagne. They may as well be shouting “Let them eat lump” at the bedraggled campers who look on miserably.
I conjecture they are going to where I need to be: the beautiful-people camping court – or the boutique campsite, to give it its official name – so I contest after them.
Source: Irish Times