Nice song by Adam Buxton, I like to hum it. Also now the name ‘Jemima’ makes me giggle. On the inside though. You can’t just go about laughing at words like ‘Jemima’. People might think I need medication.
So it’s the middle of a harsh winter, and although that’s deadly depressing the one silver lining is at least now I won’t have to listen to people talking about their bastard-over-priced-B.S.-mudfest-music-festivals. (Bah humbug)
This guy, one of the ex’s friends (a ‘surfer’ *snort*, like, whatevas) once asked me,
“You don’t like festivals?!?”
In the same tone as though I had just mentioned that I quite enjoyed battering kittens. It offended his surfer sensibilities. Like, dude man, how can anyone not like festivals?? Like, what was wrong with me? Dude. Man. Dude. Oh look a wave! Boogie board!
This annoyed me. I felt this sense of peer pressure to ‘like’ festivals, (in exactly the same way there is this sense of peer pressure that I must, deep down ‘want’ to breed) This annoyed me even more. I felt guilty for feeling guilty about not wanting to spend my time-off cold and wet with a pack of drunk people listening to house music.
I mean, maybe there really is something wrong with me (sure, there is, and plenty) but not about festivals. This first-world enthusiasm of living like some refugee for a couple of days just doesn’t appeal on any level to me.
Look, what if I just want to read a book and do a crossword? I’m a chiller, not a raver, so screw all you hippie-dippy-festival-types.
Leo and I did just that at the Notting Hill Carnival a few years ago – we sat down on a quiet corner and did a crossword, much to the disgust of one of the ex’s friends (different friend from surfer. This one plays African drums. I’d snort again but I can’t be bothered.)
He couldn’t believe we (Leo & I) didn’t want to walk around and around and around with him like ducklings behind some ginormous duck. He is 6.4ft, and his head was nicely in the clouds both metaphorically and literally, while us hobbits were down on the ground amongst all the heaving crowds, garbage and shit, piss and condoms.
I started taking photos of these piles of rubbish with used condoms occasionally scattered about like Christmas baubles. On a side note, who are these people having sex and tossing condoms on the street at the carnival? Where is the place to have sex? It’s very packed on every street. I don’t understand.
So naturally, African Drummer boy asked me why I was doing that, and I explained that I wanted to document the spirit of the Carnival.
“That’s not the spirit of the Carnival!”
he sputtered, outraged.
How dare I come to the carnival and take pictures of condoms. Don’t I know it’s about blah blah blah bloo blah rainbows and puppies and kittens?
He probably said something about love and peace and good times and shit but he is so frickkin tall I stopped listening. The sound travels too slowly from up there.
He wasn’t at all impressed with my Carnival spirit. I should ignore all that and just focus on the people instead…
This video eventually got its own facebook page called “Mary Moham what were you thinking?” I love the internet.
The ex has been to one festival so far, loved it and now imagines all sorts of festivalling possibilities. I’m really glad the ex doesn’t insist I tag along because pissing in a plastic cup in a field that will soon look like refugee camp is just not my idea of a good time.
No I just can’t. I can’t do it.
We’d probably quarrel like crazy anyway.
I’ve taken the second class from Churchgate to Parla local at rush hour and it seems like it would feel exactly the same, and it only costs Rs.10. (I’m such an Indian. Always looking for a bargain.)
Firangs go to Dharavi and come back shocked: The Horror! The Humanity!
I look at Glastonbury (any festival really) and I feel the same way. And Glastonbury is optional.
I don’t know. Maybe one day I’ll festival it up. It seems unlikely at the moment.
Spot the Difference Slide Show. Bah humbug!