Jus­tine

Bray People - - NEWS -

AP­PAR­ENTLY, WHILST un­der the in­flu­ence of sev­eral glasses of wine last weekend, I agreed to go to Elec­tric Pic­nic this year. Ac­tu­ally not only did I agree, I was the one who sug­gested it, ca­jol­ing ev­ery­one else to come with me.

‘C'mon! It will be great craic! We'll get a camper­van and stay the whole weekend. We'll have a ball!’ This was said to my cyn­i­cal, older, more sober brother at a fam­ily gath­er­ing who knows me well enough to not be­lieve the Hail Mary out of my mouth when I'm jarred. The other older brother just looked on, smil­ing know­ingly. ‘She'll re­gret this in the morn­ing!’

The fact that I don't even re­ally know what Elec­tric Pic­nic is, proved ir­rel­e­vant at the time. A weekend away with­out kids, at a mu­sic fes­ti­val was about as much as my brain com­puted. The fact that we don't own a camper van was nei­ther here nor there! Sure we'd get one......some­where - Him­self knows a fella who knows a fella who has one. The fact that I've never heard of the vast ma­jor­ity of the line up was also not worth men­tion­ing.

I googled the line up and pounced on the first band I recog­nised. ‘ Pet Shop Boys yaaaaay!’ I HATED the Pet Shops when I was a teenager. All that ponc­ing about in shiny suits and singing with­out mov­ing a mus­cle. Not my thing.

Then I saw Sim­ple Minds. Now I do like Sim­ple Minds. Would I pay €270 to see them? Eh that would be a no! But in my pleas­antly ine­bri­ated state I thought it was all a bril­liant idea. I ha­rangued my sis­ter in law into com­ing al­though she was du­bi­ous. “I'm not camp­ing,” she was adamant.

‘Sleep­ing in a camper van is not camp­ing,’ I scoffed. Me who has never slept a night un­der the stars in my life. She still wasn't sure. She likes her crea­ture com­forts and this is the woman who wore high heels to Slane to see Rob­bie Wil­liams and had to be car­ried home! ‘I'll sup­ply a weekend's worth of vodka,’ I told her. ‘Ok I'm in,” she replied. Easy pick­ings.

MEAN­WHILE THE brother was warm­ing to the idea, be­cause un­like me, he had ac­tu­ally heard of most of the bands and wanted to see them live. Him­self on the other hand, loves an oul shindig any time, any place, any­where and was relishing the thoughts of driv­ing and stay­ing in a camper­van. A camper­van that was still just an elu­sive pic­ture in my over ac­tive imag­i­na­tion.

So we shook on it. We were go­ing to Elec­tric Pic­nic and no­body could back out. Him­self was or­gan­is­ing the camper van, I was or­gan­is­ing the drink (what else?!) and the rest would take care of it­self.

I woke up the next morn­ing feel­ing a bit woolly headed. Great night, just wasn't too clear on the par­tic­u­lars. Didn't re­mem­ber singing Danny Boy, which ap­par­ently I did with great gusto, nor did I re­mem­ber go­ing to bed.

Him­self was grin­ning like a ma­niac. ‘Well,’ he says. ‘Are you all set for Elec­tric Pic­nic?’

Oh God! Some­times I just wish I'd learn to keep my mouth shut!

Jus­tine y n o h a M ’ O

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