It’s A Funny Old World: Aggie MacKenzie
Igrew up in the north of Scotland, where rain and muddy fields are the norm – one reason why I live in the south – and why I’ve never been a fan of music festivals. Newspaper photos of festival-goers, drenched to the skin, frozen to the marrow (yet somehow still smiling!) have me darting upstairs to run a hot bath.
However this year, my friend Alison persuaded me to join a group of friends camping at Womad, a friendly festival of world music and dance in Wiltshire. At home, we’d been having non-stop sun and heat since the end of May, and the outlook was for more of the same, so I gaily ordered my ticket for July.
As the festival weekend drew closer, the forecast started to take a dip. Still, the weather at home was unbearably hot, and I found it impossible to imagine it turning to rain and cold…
Our departure date upon us, I was checking the forecast every couple of hours. I’m a born optimist and just could not believe that the blistering conditions at home would change for the worse. So I drove down on the Friday afternoon – and, to my delight, the tent I was to sleep in had already been put up by other pals. The sun was shining, the weather was warm, and all seemed fine. So far…
Next morning, the skies changed dramatically. Sunshine came and went in between the odd shower. Not drastic, but not great, either. Out of the scraps of clothing I’d brought with me, none was particularly warm or waterproof. The music was non-stop and right up my street, but it was hard to relax and enjoy it while being rained upon.
By Saturday evening, we saw a massive drop in temperature (and mood). I started to panic about sleeping arrangements. I could drink myself into oblivion in order to sleep, but then I’d need to keep getting up in the night to empty my bladder. So I had a modest half-pint and went to bed fully clothed in my own attire plus a borrowed hoodie, and draped in various towels and a donated travel rug and floor mat from a neighbouring tent.
Rain beat down on the tent all night. By 6am I had an indoor pool, right by my bedside; it was pretty damned grim. I’d resolved to get a taxi to the station as soon as possible – but, meanwhile, there was nowhere to go unless I was prepared to get soaked through and grow even colder. My pillow was heavy with water. I was dying for the loo but how could I get there without drowning or freezing?
As I was lying there, wishing I had a magic wand, water started to drip on to my face and I knew I had no option but to shift. Miraculously, the rain stopped for about an hour. Better still, my friends decided they were ready to leave, too, so we all quickly packed up and beetled out of there…
Next time, I’ll hold off buying a ticket until I’m fully assured of wonderful weather. If they’re sold out, too bad – I’m willing to take the risk.