Himself and his madcap schemes, Electric Picnic - not on your nelly!
I think Himself may be having something of a mid-life crisis. It’s as if he’s suddenly realised his own mortality and decided he wants to pack as many stupid things as he can into however long he has left. Which is probably about 40 years.
40 years is a long time when he wants you to do mad stuff like mountain climbing, bike riding and take up conversational Spanish classes!
I’ve told him I don’t need conversational Spanish classes
– I know the essentials – how to ask for a G&T, a ham and cheese sandwich and the toilets. But he says when we go backpacking in remote regions of Spain, we will need to be fluent. Backpacking at 50?! He’s having a laugh.
Speaking of having a laugh, his latest madcap scheme is to try and get me to go to Electric Picnic. I have told him it’s not going to happen but he won’t take no for an answer. I googled the line-up. The only bands I’ve heard of are Florence and the Machine and Hozier, neither of which I’d cross the road to go see. I can guarantee you he hasn’t even heard of them although he did say The Strokes rang a bell.
A friend of his, apparently, who had tickets, couldn’t go and would give us a loan of a camper van aswell. ‘And you can sleep in the lap of luxury,’ he smiles. I doubt that somehow. I don’t mean to be a killjoy but I would rather do a pilgrimage to Lough Derg than traipse through a muddy field listening to shite music for two days. Even the idea of drinking with wild abandon for a whole weekend doesn’t appeal to me. I must be finally growing up, or else I’m just not able for the hangovers anymore.
Then just as he almost has me guilted into it, we meet friends of his who went last year. The wife is more bohemian than me, which wouldn’t really be hard, but also made of sterner stuff – she has lived on a boat and cycled a 100k in one day, Electric Picnic would be a….well picnic to her.
‘Never again!’ she declares. She proceeds to tell me about the queues for the loos and how all you have is hand sanitizer to wash your hands. How she had every intention of showering every day but again the queues were so long that everybody makes do with wipes.
‘And then there’s the drink. I love a drink but not at 10 in the morning and that’s what most people do. If you stop, everybody else carries on…….all night so don’t expect to get any sleep!’
And that was the final straw! Sleep. If I don’t get adequate amounts of sleep I turn into a cantankerous monster who would eat her own young. I turn to Himself expecting despondency. No. he’s grinning.
‘Will I tell Sean we want the Camper then?’
IT’S AS IF HE’S SUDDENLY DECIDED HE WANTS TO PACK AS MANY STUPID THINGS AS HE CAN INTO HOWEVER LONG HE HAS LEFT TO LIVE