Music, mud… madness!
Summer’s coming, and so are the big festivals. Here, Caroline Quentin explains why they conjure up anything but joy
Caroline Quentin on why she forgoes summer festivals
It seems that, each year, the ever-growing family of music festivals spawns new offspring. Once upon a time, there were just a handful of venues. This year, I’m aware of close to 30 different places hosting myriad events, ranging from the big beasts of Glastonbury to the much smaller Kendal Calling at Lowther Deer Park in Cumbria, where a trip to the Lakes will reward you with the likes of Manic Street Preachers and Doves. Glastonbury, returning after a one-year break, is going to welcome Stormzy and Kylie, while George Ezra will be giving it the full blues at the Isle of Wight Festival, alongside sets from Noel Gallagher and Lily Allen.
Really, I’m telling you all this as a preamble to a big admission: nothing on God’s earth would tempt me to go to any of them!
It’s not the music; I love music. It’s not the idea of being in a field for three days; I’m a huge fan of the outdoors.
It’s not even the people; I like people. It’s the combination of all three that entirely freaks me out. The idea that, even at the
smaller events, there would be hundreds, maybe thousands (175,000 at Glastonbury!) of people aimlessly milling about makes me feel anxious.
What on earth do you take with you if you’re going for more than a day trip? A sleeping bag? A tent? A van? What about food? Are there shops? If there are shops, do they sell everything I’d need? Or are these places populated with row upon row of yurts with teenage girls offering to henna your hands or tie-dye your hair? Then there’s the muchdiscussed issue of bathrooms. I’m sure you’ve heard the horror stories about the gigs where three-anda-half thousand people share one Portaloo and a roll of Andrex. I would hate that. And I know the music is the main reason for going to festivals, but I’m 5ft 2in – will I be able to see the band? What are the chances that everyone in front of me will be 5ft and under? Will I even be able to hear the band? When I see audiences at gigs on TV, they always know the words to everything and sing along loudly. I don’t want to pay £248 to hear a tone-deaf scaffolder sing Angels when I’ve come all that way to hear Robbie Williams do it. Is it compulsory to wave a banner? Would I have to sit on someone’s shoulders? Or would
I be expected to have someone sit on mine? Either way, I really don’t think my knees are up to it.
I’m most nervous about when darkness descends. Even if I had managed to pitch a tent, how on earth would I find it in the dark and in a forest of multicoloured nylon? What if I got into the wrong one and snuggled in with a stranger? Or worse, what if someone mistook my tent for theirs? I’d scream the bivouac down if I was surprised in the night by a disorientated Beyoncé fan or someone stumbling around slurring Stormzy lyrics and attempting to unzip my pop-up tent. And, if it rained, all of this would be set in a sea of sludge against an overwhelming smellscape of fried onions.
All in all, I think I’ll give festivals a miss. I’ll stick the radio on, make a cup of tea, look out of the window at the rain and sing along to Robbie at the top of my voice, then go to the loo, all on my own!