By the third day, I was lagging hard, and not looking forward to the walk down.

Nature had decided, despite the humble respect of us earthlings, to show that it was still boss by literally unleashing the heavens and pouring down torrential rain all day, the dusty and often yellow-y coloured ground had turned a dark shade of red-clay. ‘Ahhh, this was more like the Glastonbury I’ve come to know’ I thought; people slipping over, mud drenched clothes and miserable wet faces were everywhere, but somehow the atmosphere remained resilient, determined to make the most of the three days away from reality. Popular French rapper Sinik continued his current dominance of French pop with his American style, bling soaked hip-hop. Next were MGMT, who luckily played under the sheltered tent of the venue, but were appallingly tame despite the usual might and texture of their sound. After catching a moments dryness, the same could not be said for Danko Jones, who’s sexually charged, masculine metal about drugs and sweating blood fitted the ambience perfectly, while shortly after Future Of the Left battered peoples ears with visceral lyrics and slyly took advantage of a purely non-English speaking crowd. One man who did lift spirits with his southern charms was Seasick Steve, whose slide guitar antics on home-fashioned instruments perfectly summed up the longing for hazy, Mississippi summer afternoons, the humble giant of a man jesting with ‘the ladies’, gleefully riding the vibes and attention.

My trainers had disappeared into balls of mud and my jeans had soaked water up to the crotch. I started to think about abandoning ship. I somehow blagged my way into the sound booth opposite the stage where Holy Fuck were due to play (the ground beneath us was a brown, muddy river.) HF played a set that blew everyone away with its impressive layering and off-kilter sound, the perfect marriage between analogue 8 tracks and digital synths. After braving the extreme conditions and walking up a mountain of mud, I caught a slice of Gnarls Barkley who, pardon the pun, sounded under the weather, Gnarls himself sounding strained through the PA. I abandoned and headed back to my soundman sanctuary, where I sat on top of a flight case and swore to remain there, on the spot, until Battles came on, whom were- as usual –worth the wait.

And then it all came to a tired, worn-out end. I joined the road with the rest of the mob, taking in the French landscape at night and respectfully saying bonsoir to the Policemen redirecting the traffic. I bought two croissants that were the best-damned pastries I’d had in years. A fun festival that prides itself on it’s size and functionality, it wasn’t really a Glastonbury, but more like a scenic, safer and chilled Reading festival. Thankfully, the British element of rain and mud only came for a short while, but as a whole, Eurockeennes succeeded where other festivals simply roll over and die. Every single act was on time; the security and staff were genuinely helpful and the area was kept tidy, due to a conscious effort by the public. Sure the food was dire, and the dinks prices were exceptionally harsh. But with so many good views, vantage points and lots of space, the unrivaled setting made this experience refreshing and the diverse line-up was fun.