DAY SIX – READING -> SALISBURY -> LARMER TREE GARDENS (end of the road festival)
It’s 8am, and my alarm is going off. It’s going off because I set it for 8am. I set it for 8am, because I have to be up at 8am. I have to be up at 8am because Rozi has booked a ridiculously early train from Reading Station to Salisbury.
Rozi, on a mattress on the floor, is still in snooze land of course.
I make my way downstairs and meet John’s wife and kids, who are all utterly adorable. John’s wide awake, and has been for a good hour or so. In fact, he’s made some bread. We went to bed barely 4 hours ago – after guzzling a good bit of his whisky. And now I’m surrounded by a loving family, and being offered some home made bread. I feel all warm inside. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m emotional, of if it’s some sort of liver failure.
See some of the bands, and hang out with friends, and drink hot cider and vomit, like everyone else.
We’re going to the End Of The Road festival today, which is in Wiltshire/Dorset. Here’s the thing … we’ve not actually sorted out where we’re gonna stay, yet. What we do know is that we’re on stage about 6.30pm, I think. Which gives us time to play, and then move on to another town … maybe stay with Rozi’s folks in Winchester (which is where we’re playing tomorrow). Except, we both want to stay at the festival and see some of the bands, and hang out with friends, and drink hot cider and vomit, like everyone else. Hmm.
John offers us his two-man tent – which he’s got in the back of his car. Now, the pair of us have sleeping bags … so we could feasibly stay over. But we’ve also got humungous rucksacks, which would take up a fair bit of room inside the tent. Not to mention two guitars. Hmm. Nevertheless, we take the tent, partly because we’re really-cool-relaxed-kinda-people-who-take-life-as-it-comes-man, and partly because we’re still a bit pissed.
John drops us off at the station, we thank him muchly – he’s awesome -and then we hop onto the train to Salisbury. It’s a Saturday, so there’s no Metro newspaper today. Roz is quite upset about this. I’m a bit upset too. I think it is liver failure, y’know.
When we arrive in Salisbury, we’re possessed with a new sense of vim and vigour … excited about the festival day ahead of us. There’s just one problem. The venue, Larmer Tree Gardens, is 40 minutes drive from Salisbury. And there doesn’t appear to be a coach/bus running. Arses.
We ask a taxi driver how much it’ll be. £40 he says. Gulp. That’s quite a bit.
“Ok, thanks mate. We’re just gonna go over here and look for a bus … or a couple of stray £20 notes”
Ten minutes later, Roz goes back over to the very same taxi driver. Turns out he can do it for £30 … which is still a shedload to pay, but we don’t really have any other choice. Argh.
It’s a pretty warm sunny day – but when we get to the festival site, we can see that it must have rained yesterday, for the entire place is a quagmire. And neither of us have wellies. My green trainers, which had spent the best part of a week recovering from Bestival sludge, are being subjected to another bath of brown gloop. It doesn’t help that i’m still carrying my rucksack, guitar and tent – all of which are weighing me down with every step. We decide to make our way to the tent where we are playing to drop off our stuff.
On the way there we bump into at least 4 or 5 people we know – that’s the thing about these wee festivals that I love. Some of them are folk that you only see at festivals. One of them is my pal Denis Jones – who is also a musician, and a very talented one at that. I’ve met him at two festivals already this year – one in Mawdesley, near Wigan … and one in sunny Croatia. They were pretty different festivals – but both were fun.
Anyway, every single person we meet says “Where were you last night?!”. We’re down on the programme as playing late on the Friday night, y’see. This is quite annoying – mainly because, when they announced the schedule 3 months previous, I had noticed they got it wrong, and made a call to the guy who booked us … who assured me it would be changed. But these things happen, I guess.
Problem is, we’re now on at 6.30ish, and no one knows about it. Even the sound guys in the tent we’re playing in look a bit confused.
“Can we leave our stuff here? Can we put it back stage? Is it secure? Can you speaka Eng-lish?”
They could speak English. They were English. They were just tired, that’s all. Mud can be an exhausting thing, I guess.
Roz and I were getting a bit tired too, so went off in search of a cuppa and a good sit down. This gave us a chance to take in our surroundings. It was about 1pm, maybe? It’s quite a busy area, so it seems like most folks are awake, and out of their tents. The mud is drying up a fair bit – it’s still sludge, but not soaking wet sludge – and everyone is smiling. I’m knackered, but Roz is too excited to sit still – so she wanders off in search of her Bristol pals. After a while I get up and walk about. I see my friend Howard, who booked us to play, and his pal Lucy. I like Howard – he’s a funny chap. He’s got a very strong Lancashire accent, which I can’t help but imitate whenever I speak to him. It’s getting embarrassing.
I’ve located Roz, and we’ve decided to set up the tent. We walk out towards this big tree, find a spot, and pitch up. I quite like putting up tents, now. I’ve done a bunch of festivals this year, and I’m becoming a bit ‘pro’ at the ol’ tent assembly. Roz is more practical, and less showy than me, however … so while I’m rummaging through the tent peg bag, filtering out the bent ones, she’s got the tent up already.
Atmospheric to say the least. September is the greatest month, isn’t it?
“Finished!”
“Oh”
I glance at the surroundings – there’s a big tree in front of me, there a tent to the left of me with a see through porch, there’s a tent to the right of me with a big flag. Tree, porch, flag – must remember that. We trundle back into the festival site, Roz goes off with her pals, and I … well I head off, somewhat predictably, to the bar.
I’m gazing off into space, drinking a lager … when suddenly my friend Matthew is in front of me. He writes a blog called Song By Toad, which is very good. We spend the next hour or so having a few pints, and talking about music, in the sun. Festivals are good, like that.
I realise at this point that I haven’t seen much music yet – and Bon Iver is about to play the main stage … so I head off to see that. I bought the album earlier on this year, purely on the strength of the crazy press it was getting. There were 5 star reviews everywhere. When I bought it I was a bit disappointed – on first listen it wasn’t really all that special. I didn’t get what all the fuss was about. But it’s definitely a grower … and over the summer months it’s charms unravelled. So now I find myself in the middle of a massive crowd – arguably the biggest crowd I’d seen that day – primed for Justin Vernon and co. And he didn’t disappoint. I think his set was probably the best festival set I’ve seen any act ever do. They’re a tricky thing, festival sets … particularly for acts that don’t have a greatest hits to rely on. But, Bon Iver delivered – there was a really good dynamic between the loud and quieter moments, there was audience sing-a-longs, there was a great cover (Talk Talk‘s ‘I Believe In You’ – possibly the greatest song EVER). If you get a chance to see him live, I strongly recommend it. His set came at just the right time, too … When he came on stage it was bright sunshine, and as he left the sky was starting to burn into a wash of oranges and pinks. Atmospheric to say the least. September is the greatest month, isn’t it?
I was blown away. And four pints on an empty stomach was doing its job, too. Quick bite to eat … and then I headed over to the Local stage, to set up my gear. My friend Jess, who is in a band called Freak Flag, was on stage finishing her set. It wasn’t the busiest of crowds out front, and I was starting to worry that no one would turn up. But then some folk came in. And then some more folk. I went on and did 3 songs, got Rozi up to sing with me, had her sing a few songs on her own – and we finished the set together. By the end there was an almost full tent, and a sea of smiling faces. Some folk even laughed at my LCD Soundsystem gag/gaff. I’m not going to repeat it here.
The relief of finishing an afternoon set cannot be underestimated. Sold a bunch of CDs, and became everyone’s besht pal. We were given some dinner tokens. I’d eaten barely an hour ago … but I’m always ready to eat. So we had some dinner – met up with Adrian Crowley and Devon Sproule for some grub, said a quick ‘hello’ and ‘well done’ to the Bon Iver guys, and then went back out into the dark. It was around 8pm, now, and it was properly dark. I collected my guitar and rucksack from the stage, and dropped them off at the 24hr lock-up (a lifesaving invention – we’d never have got our guitars in the tent). Rozi went off to see her pals – so I ventured off on my own. I was getting a bit cold, so I headed towards our tent. Except, of course, I was having trouble finding it …
“Tree, porch, flag … tree, porch, flag …”
I make out the silhouette of the tree, and walk towards it. But, of course, there’s no porched tent near it. And there’s a million tents with flags. OH ARSES.
I literally spend 40 minutes walking around looking for my tent, using the screen of my phone as a makeshift torch. The grass is quite wet still, and my feet are getting soaked. Jeremy Warmsley is playing in the background, the sound carrying across the field from his stage – I listen to his entire set whilst looking for our tent. EVENTUALLY I find it. Thank god. I was going nuts. And colder and colder. I grab a jumper and head back into the festival site.
I’m feeling a bit lonely, now. It’s so dark I can’t find any of my friends – and my phone is close to death, having been used as a light source for the worst part of an hour. There’s an arts and crafts tent open, with chairs outside. I take a seat, and notice that there’s a guy singing inside – a guitar lying flat over his knees, played lap-steel style. He’s wearing an UNPOC t-shirt, which makes me smile. UNPOC is a singer/songwriter from the Fence Collective, who released an astonishing album on Domino a few years ago. In fact, I played in his band for quite awhile … so it’s pretty cool to see someone wearing the shirt. I start taking pictures of the guy … then I suddenly feel a bit weird, so I just listen to his songs. They’re really good – and he’s got an interesting voice too. I’m too shy to say hello, so I scuttle off in search of beer.
On my way to the bar, a guy comes running up to me and says he’s a big fan of the Pictish record and everything, which does plenty for my burgeoning ego. So, it’s with a massive self-satisfied grin on my face that i go and catch the last 4 songs by Mercury Rev. They are, as always, brilliant. Perfect headlining band. There’s something about them that is just so alien and other-worldly. They finish on ‘Goddess On A Highway’, which is phenomenally good.
The remaining 3 or 4 hours of the night is spent drinking hot cider, and staggering about with Hardsparrow, Art Pedro and Animal Magic Tricks. My friend Dom, who put us on in Brighton, is there too … and Dave (Con Brio) who put us on in Woking. It’s like some sort of weird tour reunion. My friend Sarah turns up, and we all meet up with Rozi eventually – who is also sampling the hot cider.
Come 3am, and we’re all blitzed. Somehow, we manage to find the tent immediately. I jump into my sleeping bag, my head spinning, thoughts and music spinning around endlessly.
Hands down – End Of The Road wins best festival of the year …
