Festival Number 6 – Portmeirion (Saturday)

(review n pix by neil crud – follow me on twitter)

The traipse back to the campsite was tricky at night. Earlier we had worked out how to put up our tent in the sunshine, enjoyed a few ciders and revelled at the lush green grass from under our oak tree. Coming back after a day of Friday’s entertainment the site was a Pabell Sea of Canvas and guy ropes; the ‘fire lanes’ had been ignored and filled with tents.
That dank morning feel after the first night of a festival was upon me – you always over-do it on the first day, you’ve let yourself off the leash; work is a distant irritating memory and doesn’t need to be thought of for a couple more days, so you let loose. I stumble down the steep hill to the portaloos, thankfully some poor kid given the task to don the marigolds and clean up a day’s worth of shit has done a good job. It’s early, very early, only a few refugees are still up wandering around, someone is on the grass, asleep, never quite made it to his tent, or couldn’t find it. A few likewise early risers are choosing their portaloo – everyone looks fucked – we’re all fucked together. Some guy from Cardiff is camped next to us and he is more fucked than the rest of us put together. He managed to piss everyone off last night trying to light a fire and arguing with his girlfriend. I spot him loitering around the (expensive) Breakfast Club bus at 7.30am, trying to speak cohearantly enough to order a cup of tea – fucked. He staggers with his brew over to the milk and sugar table and stares at it for an age – fucked. I take my coffee and 2 salty bacon baps back to the tent vowing to turn vegetarian one of these days soon. The fucked Cardiff guy stumbles over our guy ropes and falls into his tent. We hear his girlfriend playing fuck with him at his fuckedness.