annanotbob's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Organisation can only get I had it all mapped out in my mind: put washing on, buy sketch books, come home, put next lot of washing on, chill out for a bit, take wet washing to laundrette, dry it, bring it home, start packing, chill out, eat, sleep, go to group, go to Glasto. But there was a fire in the laundrette and it was closed when I got there. And by that time, the garden was all in shade and what with the bedding and all, there's not enough room on the washing line anyway. So I've had to turn the heating on and drape everything over the radiators. It's still not all dry, and I've had to turn the heating off because it's totally enervating and headache-inducing and I'm going to bed in a bit, so fuck it. The trouble is, the clothes go in the suitcase and the suitcase has to go in the car first, because it's huge and everything else has to fit in around it. So I've not even started. Still, at least the car isn't parked on the street all loaded up with my portable home from home. Desiree mentioned not being able to face a festival because of the discomfort, but be assured, darling, I aim to avoid discomfort wherever possible and at the very least I ensure a pleasant cosy place to come back to at night. I have a proper camp bed (Sara got me a new regular-sized one which will fit in the tent) and take two quilts, my big feather pillow and my fleecy blanket. I also take my pink Spanish cotton rug, as I cannot bear to sit on a groundsheet if it rains, though of course I have a comfy chair, but all that plastic is such a downer, n'est-ce pas? Then there's the coffee pot and the camp fire... and it all becomes quite civilised. The toilet facilities - well, they do their best to keep them clean and they're usually equipped with paper and that antiseptic hand-gel, like they have in hospitals, so it's not too bad. Of course, if it rains a lot, that's a different matter, but it's June, it's not that cold. Last time I went it rained heavily on and off for most of the week and I still managed to keep my bed dry. I don't mind a bit of mud. Or a lot - not even a fuck of a lot, really. I may be giving a lift to Ren's stoner mate Charlie. He phoned to ask last night, but I didn't get an address off him and he's ten miles down the road in the right direction so he won't be coming here. I thought I'd text him but I seem to have accumulated three different Charlie's on my phone and no idea which is which. So who knows. Charlie's been a mate of Ren's and therefore all of us since they were about eight - sixteen years or so. As I haven't killed him yet I can probably make it to Glasto without clocking him one, but he is a bit of a bloody event (like several others of his name and/or similar). He's been going to festivals since he was a baby as his parents ran an organic mobile bakery up until a couple of years ago, so with luck he'll be able to talk someone into letting me drive my car right on site to unload it, or if not, at least help me carry it. And he knows the route. If he brings with him more than a ticket and a bag of grass I'll be amazed. So, that's me, off for a week. No internet access, which will be a shock to my addicted little system. Grateful for: Making myself a nice roast chicken dinner, with bread sauce and roast taties and all; leftovers - I might just have a few to keep me going till morning; having expectations of making my own good time at the festival, doing what I want and not being fussed about hanging round with any of the awkward squad; weather forecast looks good - a bit of cloud which suits me; I may be singing along with Bruce about the Erie Canal - my fantasies coming full circle. Take care, dear people. Have a good week and I'll see you soon xxx |10:43 p.m. - 21/06/2009 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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