Victoria Turnbull

Part1

First and formost, big thanks Flamingo for the ticks it was an amazing weekend…

So Here’s the low-down of my favourist 2 days of the year so far…. With 4 days notice and in the middle of a busy period at work I managed to get a days holiday and as it happens my new flat mate had been given a few tickets as well, so I was sorted for a lift down. Plus it saved me some well-needed spon-doolies on the train faire - £60 - you’re having a girraffe!

After a quick stop in Stratford to pick up Jonny’s sis. I say quick, there’s at least 5 coach stations in Stratford, and I think I’ve found the place where old people go to die. It was Global a go go!!

After a bit of excitable research a few days before we found out you couldn’t take booze into Global, so there was hundreds of folk at the entrance gates gagging after trying to neck as much of their crates of strongbow as possible. Defiance in the eye of an burly security guard with a rubber glove on. Incidentally there was a whole tent dedicated to the art of bag and possibly bum searching. I did feel a tad nervous going through the gates as we’d thought on a strategiously placed a few bottles of the Russian stuff in our shoes. Cunning? Yes very.

And I’m sorry, but we had to try. Jonny and his sis also had comp ticks (not the VIP ones we had) and tried a little ‘oh my god they’ve sent us the wrong ones’ schpeal, 20 minutes of pure blagging and a few tears later our pleas didn’t quite cut the mustard, so we parted ways and promised to meet up when the party started.

Me and Dave (my very very excited boyfriend) found a nice spot to put up the tent near the fence and away from the ruffians and attempted to squeeze a double mattress into a £15 Somerfield tent. I think it looked snug, but Dave said ‘it’s too fucking small’. Just you wait. We popped some warm OJ into a bottle of the warm vodka and went for an explore.

The VIP bit was cool, a smallish camping bit that had a shower block, and next to that a GHD tent. Where you could have your hair put in ‘rock chick curls’ or a ‘punk Mohican’ or straightened for £8. The next morning we saw girls queuing for it to open. Festival chiq? Oh come on! Come Sunday morning you’re probably going to have someone elses sick in your hair and paying a tenner to have it straightened will be the last thing on your mind.

A few fast food joints, a little bar (with the worst staff, who looked at me funny when I asked for juice (for the vodka) (can you do a brackets inside brackets?)) then the toilers. May I just take a few minutes to explain to you the spender of the toilets. Having spent 5 days hovering over the long drops at Glasto last month I was dead excited to finally have a sit down wee at a festival. These were not ordinary porta loos, these were Marks and Sparks porta loos. Wooden doors, sinks, carpet, weird book shelfs, hand cream, liquid soap, toilet paper, toilet seats no less, AND classical music piped through the whole thing. Day 2 they fooking stank, and carpet was moist. The novelty had wore off, but still not a long drop in sight.

The VIP area was a field with a chill out area, a bar, a tent, a bunch of Jacuzzis, which led into the main festival  bit and the golden circle - the front bit of the stage where i got good eye full of mmmmmMark Ronson. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------