Unfortunately for me I can recall less of my most recent soujourn to the Isle Of Wight than the first, which was 19 years ago, when I was three. Thankfully, by utilising the limitless potential of the internet I can piece together a timeline of events from this weekends Bestival 2010, my ticket to which was sort of bought as a mistake. Now fortunately for me a very happy mistake, like my little brother, because what I have pieced together is actually one hell of a weekend. Including...
Breakfast on a sunny hillside set to the soundtrack of Gaggle:
This video, although visually indicative of their angry-girl outward vibe, does little to convey how haunting the aptly named gaggle sounded as their soothing choir tones pulsed through the stillness of a Sunday morning at a festival. This made them one of the stand-out highlights of the weekend for me.
Another was undoubtedly dancing like a tree-stump-possessed to the infectious melodies of Dan le Sac Vs. the bearded, yoda-like Scroobius Pip, who I quite happily would've wed in that great big inflatable church! The pip that is. No offence Mr Le Sac.
I am also soo glad that I cajoled my tent-fellow into ditching Ellie Goulding in favour of Darwin Deez at Arcadia. Their set complete with choreographed dance sequences in between songs was so awkwardly brilliant as if we, the crowd, were no more than their bedroom mirrors. But instead of cutting the cord it served to underpin the tenderness of songs like Radar Detector and Constellations which were brought to life through the medium of Deez's perfect bouncing ringlets bopping along to his distinctive voice.
After the crowd had dispersed I was consumed with the idea I would ask the bands beautiful French sound guy to get me an autograph. Although my hour and a half wait during The Filthy Dukes, who frankly do not deserve a link, brought me a friend in a kindly mime who had (coincidentally) lost her voice, wanted my cider, and left me with only a lipstick kiss on my cheek as proof she ever existed I never got my autograph. And I only just managed to catch Mumford & Sons jangling out Little Lion Man.
Regardless, no amount of mud-that's-probably-poo, urinal mishaps, cash machine queues, nose whiskey references, extortionate pineapples or beardywomen could deter me. To borrow the sentiment of the weekends' for some reason ubiquitous 10cc song; I don't like Bestival, I love it.
