Okay, now I really want to go to Bestival. I spent the weekend in a Bangor field, smothered in sun-cream and music, moulding with clay and dancing to Dizzee Rascal on the grass outside the main tent. Highlights included: sunshine, singing along to Journey (damn it Glee, that was my song), exchanging awkward dialogue with Ian Watkins of Lostprophets fame as I shuffled through the signing tent, dancing around like a fifteen year old and asserting that 'Last Summer' was 'our song' to anybody who would listen, MGMT and disco! disco! and Florence and the Machine; sneaking back to Bangor on the Sunday with my mum (ahem), Marina and the Diamonds, stumbling across a secret Biffy Clyro acoustic set in the Surgery, moulding dinosaurs out of the aforementioned clay (Biffy Dino ♥) and the Chris Moyles vs. Tim Westwood sound-off, particularly the lines:
Westwood: "Put your hands up if you were born in the '80s"
*crowds cheer*
Westwood: "Put your hands up if you were born in the '90s"
*crowds cheer*
My mum: "Put your hands up if you were born in the '50s"
*cheers*
The only lowlight of the weekend occurred during Cheryl Cole's performance on Saturday afternoon, when an ungainly chav decided to unzip his fly and urinate on the floor directly behind my feet. There was a lot of spray as he wheeled about in drunken circles, parents were shielding their children's eyes and soon there was a large perimeter as the crowd anxiously surged away from him. It was a very grim moment for me, particularly as I didn't want to watch Cheryl Cole in the first place. GAH.
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