I would have preferred to go to EP on Sunday as the line up was more my cup of tea, but my sensible self said that Saturday would be a better option, with work 'n' school 'n' all on Monday.
The night before I went to Electric Picnic last year, I got stung on the arm by a bee. By the following morning, I had a bicep like Popeye. 'You may go to a Doctor with that', the chemist said, with a concerned look on her face. 'Nooooooo !!!', sez I. 'I have to go to Electric Picnic', with a look of a child who couldn't pick out a toy in Smyth's in a minute.
I weighed it up and reckoned that there would be more emergency services in EP than in Poppy Cottage, and took my chances. Unfortunately, my Popeye bicep was painful and heavy, so after my fix of Ocean Colour Scene, I spent most of the day in the comedy tent. Dosed with anti histamines, there was very little gargle. So, this year, I was determined to cram as much in to my Day Pass as possible.
It seemed that the odds were against me going on a bender again this year, when I fell while running and banjaxed my knee badly a week before EP. I recovered well enough and off I went.
Despite all of the write up about 'what-to-see' in the run up to EP, I had no plan in my head about what I wanted to see, except that I wanted to start off in the Literary Tent. Start the day with a healthy dose of culture. Song by Iarla O'Lionaird with poetry by Paul Muldoon and Nuala Ni Dhomhnaill was a sensory feast, with Gaeilge, humour and intensity. I came away from it wanting to be a Gaelgoir and a poet. Thankfully, I also managed to escape without someone asking me for a grant (artists can really pick their moments).
Having no list of where I wanted to go/act I wanted to see, I relied on random strangers recommendations. I found myself in a tent which was 'best of Irish' kind of a thing. There was a bright young singer, with a Florence and the Machine vibe going on. Rubenesque red hair and a gold lurex mini skirt, overlaid with a floor length black gauze skirt. Giving it socks, she was. I wished that I had her confidence when I was 21.
Soon after, Cathy Davey was belting out the tunes. She looked so goddamn cool in jeans and a t-shirt. I wanted my bum to look like hers in jeans. I had total blonde hair envy. The last time that I was this envious, it was Wendy James from Transvision Vamp. An uber cool chick that can sing and play the guitar. I decided there and then that it wasn't too late for me to learn to play the guitar. My little girl wants to anyway. It could be a Mamma and daughter thing.
Being vegetarian, I tend to get excited at the possibility of getting decent veggie food. I was practically drooling at the promise of the veggie burger on the stall's menu, but it tasted of pearl barley and nothing else. In need of soakage, I ate it all the same. Similarly later on, a tantalisingly described wrap was filled with rice and very little else.
My favourite part of EP is people watching. Boy, things have changed since the skuzzy Witnness festival. Then people seemed to wear the same clothes all weekend. The girls might have brought a change of undies, maybe even baby wipes, but the fellas - highly unlikely.
If I could describe the dress code in EP this year it would be 'groomed'. The fellas really pulled the stops out. Many of the hipsters were better coiffed than the women. Clipped beards, tailored jeans, brogues, pocket watches. The office types on their weekend off wore combat shorts and hiking boots.
Although on Day 2 of a largely outdoor festival, the girls have fabulous hair. Fish tail plaits and straightened tresses, with garlands of flowers. Lean legs in shorts, flowing silk tops.
Within this again, there was another subsection of dress.(a) The 100% totally over the top look, such as the party of guys in pink tuxedos (of the not very well tailored variety, in nylon that probably gave them friction burns).
(b) The trying- to- give- the- impression- that- you- didn't- try- too- hard ensembles, even though you had been planning your outfit for weeks.
(c) The let's- be- comfortable- and- remember-that- it- might -rain ensembles
I fell somewhere between (b) and (c), going for boots, jeans, a tres sparkly top and a (fake) sheepskin gilet, topped off with sparkly hair thingy. It appears that my efforts paid off. I was chatting to two (more) random stranger young ones. They asked me what age I was. 'Eh, forty', sez I, 'why?' 'You look, like ... so ... glamorous'. (I knew that they actually wanted to finish with '... for your age ...', but thankfully they stopped short). That's the kind of thing that I say about Blondie and Helen Mirren.
I'd like to say that I listened to lots of bands, heard every word of my favourite tunes, but truth is, I MAY have drank a little too much. Okay, a fair bit too much. I know that I'm admitting this on the WWW, but I'm usually spouting on about clean living, so get over it ! I missed most of the bands that I really wanted to see, or caught the end of them, mis-timing the long walk between stages and allowing time to pee. The Body and Soul area, with its' natural amphitheatre was a great hang out spot that it particularly good for people watching and stuff going on.
I spent most of my time in the Heineken 'Brooklyn Block Party' zone. With a DJ, graffitied walls, basketball court, table tennis and large quantities of beer, I felt like I was in the 'hood in the US of A.
It was SO cool ! I felt energised and care free. I thought about emigrating to the States, there and then. I (kinda) snogged my girlie friend Siobhan (remember her from earlier - the one that's getting married ?). The snog wasn't saucy enough to be an internet sensation, or for me to get hate mail, but it was enough to get a stir down in the pub in Athy.
I'm sorry Paulo Nutini. I love you and you were great, but it was all a bit hazy. You too Debbie Harry, oh glamorous one. I'll catch yiz next time
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