Cambridge Diary 2006
Alice Ralph
Thursday
7.45am
I wake up out of a vivid dream, or perhaps nightmare, starring
Chris Moyles and something to do with karaoke to current chart hits to find that
my radio alarm clock has been playing for over half an hour while I slept on.
Even more terrifyingly, I remember that I have failed to pack anything that
vaguely resembles camping necessities, namely spare underwear or waterproofs,
and spend the next hour digging through cupboards and dusty drawers in an
attempt to find said essentials. In typical fashion, my mother is also
hysterical. But then she always is at times like these.
9.15am
Tess makes her annual trip next door, to stay for the weekend with
our elderly neighbour, Pam. For a small dog, it is quite impressive how much
luggage she requires. In fact, we appear to be lugging more things next door on
the dogs behalf than we are lugging into the cars. I wish Tess goodbye but she
ignores me and appears more interested in the weekend of pampering and luxury
that awaits her. The weather is becoming increasingly overcast and I realise
that I’m probably not looking forward to the same treatment.
10:55am
We’ve left! Within 100 feet of our doorstep we have run into
traffic but that is no test for the brave folk warriors that we are! After a
bitter fight (almost) to the death, my 21st century younger brother has
kidnapped the device for plugging his iPod into the tape deck, whereas my Dad
and I have only mixtapes to amuse ourselves with. However, it turns out that our
ancient ways are worthwhile, and we drive to a soundtrack of Planxty and
Dervish, which seems appropriate for our trip. I start to wish I had a beer
belly and a folk-beard.
4:15pm
We arrive on the site only to find the sky turning so dark that
people start turning on their headlights to put their tents up in. I am no Ray
Mears but even I know that this is a bad, bad sign for campers, and start making
over-emphasised glances at my watch as I back away, making it clear that I must
leave now or there is no way I can possibly stay for another moment as I must
dash to the train station to meet Bea, leaving my family to put up our tent in
ultra fast time before the impending monsoon starts. As it so happens, I am
right because I find myself wandering around the Cambridge suburbs utterly lost.
Luckily I ask a particularly friendly family for directions, and (god bless
them) they are heading that way anyway and offer me a lift to the station. It
turns out that I have been walking in completely the opposite direction for
about 15 minutes. The toddler sitting in the back of the car looks quizzically
at the overhead storm clouds and asks loudly if it is night time. I was
wondering the same thing.
5:10pm
Having met Bea at the station, we decide that our best bet is to
get a taxi back to the site. On the way, heavy drops of rain start to fall and
by the time we pay the driver and stumble out of the cab we are in the middle of
a rainstorm of biblical proportions. We find shelter in the wristband tent,
along with various other sodden refugees, before eventually returning, dripping,
to our tent. Thankfully my parents managed to get most of the tent erect (I just
like including the word “erect”, yes I am that immature) before the sky emptied
itself on them, and my family are cowering inside our cars, apparently
unconcerned about the fact that Bea and I almost drowned in the open air. We
consider putting up the rest of the tent but decide that the camping stove and
cups of tea are first in order. Well, quite.
8:25pm
Having rung out my only pair of trousers, Bea, Tom and I decide to
catch the shuttle bus to the main site. Despite the fact that Chumbawamba and
Nizlopi are both playing tonight, and we had vowed to see them play since they
were the only bands our friends back home would know when we told them about our
weekend, we are all too shell-shocked from our days experience to elbow our way
into the Radio 2 tent. We do, however, have the energy to elbow our way into the
beer tent. I find that cider is of some comfort to the exhausted student with
wet jeans, as is pasta from the Italian stall. Bea buys supposed “food” that
looks suspiciously like something Fungus The Bogeyman would eat, but apparently
it is veggie sausages and mash with gravy. Even my mother looks horrified to
find her actually eating that stuff, although Bea insists that it is in fact
very nice. We are not convinced.
10:30pm
I am convinced that at last year’s festival it only took my friend
Hamish and I about 10 minutes to walk back to Coldham’s Common from the main
site.
11:10pm
After 40 minutes of walking, I eventually admit to Bea that my
memory of the walk home may have been slightly incorrect.
12:00am
After lying on my inflatable mattress for 5 minutes, it is has
come to my attention that somebody has sabotaged my comfortable sleeping
arrangements by unplugging the air-plug. I wake up half the campsite with my
huffing and puffing, re-inflating it by mouth to save crawling the almighty 3
feet to the foot pump.