Latitude

Been a bit late with this. Sorry 'bout that. But here are my pictures and reports from the Latitude Festival a couple of weeks ago. I'm maintaining my suntan with some success, thank you.

The longest queue in the world, in which I stood with a 100l backpack and a frigging huge crate of camping equipment.

 We arrived at the campsite in high winds. As the site is basically a field, there was nothing to stop the wind from doing its very best to blow the tents over as we pitched them. I saw several nearly blow away. Thank God it wasn't raining!

Collapsed inside my tent. If you're wondering why this picture is so pink...

...that's because my tent was pink. Also a teepee. A pink teepee. Oh yeah. This is how we do it.

 Having pitched our tents, we went in search of a drink. And Tom Jones. He was supposed to be performing a secret set on a small hidden stage, but unfortunately as this was announced on national television it meant 20,000 people trying to cram into a space that might hold about 200. So we missed him. Dammit.

I still have no idea who these dudes were. Some giant ghosty people, I guess. And, see? If I've got photographic evidence then clearly it wasn't the drinking.

My cherry tattoo. Which was insisted upon because I was popping my festival cherry. It was sparkly and everything.

The excessively pleasant surroundings of Henham Park.

The coloured sheep. See above re: photographic evidence.

 I wonder if the sheep knew they'd been dyed? Can sheep see in colour? Do you think they were making fun of each other? "Dude, you're green!" "Yeah, well at least I'm not pink."

Puss in Boots, our official Festival Mascot, pleading for more beer.

My Festival Look, day two. It was all going fine until I got a bit silly with the glowsticks.

Sunset over the Obelisk Arena.

Ballet on the lake. Swan Lake, too.

My Festival Look, Day Three. Complete with bruised arm from hauling camping gear around. Oh, and someone with a cat's head.

Another Maybe It's The Drinking moment.

And finally, to prove I had a real, actual suntan, here's the mark left behind when I peeled the cherry tattoo off. Fo' real.

And would I go back? Well, once I've forgotten about the camping...maybe.

Maybe I will.