It was finally that time of the year! Like
an excited schoolgirl ready for her first day, I jolted out of bed; my
breathing getting shorter as my mind began to race with mental notes “tent
poles? Check. Glitter? Check. Wine? Check” I took a deep breath. One step at a
time. First mission: Coffee (not that I needed more stimulation...)
It was time for Gottwood, the first
festival of the year located 6 hours from Bristol in Anglesey, Wales. I zoomed
over to N’s house as the caffeine levels peaked, half dragging along my camping
gear that was awkwardly strapped to my body. We packed the boot of his newly
acquired, 1960’s baby blue Volvo, shut the bonnet and sat down to fiddle with
the ancient seatbelts. As the hum of the engine began to reverberate through
the leather seats, I rolled down my window, closed my eyes and felt the Bristol
breeze as the first of the day’s tunes began to play.
The flow was easy as the hours passed,
countless rollies were smoked and conversation continued … until we hit
standstill traffic. The summer sun beat down hard on the bonnet, the
temperature gage was stuck on ‘hot’ and we began to feel like a slow cooked,
Sunday roast with no ‘fan assisted’ option to cool us down. “Please can the
engine not blow, please can the engine not blow” was the mantra for that moment
as I supressed the possibility of getting stranded in the middle of Wales.
One hour later, when patience had reached
its limits, the traffic started moving and so (thankfully) did the breeze. We
drove on, engine intact, brain half baked but managing to keep our cool and
save the full cook up till later. It wasn’t long before we’d made it through
the tedious queues, bargained down the shuttle bus driver and arrived, along
with the rest of the crew to the camping spot that T and D had patiently saved…
poles, pegs, mattress pumps and many hands – soon enough we’d erected a little
village with I and B’s totem Bell tent adorned in fairly lights and incense,
serving as a signpost and safe-haven for when the rain fell. 
Gottwood was the perfect festival to start
the season; the music was mostly funky house with the line-up including amazing
artists such as Joy Orbison, Bradley Zero and Archie Hamilton who played in
stages dotted around the Welsh woodlands; the lake-stage holding the perfect
day vibes for when the rays were out and the pyramid stage, with its 3D
mist-filled visuals transforming the night-time into a multidimensional reality
of sorts. With our beautiful crew who could often be found slutdropping under
the neon arrow held by Queen L, we wondered through the woods, dancing along
and branching off to discover magical venues.
It’s funny how fast we create routines for
ourselves, the motive of our waking life became the music instead of the sun;
rising late-afternoon, beginning the ritual of glitter and fancy dress, packing
some real nutrition in at the avocado stand followed by a caffeinated beverage
of some sort: re-set, re-charged and ready. Should the griminess and
overflowing portaloos get too much to bear, the glorious options of a shower or
a posh poo were game changers. Although, it did rain enough for a daily cleanse
(free of charge!)
I chuckle to myself as I reminisce about
the first downpour. I was sat against a hay bail, talking to a beautiful
stranger about our love for the elements and nature. A deep, monotonous techno
tune was playing and every 4 beats, a woman’s voice would quietly chant “rain”.
Sure enough, synchronicity was in effect and the droplets started arriving, rapidly
picking up pace and shifting the tone of our conversation from appreciation to
annoyance; we cursed the elements that we’d loved only minutes before, gave each
other a squeeze and ran off to join our separate crews. We clambered into the
bell tent, leaving our muddy wellies at the entrance to enter the west world
of yoga and slut drops to a harmony of kumbaya… “Inhaaale” everyone lifted
their arms “and exhaale”, as their eyes closed and their arms came down “OI OI
OI OI OIIIII!!! CHUG IT!” We creased at the vibe-kill as the group of lads next
door began chanting loudly, jeering their mate on to chug his beer and then
like clockwork, L stumbled in to the centre of the circle, eyes rolling and 2
bottles in hand. What to do but laugh…
From laughing to tears, the times took an
emotional twist. I truly learnt the effects of sleep deprivation due to being
convinced that the festival finished a day early and pulling a premature
all-nighter. I realised I’d gone from half-baked to fully frazzled when I bumped
into our mate O (who we’d spent all
morning with) in the middle of a crowd, looking at me as he called my name, still
dressed in his policeman outfit from a few hours before. My blood froze,
thinking I’d been hunted down by security and was being kicked out of the
festival. I stood in shock for a few minutes before my very slow brain began to
recognise him and I loosened the grip on my rucksack and broke the confused
silence with a laugh. A new song came on and the rhythm continued, as it always
does.
So, although there were shit moments (like when we were dancing at the pyramid stage and the guy dressed in the inflatable poo-suit popped up on top of the hay bails), most of them were incredible (like when the whole crew coincidentally found each other around a random tree, like woodland creatures responding to natures call). On the last morning, C & I were the last to leave the deserted campsite due to our deadened response to all the attempted wake up calls. I managed to luckily reclaim my phone at lost and found before we spotted N & D who’d been patiently waiting for us by the car. As we drove off in that baby blue Volvo, I smiled; still riding the buzz of the weekend and feeling the warmth of beautiful company, like an aftertaste of the Chai-rum that had always given us that much needed lift at the end of the night. Until next year, Gottwood.
Song of the day:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5-s32ESIR-4
Mix of the day:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i1hIxht83h8
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