The end is near!
The weird and the wonderful
Before packing my bags and going on this festival adventure with the boys, I knew that there will be a time where I will question my existence and think about why I even agreed to play camp mum.
You know what is cool? Coming back to the camp after working all day, only to find Tio proudly presenting his sun burned neck to you. He was so proud of himself that he called himself ‘Red Neck’ from now on. Shaking my head acknowledging that he isn’t a fan of sunscreen, I couldn’t help myself and sigh in defeat. Sternly I assured him that I will ignore all cries of pain and desperation.
I thought he would have learned his lesson, but when I returned to the camp the next day he greeted me with his ‘ Oh yeah, I am up to something’ devilish smile. He excitedly jumped around in front of me turning around, screaming ‘Red Neck – was yesterday! I am PURPLE NECK NOW!’ before breaking out into a very special rendition of ‘Purple Rain’ with the exclusive lyrics – you guessed it – Purple Neck.
In this moment I didn’t know if was proud of him or if I wanted to give up all hope already.
Having come to terms that I will never win, I kind of gave myself into the whole laddish festival life. I think I did pretty well, even the questionable music didn’t bother me anymore and I had already accepted that cleaning up the camp is a lost cause. But what really surprised and shocked me at the same time was that I had adapted the boy’s weird way of talking. Over the course of the festival they had invented this weird shouty-sing sang speech, which I call festival-lingo. And thanks to my linguistic talents I had taken to the new language like a duck to water, so much that when talking to people outside the camp I sometimes received some really confused looks. I was on the highway of becoming one of the lads, thankfully I got my act together and left the motorway ahead of junction ‘Ladsville’.
That was when I came back from work one day to find the camp had turned into an absolute shit hole. And no, I am not exaggerating. Hundreds of empty beer cans all over the ground, across our 3 meter long camp table, random bits of meat lying around, sprinkled with a wild mix of other rubbish. It was only topped off by a box of Haribo that had been cooking in the sunshine for days and had now turned into a massive Flubber. I lost it, grabbed a bunch of bin bags and started chucking everything that didn’t look like it still had a purpose. ‘You are destroying our natural habitat.’, ‘The surroundings have positively influenced my karma and now you are destroying it!’ were some of the things that I got in response for tidying. Sorry not sorry. I sat down on my trusty chair, one of the few ones that have made it this far, grabbed a beer that I very much deserved only to witness V chucking his empty cans straight back onto the ground. He was obviously back in his own little world and didn’t get the memo that I just cleaned. Lovely.
As the festival was nearing the end and we had more broken chairs than broken bones to offer, I looked around the camp into six happy faces. Thanks to the unplanned trips to the hospital we actually never ran out of beer, cause what is the worst? When you run out of beer! Exactly.
I thought that the chances of genuinely hating someone after the festival were very high, but after all we had been through I did love them more than ever. Every single one of them. Despite their weirdness and special skill of properly driving me mad sometimes, they had done alright and regardless of what stupid thing they were doing they always made sure that I was ok. Even when head banging at a gig Dr. Bird would turn to me and check that I was ok.
Sometimes, I did feel like a single mum that’s working fulltime, trying to juggle job and keeping her seven babies happy but I think I did ok. No one died (only ended up in hospital, but you win some you lose some) and I have been assured that the boys not just want me back in the camp next year, but they NEED ME.
Camp love is true love. ♥
See you next year.