There is a Matt Reed in my house. He was staying in London and made to leave the flat very early, so instead of letting him wander the streets of Finsbury Park by himself we have taken him in, given him tea, and hidden the valuables. The morning is to be spent watching Jeremy Kyle and relating the people on it to audience members we have dealt with. So far everyone has come from a Jongleurs or the Hyena. Matt’s here because in a few short hours we are heading to Camp Bestival. Despite how it sounds, its not like Bestival but with jazz hands. In fact its the more family orientated version of Bestival, with a whole kids field and music going on no later than 11pm. Its all quite lovely. Or at least it should be. The plan was that Layla was going to come along and we were going to have a lovely afternoon watching music and things then head back late tonight after my gig. But it looks like the weather is going to be full of rain. Which changes everything.
I hate rain at festivals. I’m not the world’s biggest festival fan as it is, but when the entire time spent at a festival is used wading through three miles of mud and other people’s shit, I can’t see where the fun is. It’s usually buried under three feet of dirt. Last year’s Bestival was such a hideous experience. The comedy tent was so flooded that if they had turned the generator on for the microphone, everyone in the near area would have been electrocuted. While there are certain gigs I would love to see that happen to the crowd, it felt unecessary to do that to Bestivalers and the tent was cancelled. I ended up sitting around for three days doing nothing, hoping the tent would re-open so I could gig. It didn’t and I didn’t. Well except for my spot on the X-Box Live stage. It wasn’t really a spot, considering I was introduced by the DJ saying ‘I’m going away for 30 mins while some comedian comes on. Don’t worry I’ll be back in a bit.’ I then walked on stage while a man dressed as a boat rowed himself across the room and a lot of people got annoyed they had to stop dancing. Still several weeks later, a free Xbox 360 arrived at my house and suddenly that man rowing himself seemed like an almost fond memory as I spent sufficient hours blowing pixels up.
So deciding whether to sit at home and leave at the last minute in time to do my gig then leave, or get my wellies on and head down for the afternoon, strolling past face painted children who are so soaked with rain that it looks like their head is melting. To be fair the latter does sound fun. If you are going along this weekend, come along to the comedy tent. I’m on at 19.40 but it’s a pretty great bill all night long.
Must go, Reed’s rummaging through my DVD’s and I want to make sure he only pinches the shit ones. Longer blog tomorrow peoples, unless I have drowned in mud and despair.
