Here is my Womad (World of Music and Dance) blog! Womad is an annual festival held over four days every July. 38,000 people attend. This was my first experience; my friends go most years. The venue was held in the grounds of Charlton Hall, Wiltshire (near the 12th century town of Malmesbury)- about 170 miles from Sussex.
The weather was not the best one could hope for. Saturday was quite nice, but from lunchtime sunday until the next morning, it rained constantly. My tent was a bit too small and not sufficiently water-proof- this does start to became a bit of a miserable experience after four nights. Still, there was great company, lots of laughs and good food and entertainment.
"She has arrived with emergency supplies! "Quick let's grab a picture before
Thank god!" it rains again!"
One afternoon, Tracey and I went for a real estate stroll- it was a bit like a 'Kirsty 'n Phil' nylon version of 'Location, location, location'. On the whole, it was miles of bland nylon, 'a la Argos', but occasional creative gems stood out ('Quechua', by the way, seems the smartest brand if you are mad enough to be contemplating a sesh under cover). We particularly highly scored an initially unassuming homestead, at a critical junction- turn right and end up 'home', make a left and end up lost in a Kafka-esque nightmare. This particular tent was festooned with solar powered fairy lights (strung along the guy-ropes; panel and battery pack included). A definite 'must have' for any future ventures.
"Here is the news...." "There were some fantastic shopping opportunities in the millinery field...."
Facilities for 'intimate functions' were literally crap! I still shudder at the thought of those portaloos and wonder how the hell everyone managed to hang-on long enough in endless queues. For two days, the organisers even neglected to put a screen around a row of urinals. In front of hundreds of passerbys? No way! As for the communal showers, the only concession seemed to be gender separation. Three rows of stalls for nearly 20,000 men were, um, crowded.
"We've come to get the rent; cough up or else!"
One morning Helen went off in her dressing gown to the showers, but didn't return for nearly three hours. She had got lost and ended up near the grand country house (about a mile away) and had to shelter under some trees during a rain storm! Moral of the story: if one is camping and wander off , work out where you came from first!
"Even The Cheeky Girls made an appearance."
As one would expect, the music was good. A bit difficult to prioritise (or get one's lazy arse off the pink blown-up lips), especially when it involved negotiating and waiting for seven people. I especially enjoyed Orishas (a Cuban bunch fronted by a shirtless black muscle bound singer, 'doing it big' on stage). Chami Singh and his bhangra crowd were good for a singalong (especially if your Punjabi is up to scratch). I also enjoyed seeing a bunch of Azerbaijanis at the Radio 3 tent. There was a plethora of musical traditions, workshops and dance venues. I also happened to stumble across a load of white 'right on' Australian apologists banging on endlessly about Aboriginal rights. Isn't it time to just get on with it? (Anyway, what are you doing here preaching to us?) Wherever one was (including late at night 'under canvas'), various unidentified wailings/drummings and distant ooolulatings could be heard.
"I wonder if the Scissor Sisters started off this way?"
At one end of the massive 'arena' area, was an old fashioned fairground. Steam powered carousel, helter-skelter, rocking boats, chairoplanes etc. I wanted to go on the sky-diving/spinning/upside down/sort of pill shaped red arrow jet (do you get the picture?). David was up for this. It was really a tight squeeze getting in to the compartment and very challenging- I kept getting slammed against the side whilst he struggled to keep his willy inside his micro shorts. I think that the screaming could be heard as far as Dorset. (I got bruised all down my arm).
"What the hell was I thinking?!"
After that experience, I decided to just watch the rides. However there was also an old fashioned penny arcade- fruit machines, laughing sailors, fortune telling machines etc, which we got in to. I got my fortune read and received a 'picture' of my 'future husband' (looked rather addled and reminded me of someone!).
Although the San Fran Cocktail Bar tent wasn't an official music venue, we ended up there quite a bit. One night, whilst thoroughly 'getting on down' to some street Portuguese rap (like you do), I was approached by one of the members of World Beatz (www.worldbeatz.co.uk).
"Do you live in Bristol?", he asked.
(Why not, I thought, so said), "Yes".
"I like your style. Come to our next gig; here's a card."
A few minutes later, a 21 year old woman tried to pick me up.
It was starting to turn in to an interesting and strange night, for a respectable middle aged man....
"Three pissed reprobates caught out at some seedy late night joint."
"The good time gells are in town!"
There were tonnes of shopping, eating and drinking opportunities. All sorts of food was at hand- an Afro-Caribbean meal nearly blew my head off; that salsa was 'hot'! We spent a lot of time hanging out in the real ale tent, replete with wellies. The place was such a great hit, they had to get emergency supplies in. On the last night, whilst in there, news reached us of a £1 locust sale at a used clothes store next 'tent'. Sophie grabbed a one-piece black all leather dress, I got a perfect condition mustard yellow leather coat and David a US baseball league zipped top. (The night before, when we were in there, we did a 'whip-round' to buy a young woman a pristine wedding dress, complete with train and sewn in pearls. She was chuffed and went off into the night to boogie-on down.)
Late on the final night, I decided to wander off back to our encampment. En route, I came across a black female manequin torso lying on the grass. I wondered for a sec if someone had slipped a tab in to my pint. But no, it was real (so I put it under my arm, went around a few more venues and took it back to our tents, where I put it under Christine's duvet- I thought she may like the company). The next day, whilst we were all packing up, she exclaimed, "There's a woman's body in my tent!".
"It has been there all night, love. Didn't you notice?" (Apparently not).
"Lavinia and I; she was 'armless really."
The packing up and trapsing back and forth to the cars was a bit of a pain, but by 11am we were off along the M4 heading toward London. After a stop off and dropping R&D home, I collapsed back here by 4pm and was back to work the next day. It has taken me until today (saturday) to recover!
It was fun; it was an experience. Will I do it again though? Umm, doubt it, however, one never quite knows.....
"Ah, domestic bliss. Who needs walls?"
