I am actually going to die. I have been rudely awoken by my co host for the last part of Friday night, who informs me that as I warned, yes I do snore. Oh fuck off love, my head is currently, although invisible to the naked eye, exploding and dribbling brain all over the bed. Which I’m sure I dribbled on too. Definitely having a Mae West moment. I drag myself up, chuck last nights clothes back on, add the aviators and zombie walk to the car which speeds back to the scene of last nights crime. The crime being I drunk fucking Sangria. Bloody Arch Enemy.
I don’t even knock on the motor home door, just fling it open, lob my stuff in and throw myself on a spare bit of cushion and try to get some more sleep, it’s 7 sodding am . Pink Floyd seeping out from the stereo however is not letting this happen so its back to the step and a repeat of yesterdays mantra. Smoke constantly, back loads of water and wait for the guys to wake up.
Ben and I are once again the troopers. We are in agony but traipse to the stall and carry on with the process of opening up. Do you know how hot those stalls get under the tarpaulin when the sun is beating down? Really fucking hot. The Dutch next door to us from another label are finding us hysterical although do bring us coffee and make me smokes. We have a budding friendship and they for sure see us as their little siblings. The morning before one of them had heard the guys outside, got up, showered, walked back to where we are all parked / sleeping and only then looked at his watch and realised to his horror that it was 6.30 am and the guys hadn’t actually been to bed yet. Ha.
Lyoll and Morgan dained us with their presence at gone lunch again and Morgan proceeded to catch up on even more sleep under the merch table which started up a new game for the rest of us combining his leg and the industrial monkey grips used to hold the tarpaulin down. Alas, all fun and games it was not. Try as I might I just could not vom'. And the lord knows I really needed to vom’. In fact I think by Saturday I was the only one who hadn’t. I felt like my body was cheating me.
Ben the poor thing had a mountain of wholesale orders to plough through and it hurt just to look at the pain in his eyes. He looked like one of those dog rescue adverts asking for just 2 pounds a month. Poor little blighter.
Info was working it’s way back to us throughout the day of carnage happening all over the site last night and we seemed to be linked in some way to all of it. Fantastic! Many proud smiles broke on our faces repeatedly as more and more people crept out in to the day all pained and headed to our stall to laugh about it all.
6 pm finally came so I braved it and started tentatively back on the spirits. I know, pat on the back me. For the Queen and Country and all that.
By 8 pm I was drunk again...winner! Saturday night was a blur of further schmoozing, random acts of passing out by lots of people and loads more booze. The music, incidentally..Cough cough also picked up. In fact the whole of Saturday night was not too shabby at all. At some point during the day another British Thrash band had turned up, Eyes of a Traitor and hung with us on the stall for the best part of the day, so we caught a few of their songs, but the real corkers were Bio Hazard followed by Kreator. Both of which fucking smacked it.
The stall seemed to be doing well to as it turns out there is a pattern to people’s buying at these things. First day a bit of shopping. Second day all money on booze. Last day, all money on merch. Sweet. We packed up and dismantled the stall and took ourselves off with all our fellow merch comrades to the backstage beer tent. Which shut. What the fuck? So off we all trot to the motor home and get the last dregs of alcohol, white wine of course and soldiered on until...the bar re opened! Yay! I at this point bowed out with my snoring buddy and left the guys in the rain clutching on their beers jabbering on about god knows what.
Sunday morning, my pockets are full with business cards and Euros and beer tokens. My head isn’t too full of sick but my heart is full of sadness. The festival is over. Everything is being dismantled in the harsh sun. There is litter everywhere and memories of a blinding time scattered all over the place. All the people are leaving looking like they have just left a war zone and we are all quiet as we load up and hit the road back to Blighty.
A 14 hour drive through beautiful Germany, Burger King stop in Holland and looking forward to France in Belgium is ahead of us. End goal Calais and a ferry to take us to Dover. The soundtrack is anything but Thrash and Metal, well maybe just a bit..We fucking love it!
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