The final day thank fucking god. Holy shit I have never known anything like this weekend. I can’t believe I’m actually thinking this but I’m looking forward to getting back to being a lowly barmaid for a while. Bit of normality.
Sunday is weird. We did some work, obviously, but we were also given a whole heap of time off, a good chunk of the afternoon found us messing about together, just us girls. It was the best bit of the whole weekend easily. Apart from catching up with the man of course. No, it saved the weekend for me.
Mastodon was in the house, played an awesome set and were great fun backstage. Brent and Pat found each other and kept seeing them throughout the day knocking about together thick as thieves. We ate with their tour manager, nicked a bottle of red and ran off to watch god knows who!
Cathedral rocked, I missed Brutal Truth because I had to do some work at some point, sucks. Hatebreed were fucking A and Suicidal Tendencies found me on stage with everyone else screaming S….T…S….T!
Scarlet was back, so everything was well more chilled for a start. And I think Talita, Rachel and me must have looked like the dead on our feet walking that we felt, ‘cause everyone was so lenient on us. And we took bare liberties!
Sunday found us on our little grassy knoll, opposite the VIP backstage area, with a little BB gun shooting at passers by. I got Wino from Saint Vitus, who I had met the day before from quite impressively far. He retaliated by coming over and beating me about the head with his magazine. I laughed so much that day. Myself, Talita and Rachel were joined by Louise, editor of terrorizer magazine and we all just fucked about on that grassy knoll, kicking back and catching jokes. Even the security guard for DreamTheater or Europe came and hung with us. Can’t remember which it was. By the time we had done with that little knoll, loads of people were on it! I hung out a tone with Michael from Volbeat too, who I had met at Download festival previously. He knows James Hetfield! They are mates!. Lucky beggar. We got trashed and by the time Manowar were half way through their set, we were all sharing a taxi out of there. Done mate. Totally over it.
The day had managed to be one long succession of pissing about acting like children with access to their parents booze cabinet. Everyone, bands, tour managers and crew seemed to be in the same boat on Sunday. Laid back don’t give a fuck attitude. Now that’s fucking Rock n Roll.
Next morning, I leave with guilty festival secrets safe in the knowledge that so has everyone. I pack up my tent with help from Olivia and Shane, who are fucked up too. We start our long and tedious journey home. This time with the added pain of feeling like we have been in a war zone. We are joined by Tom and Stu’, friends of Talita’s who Shane and Olivia have hung out with a lot this weekend and who by the end of our journey when we go our separate ways, are definitely friends we will be hanging with a whole heap more in the future.
To top the pain of the journey off nicely, I come on. I am sitting on the Euro Star, packed with screaming chav kids in absolute fucking agony. Amusingly I think it quite a fitting end to such a pained weekend. Like childbirth, during it I swear blind I will never do it again. By the time I hit Kings Cross, the appropriate hormones have made me forget the shit and just remember the good parts. The people I worked with. The bands, the crew, my mates, the drinking and related shenanigans, the comradeship, the music, the all of it! And sure enough, I can’t fucking wait till next year.
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