The festival season is well and truly over. This is something I can't help but find a little unsettling.
One of my favourite things to do in the whole world is pack up the car, grab a pair of wellies and frolic in a field full of flowery headbanded lunatics.
The end of August signifies the end to these escapades of mine, and a whole year to wait before I can do it all over again.
So, after a little research (and persuasion) the girls and I snatched a few last minute Sunday tickets for the best semi-fest London had to offer to see off the summer, SW4.
Boy oh boy, was it muddy.
The festival itself is held on Clapham Common (SW4, clever, huh?) and although I had my reservations at first, it turned out to be pretty darn entertaining.
The music? Ok, it left something to be desired. But I like to dance. I really like to dance to house music, but there was just something about the lineup that felt a little... disjoined. The 2 Bears, Eric Prydz, followed by Bauuer and Example? I found it pretty mish-mash to be honest. I think I would have probably preferred the Saturday - but that said - the company was fabulous and the small bottles of wine which handily fitted into denim short pockets even more so.
I spent the day with these muddy crettins.
In true girl style, we were late. We arrived just in time to see the one DJ who I was personally pretty excited about seeing, Steve Aoki, and he certainly did not disappoint. He is literally a real life version of Pocahontas on pills. Nuts.
Evidently, thats what the people want.
For those of you who aren't familiar with Steve Aoki, he likes to throw chocolate cakes at people, a term commonly referred to as 'being caked'. He also likes to set small inflatable dingys sail in the crowds, however on this occasion, all boats stayed firmly anchored back in the Thames. Phew.
As expected, chocolate cake was flung around all over the place and despite weighing in at a pint-sized 5ft 2, I managed to reach my way into the action... Just.
Check out the war-wound.
After a quick wet wipe down and a trip to the delightfully above average loos, we caught a few more acts before grabbing a big 'ole bowl of chips and 'chup. We then met a few other pals and joined forces over jager shots and heatstroke. The day had become absolutely baking, much to Sophie's delight.
We rounded off the night watching Example. It was my third time seeing him live and my absolute favourite by a mile. After that, it was off to the cab station we went, armed with boxes full of the best fried chicken Clapham had to offer and made our way home.
Considering this was what could well be a permanent fixture festival on the London music scene, and that it was it's 10th anniversary, I'm glad I saw what all of the fuss was about.
Would I go again? Probably not. Will I miss the summer, when it's acceptable to dance in fields wearing hot pants and wellington boots whilst creaming "JAGER, JAGER"? Most certainly so.
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