Glastonbury? V? Latitude? Leeds? No, in fact, Greenbelt.

I know, I know; it's been more than two months since my last post, and I wish I had an excuse but, quite frankly, I don't and I'm too tired to make one up. It has been a very busy summer and I haven't been home a lot. That'll have to do.

In any case, I have decided to break my blog fast for 4 reasons: -
1. I actually did something worth writing about this weekend
2. This is a more appealing alternative to unpacking
3. I remembered I HAD a blog
4. I have run out of other things to do

So, anyway. I spent the past four days at a music festival. No, not Reading or Leeds -- Greenbelt. If you haven't heard of it, it's actually a Christian festival that takes place every year at Cheltenham racecourse, and I have a couple of friends who've been going more or less every year, so this year they decided to make it a Group Thing. This basically meant wringing ticket/train money out of a dozen teenagers (no mean feat) and trying to organise them into keeping themselves alive for a long weekend. If you think that sounds easy then you obviously don't know many seventeen year olds.

But my feelings about Greenbelt were mixed. On the upside; great music, four days with my friends, independence etc. etc. And the downside; God squad, camping. And I must say that I was pretty much righ on all accounts.

The downsides were irritating. Not being a Christian myself, I have to admit that I find the singing, worshipping and arm-waving thing a bit intimidating -- whilst pushing through the Mass on the mainstage on the way to the loo I felt like I had the word 'atheist' stamped on my forehead and felt duly ostricised. But that was the only slightly cult-ish moment; other than one of two eye-rolling 'I thank God for this opportunity' moments, the Christian aspect didn't bother me. (I'd just like to clarify that I don't have a problem with people believing whatever they want to believe, I just dislike it being shoved in my cynical face.) Then there was the camping. Oh, the camping. I'll admit it, I am a lazy, indoor-sy person who likes her luxuries (if central heating counts as a luxury), and I can cope with roughing it, I'm just very vocal in my dislike of it. Cooking outside on a stove - fine, actually a very good laugh. Sitting on a fold-up chair for half an hour waiting for the kettle to boil - irritating but bearable. Sleeping on a wafer-thin mattress substitute - actually not that bad. Queueing for the toilet - frustrating but not intolerable. Not showering - but gross but not as bad as predicted. But being blue-lipped, body-trembling cold at three o'clock in the morning, listening to the Scottish bloke next door accusing English girls of being easy and trying to block out the sadists that brought a screaming baby camping? Not fun. At all.

But for all my complaining, it was so worth it. The shopping was intriguing, funny and eccentric, the people crazy and hilarious, and the music generally absolutely brilliant. Having my friends around all the time not only made the bad times bearable but hysterically funny, and however much I moaned and groaned and irritated the optimists, I had an amazing time and would do it again tomorrow. With a caravan.