***
A fields full of tents and colourful bunting, my tent already erected by my kind hearted sister. Exploring the vast arena, tent after tent, stage after stage, in the woods under shady green trees and in vast fields. Friends there before me, friends arriving late. Multi-coloured sheep, a Tim Walker photo in real life.
***
News of two alleged rapes reaching us from home, worried boyfriends, parents, dampening the mood slightly, making the darker spaces seem darker, meaning I fretted slightly, alone in my tent at night. Rising in the morning, to a peaceful campsite, smiling campers with tousled hair and washbags on the way to the shower block, dark, cruel things seeming a million miles away.
***
Gems stuck to eyes and glitter dusted on cheekbones. Wellies and Wallies. Making new friends, creating weekend catch phrases, bumping into old ones. Crossing paths with colleagues, again, and again, liking them so much more in their sunglasses and stripes, shorts and red vests, than grey and suited in the office. Lying on the dusty grass in the sunshine, chilling to Laura Marling, Corrine Bailey Rae, Tom Jones. Sunburnt nose, despite my promise to not forget the sunscreen.
***
Swept away by The XX in a darkened tent. Swaying to the Temper Trap at sunset, wanting to be nowhere else, but there in that sun-kissed field surrounded by friends. Dancing and dancing and dancing, to Empire of the Sun and Florence and the Machine whilst packed tightly into the crowd, in the woods to Darwin Deez, in a hot stuffy tent to Yeasayer, manically and with careless abandon to Vampire Weekend on the final night.
***
Rising early on Monday morning, treading through dew wet grass to make our way home, or into work. Drifting through half a day at work in a sleep-deprived daze, coming gently, softly, back down to earth.
