I was in Split two days. Two gloriously wonderful days. Split is gorgeous. We camped on a peninsula, with these big great mountains on one side, and a super cute little harbour on the other. I was happiest here, I think. The weather was gorgeous, it was often too hot for clothes and I spent as much time as I could in the water, the gorgeous turquoise coloured water. It was clear, and warm, and amazing. Or sunbathing on the jetty. I enjoy nothing more than being gloriously warm, lying in the sun with not much to do.

I remember going for a swim as soon as camp was set up. Diving in off the jetty, marvelling in what it was like to swim in the sea again. It’s been a while, almost ridiculously long. The water wasn’t quite cold, but wasn’t far off. I remember swimming with Jimmy, and being wary to move away everytime he disappeared under the water, least my feet or legs get pinched.

I remember delving into the book I’d borrowed, well aware that I’d have to give it back soon. I got caught up in it’s plot. There was a lot of action and a battle was coming. I was sad when I finished it, anxious to pick up the next one. I was also delighted that I was able to sit in the sun and read. I used to sit in the garden back home, and I’d forgotten how very wonderful it was to pass the time that way.

I remember playing Circle of Death, and I got my first Fourth King. I don’t remember what we were drinking. Liquors, I think. I want to say it was some kind of berry schnappes. Needless to say it put me on my behind rather quickly.

I remember sneaking off into the dark with Jimmy. We argued, and laughed, and talked. We got told off for being too loud. We watched fish jump out of the estuary. We went on a bit of a mission, and I climbed over a fence in jandals and skirt. I somehow managed to mangle my ankle. I don’t quite know how, whether it was the climbing over the fence, or the climbing over the rocks to get to the fence, but I hurt it. I also had one of those ‘aha’ moments. Except that it came like a slap in the face, and I was upset and angsted. Still, it was an aha moment, even if it was painful one.

I remember waking up at 4 in the morning, the geometric pattern of the tent hurting my poor, still drunk eyes, and my brain working overtime on that ‘aha’ moment. I stole the sleeping bag and headed to the jetty. It was cold, and calm. Super quiet. At about 6 people started moving. A rowing team paddled back and forth past me, people went for early morning swims, and cars started down the motorway. A while past then, the sun came up over the mountains. And it was a glorious glorious sight. The rocks all turning pink and orange, the heat as the light hit me, how the whole sky brightened.

I remember that after a while I came to terms with that wretched ‘aha’ moment. I stretched, and lay out in the sun, having claimed the jetty. After a while Jimmy appeared, and we sat, and snoozed. There was book reading, and comfortable silence. He disappeared, and returned later with a hot chocolate and coffee. We went swimming. I swam in my underwear, because changing would have meant leaving the jetty and I didn’t want to. It was glorious, the swimming. Being in the water. I remember thinking that there wasn’t enough time here, that I wanted to spend more time in the sun, being warm and doing nothing. I soaked up as much of it as I could, hoarding it, revelling in it. I remember watching Jimmy jump from the conveniently supplied diving boards, laughing at his form. I remember watching the sprats swim in the warm waters nearest the rocks, and crabs scuttling from side to side.

I remember that when it got colder, when the wind picked up (cheers, convection) and we moved to the bar for pizza + drinks. Sitting in the sun, still wet from the swimming. After we wandered into Split.

Split is gorgeous, parts of the old palace (of the Roman Empire Dicletian) is still there, with it’s super worn (and slippery) cobblestones, gorgeous archways and awkwardly tiny little back alleys. The St. Duje Cathedral is still there too, with it’s old pillars and pretty bell tower. Mostly I remember eating gelato, because it was awfully warm that night.

We wandered down markets, and brought a silly amount of postcards. We wandered through the allyways hand in hand, getting lost in the old part of the city, coming across high st stores in impossibly small places. I remember sitting on the waterfront, with a foot in the water, a Jimmy at my back, talking of I don’t even remember what. We watched big giant boats all lit up with little lights leave the harbour. I remember walking by groups of elders, wanting to listen as they sang old Croatian songs. Past the jetty with all their little boats and nets and bouys awaiting the next day. Sitting at a high table with a drink, writing a bunch of postcards. It was a pretty lovely night. I was sad when it ended, and we went back to the campsite.

I left the next morning, bright + early. I was not happy about leaving, I really didn’t want to go. I felt that I hadn’t had enough time soaking up the sun, enough time swimming, or appreciating being so very close to the ocean. Needless to say I enjoyed Split most, I think. And I’ve got a soft spot for it. I’m going to go back, I think. Spend more time swimming, and sunbathing.

Still, I felt lucky to have been given a week to see a new part of the world. To see places and people and cultures I hadn’t seen before.

I will go back, though. One day, anyway.

We drove from Ljubljana in Slovenia, to Plitvice, in Croatia. It was a bit of a ridiculous trip, and we had issues crossing the border. I shan’t say more than that because it’s not really my story to tell. There was much waiting, and a little bit of stressing, but we eventually got through okay. It was a bit of an eye opener, though. Still, I think we were all very glad to get moving. There was a load of mountains between the border + Plitvice. We watched lightening strike the other side of the ranges as we wound our way through, which was bizarre. I think we were all glad to finally get to the bungalows that night.

That second day the boys disappeared for the day and me + S hung out. It was raining, which was unexpected and was a bit of a downer. We spent our time getting lost, watching movies, and hanging out at the restaurant. After lunch we freaked ourselves out by having lightening strike quite near us. There was a blinding flash that startled me, followed by the loudest crash of thunder of I’ve ever heard, it made my heart beat a million times a minute, scared the living shit out me, and made me run like a headless chicken away from where we were. We laughed hysterically, with fear. It was bizzarre, and neither of us could settle afterwards, the adrenline running through our veins was ridiculous. It meant that when the boys did get back, we were all very relieved. I think we were all very glad to back to a happy foursome, and we all hung out together, watching tv + napping. Had dinner.

After Jimmy + I went to Bosnia for dessert. A little town 40k away, across the border. It was novel, crossing the border for drinks. There was wandering around the centre of the tiny town we’d visited. It was bizarre that every bar we passed was blasting american pop songs as loud as they could. We had gelato, and picked a random bar and drank some ridiculous Croatian/Slovenian alcohol. We stayed for ages. Long enough for several rounds of whatever took our fancy. Rounds of chocolates + espressos. Vodka + Orange’s. Bosnian beer. Something that tasted like herbal jager. We made friends with the barmen, one of who spoke English, another who didn’t. I remember the currency being pretty random. We paid in Euros, and got Konvertibilna Marks back. I was amused no end, it’s one of the perks of travelling, I think, the many different currencies, the different weights and images and dimensions. I got a kick out of it, anyway.

The next day we hit up Plitvice Lakes. It’s a giant world heritage site, and is gorgeous. There are a dozen or so lakes that cascade one into the other, with very pretty waterfalls between each. The lakes are gorgeous, and are all super clear (you could see the bottom of each quite clearly, including the fish that lived in them) and were gorgeous colours. Turquoise, azure, green. It was all kinds of phenomenal. The lakes were surrounded by a pretty lush rainforest, clearly there was some kind of rich ecosystem goodness going on there.

When we went it was raining, and cold. I’d also done my ankle in, so the four hour hike was all kinds of fun for me. I used Jimmy as a crutch more often than not, which was fun for us both. We didn’t buy one of the maps, but the signs were easy enough to follow. There was a ferry ride (which was gorgeous, and freezing) and towards the end, a bus ride back to the information centre where we started. By this point I was positively shivering, and was glad to headed back to the campsite. Still, it was a gorgeous experience. I’ve never seen anything so pretty.

We left the next morning, and headed towards Split. I was all bundled up, and was wearing as many layers as I could. It was pretty brilliant driving down the mountains. The closer we got the coast, the warmer it was. I discarded layers as we descended, it was pretty random. I adored the heat, though. I love being warm. It was pretty interesting to see how the terrain changed the lower we got. The lush rainforest switched out with dusty scrub. It was bizzare watching the socio-economic level change, too. In Plitvice there were loads of well kept buildings. Out here in the scrub buildings were abandoned, and falling apart. There were giant holes in roofs, missing doors or fallen down walls.

Worse was getting pulled over by the policija. We hadn’t been going very fast (it was a 3 tonne red van, not exactly the speediest of vehicles) but we’d going well under what TomTom had told us what the speed limit was. Sadly, the policija said that the limit had changed, and we were well going over it.

We pulled over, as requested. It was hot, we were on the side of a completely deserted dusty road in the middle of nowhere. Not suss at all. Jimmy went over to talk (which, as they spoke little english, was mostly sign language, I think) to them, and came back, sure enough, to ask us how much cash we had on us. In Euros, not Croatian Kuna. We pooled what we had, and he went back, paid the fine, and off we went. Later he told us how ‘the paper’ cost €150, and ‘no paper’ cost €100. We’d effectively bribed the policija. Apparently this is not uncommon at all.

Soon after we hit the coast. The view was gorgeous, and there were all these little viewing platforms from which to admire them. The buildings looked fancier, and things in general looked like a civilisation I recognized. By this time it was well too hot to wear clothes, and I was well glad to be warm again. It seemed mind boggling to have started that morning fairly frozen and then to be standing a few hours later in a tropical climate.

I was glad to have left Plitvice, and looking at the gorgeous ocean views, I was very very glad to be in Split.

I flew into Slovenia mid afternoon. I was still under the (misguided) assumption that my ride wouldn’t show + I’d have to hitch down to Split to get my flight back to London. So when I walked out of the arrivals gate to find no one there, I wasn’t especially surprised. I sat down in the (gloriously warm) sun and had a wine to figure out what to do. Apparently waiting was a brilliant idea, because not five minutes later a big red van pulled up out front, ready for me to climb into.

It was awkward, at first. I wasn’t sure where I stood with the Jimmy who came to pick me up. But Jimmy was polite, and he was tanned (I was well jealous) and was full of stories about the adventures he’d been on since I last saw him. We picked up a few supplies, and I spent my first afternoon outside of London baking the sun. I think its important to mention the gorgeous, amazing phenomenon that is being warm in the sun. London doesn’t have that. London is predominantly grey + dreary. You wear layers at every opportunity. So, that I could be in shorts + a singlet AND warm? No jumper required? Colour me gobsmacked.

I don’t remember much of that first night, to be honest. I know I got well plastered on some ridiculous 40% Slovenian vodka. I know that I drank at least 1/2 of it myself, and I know that the bathroom of that poor little campsite bar is not going to be the same. How I made it into the tent, I don’t know. I do know that I felt horrid the next morning. That the pattern of the tent really did my head in. But the rest of the day? Phenomenally better.

We explored the river near the campsite. There was sun, and it was gorgeous. Little tiny fish (and slightly bigger fish) swam in the warm shallows. The river was pretty wide, and there was swift current moving through the middle of it. We went swimming, which was ridiculous, because the water was as good as frozen. Still, there’s something brilliant about standing mid-river with a human heater. Everything is quiet and amazing. I couldn’t believe I was there, really. Gorgeous open water, warm enough to be standing in bikini in a river. My mind was completely blown after the dreary greyness that was London.

I spent some time building little rock towers on the shore, and then we moved away and threw rocks at them, trying to bring them down. Jimmy tried to teach me to skip rocks, and was mildly successful (I got two skips). We built little rafts, and watched them drown. We walked down a track used by horses and men walking their dogs, and down an even smaller track where people had funny little garden allotments.

That night we hit up Ljubljana. Ljubljana is gorgeous, it’s filled with all this amazing art. Both sculptural masterpieces, and graffiti type pieces too. There’s the Triple Bridge (basically three bridges all connected together) which Jimmy took quite an interest in. We walked across all three. Mostly I enjoyed wandering about. There’s a canal which runs down the middle, and large willow trees hanging over the side. There were gorgeous little markets, and buskers and restaurants and cafes that sprawled out over the sidewalks.

There were bridges with locks of love and so many cute little sculptures everywhere. It was a really gorgeous town, and was filled with brilliant textures and buildings that had a ridiculous amount of character. Often the window sills would hold flower baskets with red and yellow flowers pouring over the sides. There were random pillars, and gorgeous paved walkways.

We climbed up to the Castle, which is this old medieval giant which sits on a hill above the town. It’s large, and fairly gorgeous. The ride up and way into the main square is not at all medieval, but this gorgeous carefully designed mix of industrial piping + tension ropes and old wood + gardens. There were these gorgeous grape vines heavy with fruit, and an abundance of fig, pear and apple trees. The view from the wall was gorgeous, and there were at least three weddings happening in the main square.

We had dinner later at one of the many little cafe’s spilling out onto the backstreets. Chicken Stew + Goulash. It got cold enough to wear a cardigan, but nothing more than that. I was impressed, and adored the heat. A few quiet drinks. Mostly we wandered throughout the town. Down little alleyways, past buskers on bridges and old, impressive buildings. Ljubljana was definitely one of the prettier places I’ve been.

On the way out the next morning, we packed up camp (slow, we took our sweet time. It’s what you do on holiday) and we hit up the Škocjan Caves. It’s one of the largest underground canyons in the world, apparently. There’s a river that flows through, the Reka River. It was pretty phenomenal, it was maybe a two hour walk through the caves. You start at a ridge + go down, low enough to see the river + then you start the hike back up again. It was filled with some amazing stalagmites (the ones that start from the floor) + stalactites (the ones that start from the ceiling). There were giant underground caverns, there were terraces, and there were bats.

Then there was a bit of a walk back to the carpark, through this super lush cavern where the ceiling had fallen in. Nature had taken it back, and it was pretty lush. It was a pretty pleasant way to to spend an afternoon, actually.

Soon after we were back in the van, headed towards Croatia. Another post to come!

Before I went to Croatia I spent a weekend in Basel (Switzerland) with my friend Bunny, and his Grussi. It was amazing. We flew into Basel on the Friday afternoon (which is lucky, because EasyJet, that great airline of shortcuts for budgetary reasons oversold the flight. I took the very last seat), and the interesting thing about Basel airport, is that it sits on the border and serves both France and Switzerland! When you come up to the customs desk, there are signs all over the place. This way way for France, this way for switzerland. In French, and English, and Swiss German.

It was a weekend of eating, and oh! All the things we ate! I can’t even name most of them. But there was chocolate. And there was wine. And there was hot chocolates from cute little plastic tubes, and there was afternoon naps and playing rummy cub. There was listening to children chatter away, switching easily between languages. We wandered around a super cute market (where Bunny brought a horn, appropriate for his trip to Burning Man) and we walked down a river in the gorgeously hot sun (it was brilliant, there were many interesting things, like random graffiti under bridges that have alternate versions in art galleries, and a little geckos that warm themselves on the path, but scuttle when you appear which makes the path look like a wriggling mass).

There was a fork in this river, and it’s this point that the boundary was. We stood on the Switzerland side, and on the far bank was France, and on the other bank was Germany. It was pretty mind blowing, considering that in New Zealand we’re so very isolated. It was pretty amazing. What was less amazing was losing all but handful of photos because I’m super clever. Still, I’ll remember what I do from that weekend, and I’ll remember it fondly.

Have any of you been to Switzerland before?

I didn’t want to come back. The thought of London heading into winter made my skin crawl, and I ached for warmth, and endless blue skies, and warm turquoise waters. I don’t know what I’m doing in London, clearly I’m meant to be near a beach, in togs, with an average temprature of too-hot.

I had a brilliant time, I really did. And I have photos and stories (all sorts of stories. Of bribing policemen, and of trips across borders for drinks and desserts) and I have all sorts of good things to tell you. I do. And I’ll get it to. I will. But not now.

Now I’m wallowing in those post holiday blues. I’m horribly upset to have to be in London, to be sitting at a desk in an office instead of galovanting across countries in a red van. To not be soaking in the warmth on a jetty overlooking a gorgeous harbour. Every inch of me is screaming to be somewhere else. Anywhere else, and that’s not a state I like being in.

So, until I’ve got my feet back on the ground, and my head out of the clouds I’ma be a bit absent from the blogging world. I’ll still be around, reading your blogs, and getting my angst out on twitter, but rarg will be a quiet for a bit.

Until I’m back, this is where my head is. There is where I was. This is where I want to be.

This very day I am quitting the city for a week, boarding a plane and I’m leaving. Hopefully I’ll be met by friends in a big red van. Hopefully I’ll find something resembling summer in what’s left of this season, and hopefully, it’ll be a week of bikini wearing, and sand and swimming. And of drinking cocktails, and taking mini adventures like hiring scooters and finding random little bars and meeting random, interesting people, and learning random, interesting words in other languages.

Hopefully, it’ll be gorgeous, and look like this, and this, and this:

So, Rarg is going to be silent for a week, because I’ve been too busy to write up scheduled posts, and to be honest? I think I’d like to take a break from blogging. Just a small one, so I’m going to do it now. And instead I’m going to go be in countries I haven’t been in before, and see things I haven’t seen, and generally I’m going to have a brilliant time.

See you guys on the flip side :)

Photo credit – These photos have been shamelessly stolen from google images. Sorry. Plitvice Lakes credit to Jack Brauer, Split to Alle Rechte Vorbehalten, and sadly the Lubljana shot was uncredited. If it’s yours and you’d like credit please let me know!

Over the long weekend just gone, I took an extra two days and went to The Reading Fest. (Pronounced “Redding”). The line up? Epic. The White Lies. Frank Turner. Offspring. The Strokes. Jimmy Eat World. Muse. My Chemical Romance. Friendly Fires. Taking Back Sunday. The Naked + Famous. The Streets. Panic! At the Disco. Ed Sheeran. And more. So so so many more. I was amped, and very much looking forward to it.

But, it was my first festival and I had no idea what to expect. I was a little naive to say the least.

I brought a 40L pack from the interwebs (40L ended up being plenty, despite all my fears and trepidations that’d I’d over pack + not be able to carry it or worse, not have enough space). I went a fifth in for some tents, and brought myself a sleeping bag + a stretcher. And early (very early, considering I’d made the mistake of hitting up Angel the night before. I didn’t even make it back to my own bed) I showed up with all my gear hungover but enthusiastic to the buses outside Embankment. Taking the Coach? Best idea ever. Plenty of time for sleeping, and, being dropped off at the gate, I wouldn’t have to worry about getting lost. Brilliant.

The rest of the day was to getting ourselves sorted with wristbands (they stamp metal things on it so you can’t get it off again) and setting up camp in our little corner of tent city. I’d brought a flag and everything. Life was great! The grass was still green, our gummies were still clean, and it hadn’t started raining yet. We found friends of friends who had a gazebo, a camp fire and shared their strongbow with us. The Glory Hole (the toilets. A gender shared short drop) wasn’t so horrific at this point, and we’d explored the many food places and they looked promising. We were off to a great start!

Festival Day 1

By now the skies had opened, and I’d realised that the gumboot requirement? Not a joke. The mud was ridiculous. It was gloopy, it was well over ankle deep, and it was everywhere. I’d never worn gumboots in any other fashion than ironically before. It was a bit mental. Also, we realised that we’d put up our tent over a dip. And that it was a badly designed tent. The inside sections were enclosed, but the middle section was just a pegged down ground sheet. Useless when the ground underneath was a giant puddle.

Still, I wasn’t going to spend all day in my tent, I was armed with a green poncho to keep the rain off, and was otherwise happy. Eventually the sun came out, too. I wrote out my list of ‘too see’ bands on my leg (paying 10 quid for a lanyard wasn’t going to happen, sorry). Mona first, in the NME tent. I love giant circus tents. Had a great feel to it. I managed to push my way into the crowd, and when Naked + Famous came up? Yeah, I was a the barrier.

Afterwards I met up with a few friends, one of which made my afternoon delightful by sharing his jager with me. Bless the 6ft ginger welshmen. My afternoon is a bit blurry after that. I remember dancing around to Patrick Wolf. I know I messed up the Leg Schedule and missed both Rise Against + Metronomy. I know I met an incredibly drunk 16 year old (one who couldn’t get his shirt on right) who tried to talk rugby with me (hard when I don’t care very much) and told me I didn’t look a day over 21. I laughed at him, and then he shared his vodka with me. I know that I met a group of boys, of whom I remember very little. One of them got in my phone as ‘Cute Guy from Reading’ and the texts that followed were all sorts of amusing. I know that I did end up in the crowd to watch Offspring, and I met a boy named Matt. An Australian, I think.

Offspring? All sorts of amazing. It was like being transported back to the 90s. And it only got better. We hit up Noah and The Whale, and The White Lies. I may have danced my little behind off all by myself. Possibly because by now I had well succumbed to that 16 year old boys vodka. And the jager. And the Red Bull + Vodkas Cute Boy from Reading had brought me. Fun times. It explains why I have no photos of The White Lies + Noah and The Whale. And after that? My Chemical Romance. Got my emo on. Right up until the alcohol wore off, and I left half way through the gig to crash.

Pretty successful first day, I think!

Festival Day 2

By now the Hell Hole was to be avoided at all costs, and we all held it together until we could get to the arena to use flushing facilities at 11. I was definitely feeling the effects of the previous days alcholic fuelled one man dance party, I was over the mud, and was a bit disappointed at the efficiency of wet wipes. The puddle in the middle of tent smelt like a marsh, and sleeping in a tent meant freezing nights and ridiculous hot mornings. I wasn’t sure what I’d let myself in for exactly, but there was going to be another 3 days of it.

I wrote out my bands on my leg, and there were only two today. Jimmy Eat World (who I have a soft spot for. Sweetness reminds me of Lyth + his 4am wake ups. Though, there is no love for 4am wake ups) and the Strokes. though, to be fair, I put the Strokes on my leg only to fill up the space a bit. I spent the day mostly following other people around. Organising the phone charging roster at the locker. There may have been a moment of panic when I thought I might miss the Jimmy Eat World set while I waited for an Irish girl who naively told me she was going to ‘quickly’ visit the facilities. Lady, for any flushing technology there is a line a dozen strong. There is no quick happening there. Rest assured I didn’t miss the said band, and skipped out through the mud to meet the other half of the crew.

Still, it wasn’t a bad day. I ate silly amounts of watermelon + pad thai. The sun came out + we all wore silly coloured sunglasses. I met my friend + his handy jager stash. By the end of the night I was Mayor of the Main Stage. I’d watched some young youths scavenge things out of the bins and laughed at them, both from disbelief and amusement. It was a good day for sounds too. There was the Pigeon Detectives, the Two Door Cinema Club. Jimmy Eat World (so much love) and the National. However, after The National I went back to the tent to change. And then I couldn’t make self leave again, I just couldn’t. I put jeans on, and climbed into my sleeping bag and crashed. I woke up long enough to enjoy the end of The Strokes set from where I lay, and called it a night.

Festival Day 3

By now I’d long stopped worrying about what I looked like. I was covered in mud. I smelt suspect. My gummies were wet inside + out, and I’d been wearing the same pair of shorts for the last four days. And I’d completely turned over to practical clothing. I rocked thermals like it was no ones business. The Hell Hole was now something you avoided at all costs, the mud was still everywhere (just a different consistency), and we’d had another epic night of freezing followed by omgtooHOT when the sun rose, and another day of eating expensive fried crap. Oh humanity. Still, at this point you give up caring. A few more days, whatever. You get on with it. I almost had a run in with Cute Boy from Reading, but my phone died before it happened. Sorry Cute Boy from Reading. All your very sweet talk was for naught. I’m impressed with the charm these youngin’s have though. Where did he learn to txt like that? Madness.

Day three was my biggest day. Taking Back Sunday. Frank Turner. Friendly Fires. Panic! At the Disco. Ed Sheeran. The Streets. 2manydjs. Flogging Molly. Muse. My leg was much happier than yesterday, filled with bands and times and places. To be fair it was the day of conflicts. Do I see Friendly Fires or Panic! At the Disco? (Panic, I’d already seen Friendly Fires earlier on in the year). Ed? Or The Streets? I worked out my game plan with Phe, when even scheduled in a lunch break + a time to change before it got too cold.

I threw my hands in the air with Taking Back Sunday. I fell head over heels for Frank. Again. Everytime I see him I fall a little more for him. I managed to convert Phe too, and we rocked out near the front with some young English youths who tried to talk Rugby with us. Again. Because that’s how it goes – they hear our accent, ask where we’re from and then talk rugby. Still, they had a thing for Frank too, and knew all the words so I was cool to rock out with them. I rocked out at Panic, too. I danced my little behind off, first in what seemed like a safe distance away from the front without being miles away, but it soon became a press, a complete mad house. I wasn’t fan enough, so we pulled out (and almost walked into another death circle) and danced near the edge of the tent. Danced like I was back in Second Year. I was that girl who knew all the words and was flailing happily about. Fun times.

We missed Ed because Ed? Way more popular than Reading Fest gave him credit for. We couldn’t even get close to the tent. So we wandered off and came across Frank! Again! He was playing as a special guest. Two sets, I was a happy happy girl and rocked out with Phe to a man who stole my heart with his voice. He’s a charming guy, Frank. Adore him. Afterwards we hit up The Streets (who were great, actually) and Flogging Molly (who were also brilliant). We danced to 2manydjs as we got dinner. And we sat on the ground and enjoyed Muse’s light show. Was a brilliant brilliant day. Possibly my favourite of the three. Not a bad way to end the Reading Fest!

The Day We Left

Monday was a bank holiday. We had to be packed up + out at the coaches at some time that meant we all had to be up by a ridiculous 8am. Turns out that when your tent is overheating 8am is a perfectly fine time to wake up, even if you’ve spent all weekend dancing around like a mad person. So the crew got ourselves all sorted, packed up the tents, admired our ‘tidy kiwi’ mentality against that of the english youths which seemed to be ‘I’m gross and disgusting’. True story. Even worse was when we realised that the campsites were abandoned.

They had left their rubbish, their tents and sleeping bags and blow up beds, chairs, gazebos, everything that they could live without. They just left it. That inconsiderate, careless attitude really got me quite upset. I couldn’t understand why they would be so wasteful. Why they would spend the money and then just dump everything. That they didn’t care that someone else was going to have to come along and clean up after them. And that it wasn’t just one or two groups, but basically the entire tent city?

It was really heartbreaking, and made me pretty furious. So furious that while I waited for the crew to be done? I cleaned up something eight large bags of rubbish from the areas right next to us. It felt like such a useless gesture but it was better than doing nothing. It made me feel better to be doing something, anyway. Then things got better, and I helped myself to an abandoned tent. Packed it down into it’s tent bag which had been left handily by the door, and took it home with me. Apparently I wasn’t the only who did so either. I saw a few other people packing down tents that clearly weren’t theirs.

So yes. It was an interesting experience. The music part? Brilliant. I have never been more excited or stoked to see so many awesome bands in one weekend. There was much dancing to be had, much singing at the top of my lungs, jumping up and down, hands in the air. The festival part? I was sad at the couldn’t-give-a-fuck attitude of so many of the people. The people who threw bottles of urine into the crowd cause the were too lazy to hit up the facilities. The people who started death circles and pushed others around unnecessarily. The people who left their tents, and stole our flag. It was a mixed bag, if nothing else. And I won’t lie, I was glad to be heading home. I was covered in mud, exhausted, slightly indignant at other festival goers, but otherwise happy. It was a (mostly) good festival.

So yes. I’m going to say Number 15 on The List? Done!

Photo credit – Some of the photos have been shamelessly stolen from Phe, Margo + Underwood. Cheers hey, you guys are absolute rockstars :)

I was in Cambridge a little while ago, and one of the things that Cambridge (and Oxford too, apparently) are quite well known for is Punting. Punting is the act of pushing a small boat along a river (in this case the River Cam) with a giant stick as you stand on the back. Yeah, it is as ridiculous as it sounds. An awful lot of fun, though.

We all gave it go, and I was surprised to find it wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be. I had no concept of ruddering (which meant that I kept turning the back of the boat out in the wrong direction, often blocking the river), and just when I thought I was getting it, I pushed off, and when I went to pull the pole back up?

Yeah, it’d gotten stuck in the mud, and basically ran through my hands and out onto the river. Have you ever tried punting without a pole? I honestly thought I was going to to have to go swimming. Luckily for me, we got hit by an oncoming punter (which meant we stopped) and we could wait for the current to bring the pole back down.

It was a silly amount of fun. You could clearly see who the pros were (there were guides punting people up + down the river) and who weren’t (everyone else). There was a lot of laughing, and big smiles as people hit each other, or tried to navigate past each other unsuccessfully. And it was all very slow, so you knew you were going to hit well before you did. Everyone was very good humoured about it, and would push you out and off you’d go.

It was a silly amount of fun, and if you ever get the opportunity to go punting, do it. Except, don’t get one of those tours, get a self-punt. It’ll be cheaper for a start (ours was £14 an hour for the boat, shared between 5, rather than £10 each…) and you get to punt. It really is the bulk of the fun.

Have any of you been punting before?