Never in a few millennia did I ever suspect I’d find myself watching Scouting for girls in the pissing rain singing along to their dross lyrics and yet this weekend, that is precisely what I did. Why? Because I was drunk, wet and caught in a moment. Don’t think for a minute that I didn’t know what I was doing; I knew alright. I was indulging in pissed japery. SFG were so dreadfully awful that they actually rhymed “She’s so lov-er-ly” with “In Corn-berry”. Don’t even get me started on their paean to Michaela Strachan featuring the epic line: “It ain’t gonna haaaappen, for me and the Straaaaachan”. Oh please, have you been watching re-runs of Wacaday?
Regardless, this was my first Cornbury Festival – a family affair orchestrated by Hugh Philimore. My band (Warning! Heat Ray!) were fortunate enough to be offered a slot by Hugh, yet when the lineup was announced, it’s fair to say that a few quizzical looks were thrown around the rehearsal room. Why would anyone who likes The Sugababes have even the slightest interest in us?
Whatever the reasons, after a three-hour drive inadvertently exploring the wild partylands of ‘Finstock’ and ‘Woodstock’ where bricks are the most charming things on display, we finally drove our little Punto on-site around 6pm on Friday night. My first impression of the Cornbury campsite was that I’d wandered into an affluent 18-year-old’s birthday party. Compared to other festival campsites like the raucous teen ruckus that constitutes Reading, or the sheer random oddities of Glastonbury, camping at Cornbury was rather like camping amongst a group of yogic hamsters and their offspring.
Set on the stunning grounds of Charlbury House and with only 8,000 people in attendance, I don’t recall recoiling in horror after opening a toilet door, arguing with tall people, trudging through mud, waiting for a shower or a beer or falling violently ill after eating an £8 burger and chips. Fact is, the food was amazing (the tea and toasties especially), the bar was reasonably priced serving a reasonable variety of beers, people were polite (!) and though it rained on Saturday, there was never enough people to churn the ground to mud.
OK, so the variety of music on offer wasn’t to my taste. I can’t expect every festival to check my Last FM account (that I don’t use) and book Jimi Hendrix, The Beatles and Public Enemy. Though I hardly saw any bands, I was with a group of friends, frequently drunk and in a field. The Damned were excellent, and Captain Sensible even blasted through a punk version of ‘Happy Talk’ that sent us wild in the rain causing my aquaphobic friend to drop his brolly in favour of pogoing.
After the headline act finish, and the ‘Disco-Shed’ soon after that the arena is pretty much dead, which means that the campsite bar becomes host to party people in search of of live music (mostly sing-a-long cover versions, thankfully) and DJ-led noise which runs till 3am, and because I’m such a glutton, I’m going to mention that there was still much tasty food available on-site.
Overall, an unexpectedly excellent weekend away: “I’m a Cornbury connnnvert, And I can’t write mooooore words”.
*Thanks to Hugh Philimore, all our friends who came along and didn’t sleep, Bren from ‘this reality podcast’, all the restaurants (especially the tea and toast van), the staff at the Riverside Stage, The Elrics for entertaining our drummer, that bloke what sold me that helmet and my bandmates for holding it together for a fun 40 minutes. See you next year. x
Tags: 2009, blogging, festival, music, review, rock, youtube