Confessions Of A Festival Virgin - What Goes In Tolpuddle Stays In Tolpuddle

I have a confession to make. I have been shallow and judgemental in my time. I have derided a certain group of people without taking the time to try to understand them.

You know those people who wear their festival wristbands until they are literally rotting off their wrists? It was them. I laughed at them, considered them posers. Thought them the kind of idiots who thought they were too cool for school.

I am sorry. I now get it. For now I am one of you.

I'm 42 in a couple of days and I had never been to a festival. Oh, I'd always wanted to, always thought I'd get round to it one day. And then I made the mistake of thinking I was too attached to luxury to hack it.

My ex used to take the piss when I expressed a desire to go. 'They won't have hair straighteners there.' He used to say.*

*those of you who know me well, let's be honest, those of you who have known me for more than five minutes know I am vain over one thing only. My hair.

But I digress. I wanted to go be a tree hugging, welly wearing, face painted, pissed out of my SKULL festival goer but I never had the guts. At least not while I was with the ex.

This weekend I broke my festival cherry.

Me and The Lovely went to the Tolpuddle Martyrs Festival. And I bloody loved it.  

After an epic journey which saw us take nearly 2 hours to get out of the city despite the train stopping at the station 5 minutes from home (don't ask) we arrived looking a little bedraggled into a field next to the Tolpuddle Martyr's Museum.

Sorry for messy linkage. Doing this via email.

Anyhoo... www.tolpuddlemartyrs.org.uk

It was chucking it down with rain. I was very glad I had bought my sassy sparkly leopard print wellies. The Lovely being the wonderful man he is bought brownies and coffee and we warmed up.

We got the tent up in minutes (two words, pop up) and I went to introduce myself to Den who was running the bar.

I probably should explain. I was there to work two shifts behind the bar for the Workers' Beer Company. You don't personally get paid, but your wage goes to your organisation. In my case the money is going to the PCS hardship fund so that those who have real financial difficulties when we go on strike can get some help.

So what made the weekend so amazing? Various things. I'll try to cover them below in no particular order.

THE PEOPLE
So many people I caught up with, met so many more, and had random conversations with others only to discover we had been following each other on Twitter for ages. No one was cliquey. No one was unfriendly. Everyone made me feel welcome. Even with the blazing row I had with @swdrake about the Labour Party at one in the  morning when we were both pretty cidered up. Even in the pouring rain the people were smiling.

THE DEBATE
Oh yes, there was debate. I managed to get to two of them. One was chaired by The Lovely and featured TUC General Secretary in waiting Frances O'Grady (who was great but whose name unfortunately reminds me of a Viz character). I have a feeling that if she manages to keep the fire she showed she may well just turn out ok. The second one was about protesting. Chaired very well by @jokbristol I was chuffed to share a jaw drop and eyeroll with Owen Jones but annoyed that I had to put Eva from Unite rights on just how much trade unionists ARE involved with protests, even at the risk of their own jobs. My irritation didn't last long though and I was proper pleased that the PCS women got right into the heart of the debate.

THE MUSIC
Well. Yes. Have to admit that Billy Bragg type guitar shouty tunes are not my cup of tea. And I missed The Selecter and Thee Faction as they played while I was behind the bar. I was gutted about that. But there was singing and dancing and I appreciated that people were having a good time. I did not appreciate the guy who woke me up playing the guitar at 6.30 am. Dear guitar playing man. Three cords is only ok if you are Status Quo. Learn some more. Ta. Love everyone x

MY GENERAL UNPREPAREDNESS
I am rubbish. Like, proper rubbish, though in my defence I hadn't been camping since I was 12. While The Lovely bought things like toilet rolls and shower gel and useful stuff I bought Jaffa Cakes. More of which later. I also didn't bring anything with long sleeves. This led to me nearly crying with cold and waking The Lovely at 4am to beg for a hoodie. Which he gave me. Then bought me an even warmer one the next day. (I had also forgotten that there was no cashpoint for at least 150 miles) But me being rubbish added something to it, not least The Lovely getting to look after me. I like that sometimes.

THE TENT
I named our tent 'liccle iccle' as it seemed so tiny surrounded by the gargantuan bio domes that the SERIOUS CAMPERS had brought with them. Some of them were bigger than my old flat. Some of them had four bedrooms. Ours had a single skin which meant that EVERYTHING had to go in bin bags every night because of the condensation and the first morning we woke to a tent covered in soggy Jaffa Cake where I hadn't packed them away properly. It looked like a dirty protest in a MacVities factory. But I wouldn't have swapped Liccle Iccle for anything. It was dry and cosy and ours.

THE HUMOUR
Trade Unionists are bloody funny. Even, nay, especially when they are in a field and knackered. I couldn't explain how or why they were so funny as you kind of had to be there and there is nothing worse than someone else's in jokes. All I will say is that @tolpuddletim @yokelbear and @ropercarl all had me running to the portaloos before I peed myself laughing.  

THE SENSE OF BELONGING
This was the big one. Being surrounded by people who though their political leanings may differ from yours, though their methods may differ from yours, though you may scream and shout at each other in the wee hours, you are there for the same purpose. To celebrate the lives and bravery of six men who risked everything for fairness. Together.

So hail and farewell till next year Tolpuddle.

Just hope my wristband doesn't rot too soon.

Feeling Groovy

My clothes rail fell down during the night.

Doesn't seem like a big thing till you realise that even a few weeks ago this would have had me either crying with hopelessness or mournfully resigned to picking it up.

That I felt neither of these things has been a quiet revelation to me.

Not sure exactly when the change came. Was it when I moved out of the town I was living in to the place I now reside? (those of you who need to know the locations already know)

Was it when I realised that I would no longer have to look over my shoulder for my ex, his family or his friends? This had more of an effect on me than I actually realised. I was a prisoner in my own home. I'd had crippling headaches through the stress of it and it's only now they've gone that I appreciate how bad they were.

Was it knowing I would no longer have to miss The Lovely, who is gently snoring next to me even as he reaches out to try and hold my hand? *takes a moment to look over and smile at how lucky I am*

Was it realising that people are actually generous, kind, thoughtful and lovely? (BIG shout out to @lenarbena @mrsgakamrsb @yokelbear @laydee_k88 and @tangent69 without whom the move would have been totally stressful).

Was it realising I was actually finally free? Freedom to walk around without fear, freedom to actually be myself, freedom to love and be loved for who I am. Freedom to help others as much as I can.

Freedom to actually be happy and not feel guilty about that.

It's heady, intoxicating stuff and I'm loving it.

Now, I'm fully expecting a barrage of calls from my ex now I've emerged from the woodwork but I won't be answering them. And for the first time in a long time I won't be scared.

I'll be busy putting my clothes rail up.

Smiling.