I've been looking at everyone's Facebook photos from Parklife at the weekend, it seems EVERYONE in Manchester was there, and they all wore denim hotpants and got really drunk. Last night I went round to Amy's to eat chilli and she said 'You look very... I don't know, very something' and we figured out I looked very festival-y because I was wearing bare legs with a little dress and boots and my I Know What You Did Last Summer anorak. I think I was subconsciously trying to pretend I was at a festival in England.
There are so many festivals I thought I could make it to this summer and lack of funds means I am definitely going to miss Lovebox and Field Day. I wish I wasn't going to the South of France with Family Decent now, as I will miss Secret Garden Party and the Cambridge Folk Festival...
(Nobody believes me but I have been to the Cambridge Folk Festival almost every summer since I was seven- I might love a good warehouse rave but if I had to choose between a house rave or a hoe-down... ok I'd probably choose the house music, but I do love the Folk Festival; it hasn't changed in the fourteen years I have been going. When I walk through the entrance along that same old dusty orange path, and I see the same old stalls laid out in the same old way, and I smell the same old hot cider brewing and see that same old man with a long beard carrying a walking stick with a skull on the end of it, I know I've come home.)
Still, I'm trying to focus on the tan I will get from the South of France. TAN TAN TAN. For...
I can't let myself get too excited for Ibiza yet or I won't be able to cope with normal life- I'll take the kids to the menagarie wearing a zebra-print leotard yelling ZOO PROJECT!!
Hmm, I need to calm down. I went with the festival vibe again today and when I met the eight year old at the school gates, she looked me up and down with her mouth open and said "Are you CRAZY? You wear big boots with that dress and no tight?"
As we walked home I realised other French people were gawping at me too- maybe I did actually look a lot like a twat... But still, let me make my mistakes Paris! Stop fucking staring at me! Wait until you go on holiday to England and you see the girls of Shoreditch raving in their fur coats and day-glo leggings*, or the scouse girls in their hair rollers and pyjamas, popping into the Asda near me Nan's on a Saturday afternoon. What will you do then, eh? Because if you stare at people that blatantly in England, you normally get a punch in the face.
*To be fair, I don't really know what Shoreditch girls wear, but this is what I like to imagine they look like, when I'm back home in the North of England, chilling down the mines, huddled around a hot pie to fight the cold and playing the ukelele.