8 Unholy Things That Will Pretty Much Definitely Happen At Longitude This Weekend
By Sophie White
13th Jul 2017
13th Jul 2017
I suffer from a phenomenon called festival-amnesia. It’s a serious condition which manifests as my forgetting every single time I agree to go to a festival that in fact, I am a curmudgeonly old person for whom the festival experience is actually far too taxing and uncomfortable.
Yet again I have signed up to go to Longitude this weekend, so while you are reading this from the comfort of your home, I am miles away losing the will to live in a field somewhere surrounded by be-fringed revelers for whom dancing and bathing in what one can only hope is mud is considered fun. Yes, I am lame. Pray for me.
Expectations Versus Reality: 8 Unholy Truths About Going To A Festival
Expectation:
I will be channeling late noughties Moss with shades of Mid-Teenies Pixie Geldof.
Reality:
You will look quite a lot like Boris Johnson wearing a tie-dyed crop top and leatherette lederhosen (damn you Forever 21).
Expectation:
It will be a glorious weekend of mind-expanding experiences.
Reality:
You will see someone openly defecating at 11 am, that’s AM people.
Expectation:
I can’t wait to chill out with friends enjoying some craft burgers and artisanal?(Read: EXPENSIVE) chips.
Reality:
It is near impossible to find acceptable ground-space upon which to chill. It will be a scum-tide of slurry-muck, discarded cans, rejected foodstuffs, Day-Glo’shiteology?and other festival detritus all being washed away with fluids of questionable origin. Book your tetanus shot before the festival.
Expectation:
The people at the festival will be so cool.
Reality:
There will be a man with an asymmetrical?undercut and dreamcatcher earring at the festival who is sporting no shoes but has 600 old wristbands of festival experiences past adorning his arm from wrist to shoulder. This man is better than you. Know this. When he says that ATP 2013 was THE BEST FESTIVAL EVER do not contradict him, it is not worth it and you will not win, for he is a professional cool person who ‘lives’ festivals while you are just a plebian infant trying to dabble in the festival fun for a weekend.
Expectation:
All these festival trends will look excellent on me all at the same time. Sure, at no other time do I tend to mix neon lycra?with PVC dungarees in sweltering heat with limited access to shower facilities but hey, it’s all about the ‘gram.
Reality:
“Sweet baby Jehovah?what have you dooooooone???” your inner thighs will sob as you navigate?the 9th consecutive hour of punishing PVC chaff and try to remember to channel Pixie in between sweating so profusely that you cannot decipher what is perspiration?and?what is the bitter tears of a person who is living through?one of the harshest outfit hell-blunders of all time.
Expectation:
Start of the weekend: Sure we can share a tent that sounds like fun.
Reality:
Day 2: I have never hated anyone more in my entire life. With your every laboured’mouth-breath, I am being pushed closer and closer to my limits. I will now fantasise?for the remainder of the (sleepless) night about how I am going to either: slowly poison you over a period of months with a small, undetectable’dose of arsenic or go to your house and lick all the cutlery when you’re out of the room.
Expectation:
I’m not going to spend the entire festival in various queues.
Reality:
You will live out the end of your days in a queue for the portaloos. Babies are conceived, gestated and birthed in those goddamn portaloo queues.
Expectation:
I’m gonna look so cool in my flower crown.
Reality:
People will make fun of your flower crown. Flower crowns are so over. In 2017, you are nothing (literally NOTHING) if you are not wearing fluffy, dangly balls from your ears. That is all.
Main?image via?@kelseyjoerobins
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