Home from the festival, where I didn't do much, but threw myself into what I did do, with ludicrous abandon.

I mean, what was I thinking?






I am genuinely puzzled about the sudden urge to make myself look as ghastly as possible, enough for people to recoil or look away, but to then walk tall and hold my head high. To invite disapproval and then be defiant in the face of it. But that was what I wanted, and by crikey, that was what I did.

YD did all our make-up, mine first, so while she painted her husband's face, I went and danced with the "Police Rave Unit" which parked up next to us for a while:



and then walked to the other end of the site, through the crowds in the middle, to pick up H's mobility scooter, which had been charging. It was truly intense, much more powerful than I'd imagined. A lot of people really didn't like it, though some did and gave me a big grin, or in one case a lollipop, for 'glamour'! I know I chat shit all the time about not caring what I look like, but the pressure on females to be as attractive as possible is insidious, and more deeply ingrained than I like to acknowledge. This felt 'brave' and transgressive, though I can't justify or explain why. And that nasty facial expression came along naturally, as soon as I saw myself, briefly, in a mirror.

So that was all strange, but interesting, to do something right out of my normal range of activities.

The Kate Bush extravaganza was blissful. Here's YD:



and here's a video:



No one took any pics of me at the time, so we re-created it in the woods, for posterity:



All of this malarkey was totally fucking exhausting, especially after a five hour drive, followed by lugging camping gear across several fields, so I didn't actually manage much else. A bit of yoga, some singing workshops, wandering about. I was done each day before it was even dark, but resisted the temptation to boost myself up with a few handfuls of Class As and just sat by the tent smoking weed, like a good granny, watching people wander past as the sky did its thing:



Lots of it was hard. Grandson, separated from his electronic distractions, falls into such a place of (apparent) sadness that it was difficult not to grab him and squeeze him to my bosom all the time. H is having an MS episode causing his 'good' leg to behave like a total bastard and making him angry and resentful, which is not his usual mood. Both of them did have good times, though. GS got right at the front for Roni Size, which he described as a life-changing experience, and H got into lots of mad conversations with passing strangers, which he loves. YD was a superstar, being the person who took responsibility for getting the camp set up and taken down and making decisions when no one else could/would.

I'm going to have to be a lot less existentially knackered to go to any festivals next summer. Well, I say that, but I do love it, so I'll probably go anyway and just moan a lot. That seems to be my way.

I am grateful for: a clean bed; YD and H starting to move their stuff out; acupuncture tomorrow; the opportunity to feel the fear and do it anyway; a garden to smoke in

Laters xxx