My name is Aspen and I am a festival virgin. Well actually that’s a total lie. I WAS a festival virgin. This year that all changed as I ended up living the festie life at a none other than six of these bad boys, basically on the trot.
At the first of the six, Standon Calling, I was intrigued by a gaggle of unkempt guys shouting in an american drawl and blasting out some awesome tunes at the Clocktower. These chaps were persuading audience members to pit their dance moves against each other. With the help of their trusty rope ring and some hilarious close to the line innuendo they had gathered a massive crowd.
After being picked to ‘dance off’ (I was wearing a glittery catsuit and a Christmas jumper) and nearly taking several people’s eyes out with my spider arms I got chatting to cousin Dirk and brother Cleatus (who it turns out wrenched his shoulder as my friend had to ride him like a bull…a standard Dance Off decider I was to find out.) who it turned out were actually surprisingly British.
I won’t bore with the details but we got chatting and the guys plus boss man Micky Bunko invited me along to work with THE DANCE OFF later in the summer. They genuinely looked like they were having a bloody fantastic time and as someone born without an embarrassment gene it was an offer I could not contemplate refusing.
So I accepted, and never for a moment looked back.
My initiation? Bestival: The Summer of Love. This was the first festival I have ever gone solo-ish, basically not knowing anyone I was hanging out with. Do you know what? It was super liberating. I hopped in a car share with a couple of guys from Hackney and their trusty Bongo, got dropped at the gate and was set free.
I totally left reality for 4 days.
My first Dance Off buddy was Jollean Jo the sister Ho. Looking lost we were rescued by Harry aka Mr. Festival and his dirt wagon (somehow he had managed to blag an estate filled with shit loads of bags). The first time he introduced himself I looked at him like ‘wtf!?’ he’s a bit full of himself! However after four days I came to realise Harry is Mr. Festival. Best buds with frigging everyone Harry had the most useful shit in his car I’ve ever seen. From water and ponchos to Berocca and a fridge, Harry just has the festival game down. But above all he will look after you and is a damn fine chap.
He slapped a couple of beers in our hands and took us to camp where we met the crew.
And what a bloody bunch of misfits we were. Everyone was just a bit nuts and trousers were more of guidelines than a necessity. Very quickly I knew this was gonna be bloody good fun, and I was gonna fit in juuuussstt fine.
Although bat shit crazy all the guys are pursuing their passions and dreams with great intentions, but living a kick-ass hedonistic lifestyle at the same time. Teachers, engineers, performers and salesmen to name a few occupations. They are the type of people great to be surrounded by. The eccentric pursuers of happiness who can’t sit still for a cotton picking minute.
Anywho the first evening was a visit to our venue; Club Dada. A decadent den filled with parkour flooring and panels of mirrors. Buuut it was the first night of the festival right? So en-route we just had to get shit faced and run round the maze, well over the maze, weelllll basically ran into each other and pushed each other out of the way. You get this jist.
Down at Continental Drifts Club Dada we found out our slot was to be 2-4pm daily. Pretty alright as people would start to come in inhibition free and rat arsed. Afterwards? A few cheeky ciders by the main stage and stage one of initiation.
“We’l have a dagger-off tomorrow”
“Errr what’s daggering” says me sat in a sparkly catsuit with what must have been an innocent face.
Like a red rag to a bull.
Dagger. Verb. Daggered, Daggering.
“Dancing and gyrating in an aggressive way”; “hardcore grinding” , or
“a short, swordlike weapon with a pointed blade and a handle, used for stabbing.”
I’ll let you guess which one it was.
So I was instructed to lie on my back, hands to my sides and not to move a muscle. Before I knew it Dirk jumped through the air onto me and well essentially I got dry humped. That’s daggering.
I slept well that night. Dreaming of what was to come on my nice juicy yoga mat. Bloody stupid idea that was, especially when y’all got hips like daggers…
STAY TUNED FOR PART 2/4 (plus videos) TOMORROW! Where Bestival descended into the best chaos ever…..
Reporter: Aspen ¦ @AbiAspen