Time for T Again - The First Evening

So. There we were. Tequila and Tennents-fortified, we made our way from the campsite to the main arena.


It. Took. Fucking. Ages.

I could probably have thrown a rock and hit the back of the main stage from our own personal mud-patch, but to actually stand on the other side of it involved trekking through the remainder of the vast, sprawling campsite, and then down half a mile of high-walled, regularly patrolled path to actually get to the arena. The floor was caked in thick mud, there was a light to heavy drizzle in the air, but everyone was still excited.

We were, after all, the lucky ones. By all accounts, there were still huge tailbacks outside, and certainly when we got back to the tent at about 2.30am, there were still people trying to put their tents up in the dark. Sympathetic though I obviously was, I couldn't help but think that they'd brought it on themselves - don't want to be late? Set off early. Don't want to get stuck in traffic? Set off early. Don't want to miss Bloc Party? Set off early. Set off late? Don't complain when you arrive late, get suck in traffic and miss Bloc Party. Anyway.

We made it in, and stopped by the T Break stage, where we caught the last five minutes of a band called San Sebastian who are currently doing big things in the pages of the NME, if nowhere else.

San Sebastian. Meh.

Without wishing to be rude to the guys, as they seemed like perfectly nice chaps, they weren't particularly inspiring. The kind of chug-a-long-a-shoe-gaze band that 10 years ago would have been lucky to get a recurring slot in that pub round the corner, but that are now headlining stages with the word 'Future' in their title. Ugh.

Most people were, of course, sludging their way through the mud to see the Monkeys. The Arctics. Those cheeky Northern Scallies. Don't you just love 'em?

Well, I don't, particularly. As I've said before, '...Dancefloor' is a great song - as close to the perfect rock/pop song as we've come this century. I just wish they had something else. I'll be the first to admit that I'm a fervent rejector of hype, which is, in many ways, just as bad as following it (I refused to entertain the notion of the White Stripes as a band for ages, purely because Dominic 'Tw*t' Mohan told me that I should love them. My loss.) but there's something about the Arctic Monkeys that just winds me up.

The Arctic Monkeys, ladies and gentlemen. Note how excited the people in front of us are to see them.

We only arrived in time for the last two songs - traditionally the time when a band likes to really ramp it up, to send the crowd home on a massive high. Those cheeky, anarchic monkeys though had decided to dispense with tradition and send people home with a snooze, ploughing through a couple of seemingly interminable 'difficult second album' tracks. And so we decided to find our own high, and fucked off up the ferris wheel - they were much more fun from there:

And the Monkeys from the big wheel. So much more fun when they're blurry.

Apparently Alex what's-his-face then went and got off with Alexa Chung, the prettier but less funny one from PopWorld, which is about as pure an example of a singer having more fun than his audience as it's possible to imagine. What hacks me off most about the Monkeys is the constant eulogising of their wit - this isn't a celebration of a particularly clever band, this is an indictment of the idiocy of the majority of mainstream UK music at the moment. Go to Sheffield, Manchester, Bolton, Hull, Liverpool, any town in the North of England and you'll find yourselves surrounded and bombarded by the kind of acerbic wit that makes the Monkeys look like Antonia Quirke - it's just that the majority of 'music' fans in the UK choose to listen to neanderthals like Kasabian or hideous whiny travesties like Snow Patrol or Coldplay. Ugh.

Anyway, the first day was done, and the highlight was the Ferris Wheel. And the tequila. So we headed back into the campsite, where the party was just getting into full flow. I won't go into detail, because this blog isn't about me drinking and my sister failing to - suffice to say, three hours of drinking (Snakebite in a can! Snakebite in a can!) and dancing like twats to mid-90s indie classics ensued.

Two of the lovely people - Lisa and friend

There were lovely people there. We met them and danced with them and drank with them. It was awesome. And then at 2am, when they kicked us out, we went back to the tent, Zanna passed out, and I drank til 5.30 with the guys who were camping next to us - drunk Scotsmen really are the best people in the world. And that was that. Night night.

PS It's important to point out at this juncture, lest you get the wrong impression, that the first day was awesome, despite the weather, the mud, and the musical mediocrity. That's the joy of T...