“You don’t look like the press.”
I’m currently away ‘on holiday’ up on the East Coast of Scotland somewhere (pictures to follow inevitably), but I have itchy fingers. Going through the 22,000 odd pictures on Flickr that I mentioned (I’m down to about 7,500 shots online). has thrown up a lot of different memories of the past three years or so.. and especially the people along the way.
This was Belladrum in 2008, and the second in my festival trawling years. Experienced from the 13 I went to in 2007, I’d cut it down to around 5 or 6 this year. The quote above came from the security guard who was searching bags at the campsite gate, which I remember finding odd. Frankly I thought that we looked more like the music press than most other people, and if not, then we looked how the music press should have looked.
Since this weekend, I’ve hardly heard from my old blonde pal Rosie. She’s the type of girl that guys are automatically interested in, and you get the old suspicious macho-posturings when the latest ones are around; desperate to show that she’s interested in them and not you. We used to laugh about it because I’d known her for years, and that was not on the cards at all. It seems like I end up in that position a lot with people. Seriously guys, get a grip. All too often you end up making an embarassment of our whole gender; how predictable.
She was annoyingly photogenic though (especially in the sun), so the fact that we’ve lost touch a bit is a bummer. The irony? We managed to stay relatively close whilst she was up north, and even closer when she was in Nepal… where is she now..? My own city of Glasgow.
Irrespective, I look back with fondness on the festival years where I stumbled from field to field and drove hundreds of miles around Scotland (and partially England), mostly on my own. Some people travel Europe or even the world in search of themselves, for me it was here, on home turf.
Lessons I learned:
Do not drink homemade banana wine that was brewed by some German builders:
Do not be surprised if the police pull you over for having a stolen/abandoned giant parasol sticking between the passenger and driver seat of your 1L Vauxhall Corsa:
and possibly the most important of all, don’t forget who your real friends are… or at least try and work it out real fast:
These shots make me wish I had my LC-A back. It got stolen one year on in 2009 at the very same festival. Maybe one day I’ll replace it.
p.s. Rosie.. I want my QOTSA t-shirt back!