I had wanted to go to the 2000 Trees Festival down in deepest darkest England somewhere for years, but circumstances had always managed to conspire against me. Luckily, my pal Chris Rouse is mad enough to accept an invitation to play a gig right before his wedding, so I was able to kill two birds with one stone and tag along with Hold Your Horse Is.
It was hot. Seriously, stupidly, hot for a Scotsman like I.
How come we are always far more sensitive to increases in temperature on our home turf than abroad? It’s all about context, baby.
The locals seemed to agree, huddling together like wildebeests under the single tree.
I wonder if Royal Mail would approve of their old vans being used for touring bands.
Classic festival pose.
This is Christie. Don’t let her mild mannered appearance deceive you; she’s got a wild under-current.
I’m not sure if it’s a sign of how small the UK is, or how niche the circles that we tend to find ourselves moving in, but it’s amazing how you can travel the length of the island and still bump into people that you (as a disparate group) commonly know. Serendipity indeed.
