Latitude 2019. We went, we saw, we didn’t wash. We five slept in a four man tent. We argued about air pumps and tent pegs. We got bitten by mosquitos. The toilet cubicles were full of private school kids washing their hair over the sinks so no one could use them. Kids called Jonty and Avocado were pulled along in original Radio Flyer wagons, adorned with Cath Kidston bunting and solar-powered lights in the shape of dinosaurs.
We only ate things covered in salt or sugar and wiped cheese stained grease on our dusty legs to help them tan. We went into the Speakeasy tent to shelter from the rain, or sleep through ted-like talks from guilty feminists. I felt guilty for not listening but is there a better sound than rain on canvas?
The overpriced trolley brought on Amazon Prime broke on a stone midway back to the car. I won’t say it was overloaded by an overly ambitious husband. Oh, I just did. It only worked if pushed. Many men, far more than have ever asked for my number, stopped, not to help, but to tell me I was supposed to pull it. I told them ‘Silly me, here I was thinking the handle was a chin rest. Thanks for the mansplaining.’
We have this stupid new rule that we have to do a push up if we swear, so after my torrent of non-guilty feminist abuse I had to drop and kiss the dirt.
I wanted to see Underworld play Born Slippy so of course the kids didn’t. We went back to the tent instead and I heard ‘mega mega white thing’ drift towards me on a haze of organic sun-cream and vegan sausages as the solar fairy lights twinkled like stars overhead. I wanted to hear Primal Scream get their rocks off, but stood at the back of George Ezra instead and wondered why he sang with that accent.
We whittled sticks and painted spoons and were punted up the river edged with fat pink sheep, like Mole and Ratty on the river. We made bunting and heard Wendy Cope read ‘Flowers’* out loud and tell us there was no need to clap, and Simon Armitage read ‘Thank you for waiting’* and ‘Zodiac T-shirt’.
We watched Gomez light up the stage with Whipping Picadilly and new pop sensation Lets Eat Grandma sing their 19 year old hearts out, from right at the front, where the bass pumped through us like heartbeats.