Free V

One of my best friends recently described me as being the most high maintenance person she’s ever met. So when I was offered a last minute ticket to V Festival, my love of glitter, face paint, tiny shorts, floral headbands (and, y’know, music) was somewhat over-shadowed by my love of pillows and personal hygiene. Also, whatever is causing me to be suddenly intolerant of alcohol is also now making me intolerant of caffeine and is probably related to the fact that I’m apparently iron-deficient anemic. This basically means that I have to take a lot of pills each day and am constantly sleepy with no means to wake myself up apart from eating sugar cubes and thus feeling like a prematurely middle aged pony.

Having turned down the V ticket for the good of myself, my friends, and the reputation of ponies everywhere, it emerged that it was not just any V Festival ticket. It was a free Hospitality ticket. I had turned down free access to the glitter and the music, as well as to the nice bar, nice toilets, and the house of Sam (aka the wonderful giver of the free ticket) which not only has showers but also a swimming pool. A swimming pool. Somebody else was going to get the lovely free stuff and I would have to stay at home with no excuse to dress like a slightly sparkly slut.

So, in the spirit of a true consumerist, I panicked. I grovelled. And I got my ticket back.

Despite the lack of alcohol, the weekend was amazing. The atmosphere was fantastic, the weather was brilliant, and, most importantly, I could wear my dungarees without feeling stupid.

Not feeling at all stupid in that ensemble.

Granted, my high maintenance approach to life meant that the atmosphere, sunshine, and dungarees were not without their issues. I pulled a muscle in my back from all the jumping about with my arms in the air (see? Middle aged). The unexpected appearance of the sun meant that wearing wellies would melt my feet off, so I had to borrow shoes that Sam’s little sister had grown out of – Sam’s little sister is ten. And trying to navigate a Portaloo in dungarees requires a certain about of gymnastic talent that I don’t really possess. But my back survived, the shoes totally matched my outfit, and the dungarees didn’t end up in the toilet. I am a strong and independent woman. Sort of.

My favourite part of the festival experience was probably observing the effect male musicians have on straight women. Heated arguments were breaking out among female friends over various members of Noah and the Whale. Ed Sheeran was so captivating that Example came on stage and some girls didn’t even notice. Women of all ages were looking at Noel Gallagher as though he was god, rather than a human man with a guitar and a strange haircut. While Ben Howard played, hundreds of female fans were quite clearly mentally constructing complex plans to meet and then marry him. But even Ben was bested: Tinie Tempah had huge numbers of girls taking their tops off and swinging them around their heads.

So the moral of the story is that you should never say no to a free festival ticket. Oh, and you should always wear nice underwear.

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