A bitterly cold wind, powering rain and angry clouds chased us up the A14. My younger sister’s Skoda Yeti fought back bravely and gripped the motorway resiliently. We ploughed through a sodden Market Harborough, before hitting the slippery country lanes and finally arriving at our destination – Nosely Hall, and Noisily Festival.
Luckily we weren’t camping. I’d done that the year before, and well, post over-landing down through Africa (and camping), I swore I’d never do it again. I’m just not a camper, I like being clean, I like washing, I like beds. I may not sway towards camping, but a camper van, well that’s an entirely different story. Hail to the camper van, or the farm girl equivalent – the horse-box.
And so it was. We unpacked our overnight bags, fresh from London, into our horse-box and set up a much more agreeable form of camp. Much more agreeable indeed. Darkness wrapped itself over the howling hills as we made a dash for it deep into the wood. Multi-coloured lights peppered the track, luminous mushrooms glowed and bluebells danced with the wind; it was like a midnight fairy land. Deeper we penetrated this magical copse and soon the bellowing wind was muffled by the slow pulse of bass. If music be the food of love, or rather, if music drown out the screaming storm, play on.
And play on it did. For three days. Saturday brought with it a change of season; autumnal rain was usurped by sunny spring. The woodland sparkled and disco dryads’ flooded in merrily. The new day also brought with it a new companion; Sophie C made the journey North and joined our party. After a sleepless night, my younger sister and I made a make-shift bed and had a nature nap, all the while music beat steadily overhead.
Waking from our much-needed slumber, we ventured back into the mind-bending wonderland and sought out nutrients. Wandering past stages filled with wondrous dancers, past comedians and their amused crowds, we came across our would-be prey. Sizzling seductively were the meat feast concoctions of dreams; a bespoke burger if ever there was one. A new catering company specialising in alternative carnivorous treats – Got Game. Got we did, we got three burgers…
Nourished by two Obelix and one succulent venison burger, we lugged our limbs back to the comedians (Tickled Pig) and spent the remainder of the afternoon chortling in the utmost merriment. Alas, my wristband defied me, and my time in festival fervour was drawing to a close. Sister to the organiser; yes, enough money to prolong the stay; no. Oh sadness. Farewell to the new friends, farewell to the rural respite and back to the city.
But with an experience to remember and an incentive to climb up the ladder of journalistic success – and actually earn some money, for then, perhaps I will be able to purchase a weekend ticket. Until then Noisily, until then.