A small tale of mud, sex and music.

It’s 12:30am and me and my friend Sam start our walk back to the camp site in the pouring rain after watching Rammstein headline the main stage. It’s turning into the longest walk of our lives, we spent two hours being kicked, punched, pushed and pulled into mosh pits by some of the meanest, filthiest of rock n roll types the earth can ever spit out of it’s unholy mouth and we were in the center of it. We walk through mud and muck and deep puddles as the rain keeps on coming down as we drag our wet selfs along side thousands of drunk head bangers and stoners back to the camp site.

108589190_01_308526c[1]

45 minutes into our walk and we enter the village and the smell of fried food hits out noses like fog. Neither of us realized how hungry we both were, the gig and the walk and our drunkenness took the focus away from our stomachs and all it took was the smell of fried onions and hot dogs to kick the senses off. So me and Sam trudge through the mud over to the nearest stall selling hot dogs. We hand over wet notes, grab the dogs covered in onions and smother it with mustard and red sauce and we take cover under hood of the stall and just savor every bite we take and watch the crowd of thousands make their way through a swamp of mud and water.

A man comes over to us covered in dirt and he’s obviously been wrestling in the mud. He orders himself a large jumbo hot dog and covers it sauce and he stands next to us while he eats. “How you doing lads” he says to us “We are alright”

“Did you enjoy Rammstein”

“They were amazing”

Sam asks him “you look like you had fun”

“Yeah, I’ve been in a mosh pit all day and kept slipping over on the mud and I thought id take everyone out with me. This isn’t the worst it’s ever been, I was here in 2012 and it didn’t stop all weekend, it’s just kept coming and coming all weekend, it’s meant to stop tomorrow”

“Bloody hope so” I said.

“Right lads, I’m going, I’m doing an all nighter”

And he threw the remains of his hot dog into the mud and ran away.

We finally made it back to the camp satisfied and we started to search for our tent. We scan the sea of tents and neither of us can make out where it is so we walk through the camp treading gingerly over the ties trying not to trip or even slip on the wet grass, which at this moment in time is hard considering we are half drunk and suffering from second hand highness. Sam thinks he spots something “Found it” he says and starts to open the tent “WRONG TENT, WRONG TENT”.

“Sorry pal” it wasn’t our tent.

I see it in the distance “There it is” I say to Sam and we make our way like zombies through the mass of tents surrounding us.

We finally get into our tent, taking off our wet clothes and muddy wellies and finally lay our heads onto a cold damp tent mat but the tent next to us which is occupied by 8 men kept us awake for most of the night. One of the guys had brought back a goth girl and was trying to have sex with her but his friends, the meanest of the bunch thought thats not going to happen tonight, so for the next 3 hours they decided to say some of the most evil of jokes to him.”HEY JONO, YOU GOT IT UP YET”

“FUCK OFF DUDE, IM TRYING TO LICK HER OUT”

“IF SHE DON’T LIKE IT JONO I’LL COME AND HAVE AGO”.

This went on and on and the whole camp site was all ears to the situation that was happening.

After a matter of hours, jokes after jokes and Jono trying hard to do the job, it all went quiet and the girl piped up and shouted “fuck this I’m going back to my tent” and Jono like the good chap he is walks her back. But about and hour later whispers start coming from the tent and the sounds of moaning and heavy breathing flow through the quiet festival air, maybe Jono brought the girl back and got lucky.

When we wake up the next day it’s still raining but not as heavy as the night before now and we both crack open a can of beer. Our legs, our feet and our backs hurt and we love every minute of it. Jono and his mates sit near by and we hear about the events that happened the night before. Jono just didn’t like the goth girl that much so after trying and trying and trying to get his end away he decided to walk her back to her tent. When he got her back safely thats when he spotted her sister and asked her to come back with him instead. Thats what I must have heard during the early hours of the morning.

We make our way back to the village in search of a bacon and egg sandwich and we look around the camp as we walk with our beers. We just see the mass of hungover and dirty people, some leaving tents covered in a mud with a towel in their hands and looking for the showers. Some sitting around a bbq cooking sausages and drinking beer and some look like they just made it back to the camp after pulling an all nighter.

We get to the village walking past people lining up for the bogs and the smell coming from them could melt your eyebrows straight off your face. During the night the festival organizers covered the mud filled village with hay, but it’s failed and the mud just keeps on coming through as thousands of people walk over it.

We finally start to que at a stall that serves Breakfast and wait in a line of about 20 all asking for a bacon sandwich. I turn to Sam and I say to him “You know what Sam we are at fucking Download, it’s raining, it’s cold, we are covered in and we might be in pain and tempted for a poo, but we are waiting in line for a bacon sandwich with a can in our hands and recovering from watching Rammstein last night and tonight we will be making our way through mud and along with every one else will be waiting for Black Sabbath to hit the stage. We might be surrounded by security guards, we might get searched for drugs everywhere we go, we might not be allowed to bring cans into the main arena and we might have to show our wrist bands every time we enter the village at night, but bloody hell dude, It’s fucking Download. ”

“All I care about now Ste is my bloody bacon sandwich, but yeah it’s Download”.

Advertisements

8 thoughts on “A small tale of mud, sex and music.”

      1. That’s a long flight. I only live about 25 minutes away from Donnington so it’s just a bus ride away. And yes, it really is my real name, but I don’t play bass I play the drums.

        Like

      2. Lucky you, we hardly get any festivals out here. Bass or drums, that’s still a really cool name. I’d love to check out your music if it’s out there somewhere.

        Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s