Monthly Archives: July 2017

001 – In The Swamp. Isle of Wight Festival 2012

  In The Swamp. A tale of drugs, mud, piss and strange people at the Isle of Wight Festival 2012. Not so long ago, Yuri and I were music students. That’s how we met. A substantial part of our education wasn’t at college. … Continue reading

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002 – In The Swamp. IoW Festival 2012.

First Day. Arrival. Meeting the neighbours. The Stranglers. Primal Scream. First impressions. To get to the Isle of Wight you can take a hovercraft from Portsmouth. It shakes like a cheap shopping centre massage chair. Novelty value fades quickly. Especially … Continue reading

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003 – In The Swamp – IOW Festival 2012

Second Day.  Elbow. Australian piss fetishists. Depression. Escape from the festival. Recapture.  Friday we went to see Elbow and Tom Petty. More Elbow than Tom Petty. The real festival started today. Day tickets were available, more fields and stalls opened. … Continue reading

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004 – In The Swamp – IOW Festival 2012

Third Day (cont’d). Gazebo CUNT! Ryan’s trip. Recovery Day. Pootopia. Lucy flees. Another weird piss story.  We read a lot during this time. When we returned from our walk, beaten, still quietly hungry, we sat ourselves in the tent and … Continue reading

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005 – In The Swamp – IOW Festival 2012

  Third Day (cont’d) Eddie returns. Ryan takes speed. Pearl Jam. Campsite thefts. Neighbourhood declares the festival a washout and a failure. Exodus.  Ryan was still feeling the comedown. Eddie hadn’t shown yet. He was out there somewhere, past the … Continue reading

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006 – In The Swamp – IOW Festival 2012

Noel Gallagher’s High Flying Birds. Christian Security Guy. Drying mud. Penalty shoot-out. Fourth Day Every morning here you wake in the sunken mud print of your own body. Usually a slight headache. Lack of sleep and heat combine with the … Continue reading

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007 – In The Swamp – IOW Festival 2012

Last Day The wasteland after the party. Tale of a wellington boot. Going home. Ryan and Eddie’s review.  I was up before Yuri and brushed my teeth. I felt industrious. Or at least, I felt like packing up and getting back as … Continue reading

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