BootsnAll Travel Network



Magic Sunday at the Reading Festival

It’s nearly a week ago now, but it feels much longer. Perhaps this is because of the dreamlike quality of he day.

Odd to think that in my 41 years, I’ve never been to a major rock festival before.

Sure, I’ve tried. But I arrived on the scene just a little too late to join in the Glastonbury fence-climbing and tunnel-digging contests and just on time to find out that online or phone ticket offers sell out before you can even log on or dial the number (the latter because people are ready with the speed-dial the instant the lines open).

Doh.

However, a colleague of John got his mitts on a pair of magic tickets for the Sunday at Reading 2006, and one of these tickets was going spare.

ticket

So, H and I met up on a sunny morning in a remarkably quiet city centre. Everywhere, there were droves of haggard-looking festival goers with shadows under their eyes and wellies on their feet, patiently waiting for the local Sainsbury’s to open. It should be easy enough to find the site, which was, according to the official blurb, just a fifteen minute walk from the station.

But why was it so quiet? My experience of concerts and demos is that these events tend to be loud. Where was the roar of the crowd? There was a roar, but that was from cars thundering down the Ring of Death which strangles the city centre.

We trudged down a busy road for half an hour before we finally arrived at a green field. Somehow, we had managed to almost circumnavigate the entire site and were promptly sent around again to the entrance where we could exchange our tickets for wrist bands.

It was still oddly quiet, but now we had joined a queue of thousands which slowly made their way down a straw-covered path. There was a smell of urine and stale beer in the air as we—incongruously—passed shower tents which offered hot water facilities.

This was better organised than the Notting Hill Carnival.

Next we walked past a sea of tents which stood close enough to touch and stretched as far as the eye could see. We were almost there. But by now, the main program would have started.
stalls

“I’m going to cry if we missed Pear Jam!” H said.

I nodded sagely, trying to reassure him. “Don’t worry, they’re the headliners. They won’t come come on before tonight.”

I could hardly tell him, could I? In fact, I can hardly tell anyone on this blog, but I’m banking that nobody is reading this before we are due at Dave’s party tonight.

I had never heard of Pearl Jam.

In my defense: I used to listen almost exclusively to classical music until the mid-nineties when I lost the War of the Stations with the neurophysiology lab on the other side of the partition and thus started to listen to Radio One. If you ever listened to the radio in Germany or Denmark, you will understand why it took me so long to catch up with the fantastic UK/US music scene.

Somehow, Pearl Jam escaped my attention completely. I was therefore with certainty the only person on the grounds (and perhaps in the world) who was completely ignorant about them.

crowd

The site was huge. In fact, it was complete overkill. There were at least four stages, plus a comedy stage and we never even made it away from the main arena. I really need to get a weekend pass next time to fully soak up the atmosphere.
Fan

It was now past lunchtime, but much to the disgust of the thrash metal band on stage, most people simply refused to wake up.

knackered

So, sitting in the sun, surrounded by people dancing in wellies, we gently got tipsy.

wellycollage

Before we got too comfortable, it was time to prepare for the mosh pit. The bands got progressively better and we felt energized by the sound and the crowd, reluctant to miss anything.
friends
Final preparations were made. A last beer. A quick hot-dog. And the dreaded visit to the toilets, because once we were near the stage, we would not be able to go.

The queues were long, but they moved quickly. The facilities were clean. There were even people offering sheets of toilet paper. And—for those who could absolutely not wait—there were contraptions which would allow women to (get this!) use the urinals. I did not see anyone try.

Urinelle

This was a lot better organised than the Notting Hill Carnival.

And then we were usurped by the crowd. What followed was a wild whirl of jumping and yelling and punching the air. My head swam with the energy of it all. But, I noticed, it also swam because I felt that I could not breathe properly. I looked at the mighty, clear sky which stretched above our heads. I was just being silly. But then I looked around and saw nothing but bodies. More bodies were piling in, and at times my feet did not touch the ground, but stood on other feet. I slipped a Xanax surrepticiously. Not a god move on top of the booze, but worth it for four panic-free hours.Woohoo The sun went down almost unnoticed. A surge went through the masses as Placebo came on, and my near-panic was forgotten as I was washed closer to the stage by the human tide. Somebody crowd-surfed to one side, a shoe-less foot dangling limply as he was carried forwards. For an instant, I was tempted to join him, but I remembered my weight.

Placebo

Beach balls, condom baloons and (get this), inflatable seats were bounced in the air. Whenever they could, the amazing security guards passed out paper cups of water as fast as possible, most of which landed on our heads in a shower of silvery droplets, leaving comet-trails as the cups were hurled into the air.

Then Pearl Jam came on, and the crowd went wild.

Within seconds, I was separated from H and jumping up and down without any effort of my own, while being pushed back-and-forth with the surge. And Pearl Jam played for over an hour.

Before they started, they asked us to look out for each other. I did not know that it was them who were playing when eight people were trampled to death in a crush in Roskilde in 2000. Even now, not everyone who was crowd-surfing was doing it voluntarily. I was determined not to go down, not this time. But perhaps it was a good idea to get out. By the third encore, I latched on to some people snaking their way out of the crowd.

Gradually, people dispersed around the edges, allowing everybody to breathe easier. The atmosphere was full of love, for the band and for each other. We were looking out for each other.

I sat on the paper-strewn ground in the shadow of the stage and let my mind surf with the sound until the final chord was played. The last train home had left long ago, but who cared?

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2 Responses to “Magic Sunday at the Reading Festival”

  1. Hassan Says:

    Wonderfull writeup Denni, thanks for the great day 😀

  2. Denni Says:

    Whoops, you’ve found it! Now my secret is out…