Sadly, three days of live music and wheels of French brie don't come cheap. Additionally, I hate camping. I hate it. I hate the dirt, the sleeping mats that make your hips hurt and the inevitable distance to the toilet. So, last year, I vowed that I'd reconsider my priorities before committing to Golden Plains 2012. Unfortunately for my bank balance (and hygiene standards), when the call for 2012 went around, I was in Berlin, on the other side of the world and missing my dear urban family. I hastily agreed, dispatched the cash and waited for the fun to begin.
It was at least two weeks prior to the event that the organisational email chain began. 'Who's going?', 'who needs a tent?', 'what booze are you bringing?', 'camembert or feta?'. The excitement only builds upon arrival. Despite my dislike for camping, I do get a strange satisfaction in being able to put up a tent. So, after standing back and admiring the perfectly erected tent city, the Golden Plains Team assembled in the shared marquee for the first round of beers and music planning. The house mate's boyfriend had clearly done this type of thing before. This was evident in the laminated playlist taped to the marquee wall and the professional lighting system arranged for back at camp relaxation. This was going to be fun, right?
The thing about this sort of event is the expectation that you're going to have the time of your life. You spend months planning, plotting and feeling sorry for anybody who chooses not to, or can't afford to go. This is one of the reasons that before the sun had a chance to go down, I was already a six pack of beer into my night. And still I hadn't made it to the stage to hear any music. Eventually I headed to the amphitheater to see Wild Flag, which, combined with my cloak of boozed happiness, made me smile and long for the days when I too could have been a guitar playing rock chick, throwing out karate kicks on stage. By the time the Kiss cover band came on at 11pm, I'd ingested so much artificial confidence that I was convinced if this wasn't the time of my life, it was at least as much fun as I'd had since the last Golden Plains. By 3am, however, when I was quietly retching over the composting toilets, 'fun' was not in my vocabulary. By 10am 'abysmal' was all I could muster.
What followed the next day was conducted in complete sobriety. For the first time in five years I got a glimpse of the amazing landscape surrounding the site. I sat back at camp with friends and laughed so hard I could hardly breathe. I waited 45 minutes for a 3 minute shower which was an utterly sensational feeling after a day and night of filth. I even listened to some music with focus and a critical ear (First Aid Kit were boring, Roots Manuva was a hip hop delight and Urge Overkill made me want to never take drugs again).
Any excuse to show this clip
Towards the end of the weekend, my friend R asked 'what age do you think you are when you stop coming to Golden Plains?' At the time I answered that it was more likely you stop coming when you have other priorities like kids to look out for. But, what I should have said was, you stop coming when you realise you don't need three days of booze fueled enforced fun to really enjoy the company of friends, music and nature.
