They run and hide their heads

Oh heck. What a pathetic display of muddy, ruddy wetness. As S and I discussed, when children it seemed all summers were hot and dominated by skies of dazzling blue and, as youths, festivals proved mainly sunny and unblemished by foul weather. What has gone wrong? Anyone would think the planet is in some way warming up causing meteorological conditions to become haphazard and unpredictable. I suggest that scientists start looking into this especially as, for the second year in a row, the Green Man Festival has been ruined by the wettest rain known to humanity. Friday, it has to be said, was rather fine and S and I caught some decent music. I rather enjoyed the shoe-gazing, nu-gazing intensity of Norfolk’s very own Sennen while, in the evening, the heavy rock and scuzzy Sturm und Drang of Canada’s Black Mountain had my head banging ever-so-slightly. Alela Diane possesses a sweet voice too.

Saturday was a rotter. Grrr. It poured and poured and our spirits sank into the mud. A few hardy souls huddled at the front of the main stage for the raw-boned and idiosyncratic School of Language and I appreciated their fine furrow, ploughed with unusual and quirky angularity. We didn’t do much else. I watched North Sea Radio Orchestra in the Folkey blinking Dokey Tent and they were adequate only. They lacked warmth and were a tad dull. Happily we did approach and get to chat to the remarkable and amiable Jonny Trunk – a hero of S – in the Rumpus Room, the large DJ marquee. This fellow, dressed to kill, runs the eclectic and marvellous Trunk Records. Last year, he was DJ-ing at the festival; this time round he was entertaining the kids on the site with the charms of 1960s Music and Movement recordings. Despite all the best acts appearing on the Sunday, we left for Merrie Gloucester on Saturday night. We’d had enough. Sitting shivering in a tent on a murky evening listening to a million raindrops thudding into the canvas knowing that even a shortish walk to go and get some food would leave one utterly sodden proved too much; we legged it. I’m really gutted that I missed The National but, and I know it sounds as square as square, I’m too long in the tooth and too cosseted by modern comforts to be able to cope with such rank conditions. How disappointing.

Here is a brace-plus-one of photographic images.

1. S on Thursday afternoon: Blue sky, green field, pleasing view, optimistic vibrations, innocence, joy.

2. Friday. Sennen nu-gaze for non-crusties energetically. Footwear: model’s own.

3. Coats, cagoules, capes, caps and creative compositions from School of Language.