T In The Park: Offical Report. Sort of.

Posted by heatworld on Monday 09 Jul 2007

Filed under: T In The Park

It’s Isabel here, fresh off the plane from T In The Park and sporting a rather unsightly sunburnt décolletage. I’ve drawn the short straw today – while my T-husband Dan has taken the day off to scrape other people’s bodily fluids off his wellies, I’m at work. But that does mean I get to tell you all about our weekend at Scotland’s favourite festival. And reveal that Dan did indeed wear the same pants for all three days (and I had to share a tent with him! V traumatic…).
 
OK, the best bits were:
 
1. The music. Fave act of the weekend was definitely Calvin Harris. I love that man. As everyone’s second favourite Bedingfield might sing, I wanna have his babies and get serious like crazy. Dan’s highlight was The Killers, whose headline set got a rapturous reception from the extremely rowdy Scottish crowd on Saturday night. We also attempted to see Rufus Wainwright but got distracted by an alleged psychic called Helena who looked like Gillian McKeith having a run-in with some crimping irons. For the princely sum of £10, she told me I was doing very well at my job and deserved to be rewarded (are you making a note of this, Mr Frith?). She also said I’ll soon find love with a fire sign. I assume by this she meant an Aries, Leo or Sagittarius and not, like, an actual sign above a fire extinguisher.

2. The funfair. T In The Park isn’t just a music festival, so our first stop on Saturday morning was the Big Wheel in the centre of the arena. It was a brilliant way to get our bearings in the vast site, although Dan got a bit scared when our cage started spinning. We sensibly decided that our nutritious diet of cheeseburgers, doughnuts and cider meant we should avoid the bungee jump and waltzers, but we did brave the ghost train. Again, Dan was terrified. What a lame-o.
 
3. The friendly crowds. At first, the thousands of boisterous and extremely patriotic Scots were a little overwhelming to our geeky English eyes (and ears), but they turned out to be most welcoming, and much more appreciative of festival fun than your usual too-cool-for-school London types. Some of them even came accessorised with banana costumes, wedding dresses and, in one case, a giant inflatable willy, which turned out to be a really useful landmark when we got lost in the crowds. I’ll be carrying one wherever I go from now on.  
 
And the worst bits were:
 
1. The journey. After landing at Glasgow at 3pm on Friday, we made our way to the city centre (via a pit stop for some Magners) to get a shuttle bus to the festival, which we were told would take “an hour or so.” But if this is what the Brits refer to as “shuttles”, it’s no wonder we don’t have the best record for space travel, as it actually took nine hours! I’m not joking. Due to some kind of car park cock-up, there were 15 miles of tailbacks all the way to the site in Kinross. And this was no luxury coach – it was a shonky old double decker crammed with beery Glaswegian men, with no toilet and no food or drink. We discovered true human kindness when some nice ladies in a people carrier gave us some food – two cheese croissants, some chocolate bars and a bunch of grapes. We eventually arrived at the rather muddy site at 2am, which meant we’d missed sets from Arctic Monkeys, Lily Allen and – sob! – my favourites, Bloc Party, who I also arrived too late for at Glastonbury. I’m starting to think they’re avoiding me.
 
2. That “Worst Toilet In Scotland” scene from Trainspotting is now void because by Sunday, the loos at our campsite were so bad that I was actually physically sick when I went for my morning tinkle. But I think my little puddle of cidery vomit actually improved the unique ambiance of that particular Portaloo. Luckily for us, thanks to lovely Nicky and Nic from Palmolive Soft & Gentle Eden, we did have access to some more luxurious facilities (with loo roll! And a working flush!) in the VIP area, for which we are eternally grateful.     
 
3. Winehouse going AWOL – she pulled out at the last minute due to “exhaustion”. Ever been on a nine hour bus journey with no food or drink, Amy? Or attempted to sleep in a tent while dozens of terrifying drunk men riot outside (prompting Dan to shake me awake like a frightened child with the words “Isabel, are they going to get us?”). No? Then bloody well turn up next time, you lazy cow.