I spent most of today at a very big house in the country. There was rural charm, though no animal farm, in the country. It had city dwellers and professional fellas, living life to the limit In the country.
I had sunshine days and a heat filled haze, in the country. There was Pimms so sweet, enough food to eat, in the country. A kind of centuries remedy, not so Jackanory, In the country.
In truth, it was all a bit of a blur. Pitching up at a big house, Pitching, Pimms from a pitcher and then leaving. You get the picture.
I didn't know we had such a thing as a hot weather warning level 3 until today, but that's what the weather people were saying this morning.
Plenty of advice about using sun screen and being sure to hydrate.
As I strolled to my meeting in Canary Wharf, I initially noticed the lack of people on the streets - were they taking heed of the 90% risk level? Of course, Canary Wharf has many tunnels which people habitually use to go between the buildings in this area, so maybe everyone was out of sight.
But then, I turned a corner to cut across one of the tree-lined squares and sure enough, it was filled with office workers watching the news on the big screen telly. Encamped on the grass without the aid of any portable furniture (forbidden), but with the aid of many sandwiches, salads and wraps from the subterranean shops.
The default latte has given way to iced coffee, which is served in industrial portions. Unlike the continent, there is no side glass of iced water.
My tactic to arrive early paid off. I could plough through some emails and make a call or two. My colleague was completely melted after running from the tube perspiring a little when he arrived a trifle late.
Judging by the craned necks from others, I think I also made someone's day by leaving my (paid for) newspaper on the table. There was huge shoulder grazing interest throughout my journey for the Sport section, with its big picture of Andy Murray and a similar sized one of the defeated England soccer team.
Like many, I watched the surprisingly close tennis yesterday and wish Murray well for the next rounds. From this morning's display of close humidity, its no wonder they reached for the Wimbledon towels after every rally.
Reading Maximum Bob's review of Bruce Springsteen at Glastonbury got me thinking about festival behavior.
The rashbre central tee shirts usually make it to a festival and yurt or two across the summer and this year it was Isle of Wight a couple of weeks ago but then Glastonbury simply viewed on television. I expect we'll hit Bestival or something else before the end of the season.
For overnighters, though, Glastonbury still can't really be beaten. Its the scale and the consequent variety. For some acts its easy enough to get proper front row. When we take a camera along, the artists (like Sharon Corr, here at IoW) will even respond with a pose or two along the lens. We've also been only a few rows back for some of the guitar bands but the barrier isn't always sensible when there's muchos pogos. Even from this slightly more distant point, it is possible to get interesting pictures to go along with the music. However, when I see people attempting to make recordings from near the front the power of the bass speakers destroy any fidelity. I regard these festivals it as 'topping up' with some live music rather than dedicated listening though. The main bands normally get television coverage whilst the interesting side bands are nearly always edited out. This year I could make a completely different non headliners track through Glastonbury and enjoy it just as much. Fortunately some of the recordings have made it to the BBC's online set coverage although I don't know how long the sessions will be available.
One of the tricks is to remember at these events is that the fan base changes for each band, so with the exception of a few die-hards, there is a consequent opportunity to be sited where one prefers. No great problem to spot the demographic for the Maccabees at IoW. Or to notice that the obvious way into this particular stage area is not the best way to get to the front. In any case, it sometimes its fun to stand further back and get the effects of the weather. Here's The Long Blondes at Glasto a couple of years ago, handheld phonecam in the rain.
My main point is simply to go with the flow. Glastonbury is a huge venue with plenty of stages, so part of the fun is to not be in the middle of 40,000 muddy and steaming people listening to Pendulum unless you really want to. .
So beyond the festivals, the rashbre central advanced listening model works quite well. Its surprising, particularly around London, how often there will be good bands playing in small venues on their hopeful way up. Nothing wrong with an occasional stadium or park venue, if you know what to expect, but there's fun in being able to sit a few feet from the band in relative comfort with tickets than can be as low as £8. We saw the excellent Low Anthem a couple of days ago sitting in row 7. We've already got similar tix for Amanda Palmer later in the year. This Friday we're planning to become outlaws.
Sometimes people comment about how quickly time passes and whether they are managing to get everything done. I can understand why when I think of a few recent conversations.
There was the one at the secret location near Edinburgh a few days ago. We decided to drive to a remote Scottish coffee house in the black Nissan Patrol after the meeting. The cows we'd seen a week before had already been abducted and our route was uneventful. But then, in our tranquil location, as we got deeper into our trigonometric conversation we realised that rather too much time had passed.
We could miss our plane.
Its a while since that has happened to me. Only twice. Ever. Both times with the same person.
Once when we were in Atlanta. It hadn't been good. Steve had (a) over slept (b) then locked himself out of his room. We then got lost driving our way to our business destination. The company we met thought we were from another organization. They presented the wrong and entirely inappropriate information. We left early and headed for the airport. We could turn this around, catch the earlier flight and be sitting by a pool drinking cocktails. It was then my fault that we missed the flight. I read the flight number as the departure time. We missed it. We both put it down to fatigue.
Second time. We were waiting in the lounge at Heathrow for a quick trip to Amsterdam. Ages since we'd seen one another. Chatter. You can work out the rest.
Would this be the Third Time?
So here, near Edinburgh, we jumped back into the quite muddy truck and headed for the airport. I noticed we arrived at the departure drop off at the exact time stipulated by 'Gate Closes' on my boarding pass.
Security. No fast lanes. Slow people with metal shoes and body piercings to make all the machines go bong. People sloshing with far too much liquid in their hand luggage. People with Ninja paper openers and cutting edge power saws. People who looked surprised to have to take off their jackets.
Beltless dishevelled we arrived airside. Gate 18 grinned remotely. It doesn't sound a long way away, but its actually the far far end of the terminal. The little boarding sign is already red "Final Call". Briskness through the airport. Lines of slow moving shoppers to traverse. Two travellators. A stunt team of randomly moving Japanese tourists.
The distant red speck glowing with 18.
I wave at the dots. People. Staff. They see us. I see them talking into a phone. Show tickets. Down more stairs. Outdoors. Walk across tarmac. Up the steps. Time to reduce the BPM.
So back to our conversation: The phone boxes do block the view of the entrance to Union Chapel. It is impossible to sit drinking a pint and spot when people start going in.
In 2008, for Glasto we were camped near the hill by the tepees.
This year it'll be Glasto on the telly, although we did manage the Isle of Wight festival a couple of weeks ago. I've watched a small slice already including Regina Spektor, the Ting Tings, Lily Allen and Fleet Foxes. All good, although you really need to use the red button ;-) to get the set coverage rather than an odd track followed by random filler.
But I can't help thinking of 2007. 2006 didn't happen. But there was always 2005. and remember : Ketamine - Just say Neigh.
Walking alongside the Thames in Southwark this morning at six a.m. Sunshine blended with mainly quiet streets. Another 30 minutes before most people stirred, but I would already be on my way to my meeting.
In Edinburgh.
Nine fifteen and I'm in fog waiting for a black Nissan Patrol to meet me. Then off to a hideaway house with two buzzards circling over a nearby field.
And by the evening I'm on the M3 amongst other traffic which has the decidedly Glastonbury look with bags packed untidily in the back and passengers with unusual hats and sunglasses.
Back to the Library in Islington for a Belgian beer rendezvous before heading to Union Chapel for the second sighting of The Low Anthem in around a month.
Confusingly, it was the launch of their new CD "Oh my God, Charlie Darwin", which rashbre central reviewed in around March and has been on the car playlist ever since.
Tom the bass managed to get one of the shiny new ones, but I shall cherish my hand painted sleeve original.
Once again, an excellent gig from a talented band who can more or less interchange their instruments as they weave their musical spells. They are playing Glastonbury at the weekend, in "the pub".
A bit of a mad few days now creating a need for sleep and an opportunity to try out my secret project. The last few days may have involved pop concerts, beaches, the tang of salt and too much sun creating the perfect storm for my idea.
Its rather simple and a little childish really. The rashbre central grounds frequently burn the midnight oil and days and nights drift together.
Not Monday though.
This is the time to try the 'recreate childhood by going to bed in daylight'. We are around Solstice so it doesn't need to be onerously early, but there's a certain luxury and childhood blended feeling about snuggling into a daylight bed.
