Frocester, faffing and farting
I can honestly say that Frocester Beer Festival is indeed the best beer festival I’ve ever been to (not that I’ve actually been to any others, but it is excellent nonetheless)
It’s got everything you could possibly need there: beer, music, tents, flushing loos, more beer and so on. The weather was perfect for camping too and we really did make the most of the 2 day summer whilst we were there. If we’d listened to Ray Mears more, we would have collected the early morning dew off the tent to take a shower in…but given that I actually live only about 5 miles away, we snuck back there for a shower there. Yes, I know it’s cheating, but meh.
Trying to put everything back in chronological order in my head is actually quite tricky – which is why Bea had the rather fortuitous plan of bringing a notepad to jot down things as they happened to remind us what we did. I’m hoping that might materialise into a post at some point? Hmm?
For some reason, I remember Friday better than Saturday (I’d say I was quite pickled by the Saturday, tbh) On the advice of the guy I bought tickets from, I got up early and pitched the tent about 10am on the Friday and then went home to faff and pick ‘er up. Actually by the time I picked ‘er up (and had an untimely trip to Thornbury because some madman had shot at some police on the M5) there was barely time to settle into the tent and head off to the festival.
We were thoroughly over excited about the free beer mugs, the choice of beer, the toilets, the token system, the music and just about everything. The only thing we didn’t get excited about was the food – it was pants. Being a veggie always limits my choices somewhat – but the veggie burger was like eating a load of oniony slop. The thought of having to eat these burgers (as that was the only culinary choice there was) for 2 days made us sad.
Upon going for a dance we bumped into (literally) a load of people I knew and there was much rejoicing. Unfortunately the strict licensing law they have there makes them close at 11pm. Which is obviously far too early! We’re used to being chucked out of Cafe Rene about 3am ish so 11pm now seems like the middle of the day.
Back at the campsite and suddenly everyone was lolling around laughing, farting and generally having a laugh. I got out the solar lamp thingy at this point and started directing planes which pleased me no end. We collected someone called Andy along the way, and trooped off to find Hayley and the rest of the gang we found earlier by shouting “Hayley!” randomly until we did actually find her tent.
Saturday followed and there was much more farting and shouting of cuntyflaps. This is where my memory fades a bit. I remember a breakfast with no fried eggs, (pure madness) some shorts buying, (my other ones made me look mumsy, I was convinced) a shower, some cider, some Not Poodles, some more cider, some stodgy chips with cheese, a walk to leave a strange drunken message at a friend’s house nearby, (not completed) some beer, lots of people wanting to buy/steal/try on our Russian hats, more beer, more people I knew, more beer, more dancing, more farting, more beer, more bringing planes in, Choco Boy, Andy, some lager, that Polish chap with the beard and a sock on his head, naked rugby, (more like a load of men just running naked across the cricket pitch) being cold, going home.
Moosh
Tags: Frocester Beer Festival, Frocester, Ray Mears, Cuntyflaps, Choco Boy, Naked Rugby
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