Clare and I arrive at the campsite early in the evening. Brother Younger and his pal Chris have already arrived and set up the tents so we inflate the inflatable beds. To me, this seems like a reasonably civilised and mutually beneficial division of tasks, but Brother Younger thinks otherwise. This will become a recurring theme over the weekend: experience has taught me that when Brother Younger thinks, he invariably thinks otherwise.
10.15pm In the arena now, sitting on the grass with Clare and drinking cider. We’ve already lost Brother Younger and Chris. In the distance, there’s a full orchestra providing a live soundtrack to E.A. Dupont’s 1928 silent film Moulin Rouge. After the festival we’ll be off to Paris and staying in Montmartre, so the choice of film seems like a good omen.
After a few more ciders, it stops being a good omen and evolves into a fully resonant symbol. Getting pissed in a field while an orchestra plays a live soundtrack to a silent movie – doesn’t that simple image capture the very essence of the Latitude Festival? Isn’t that what it’s all about? Isn’t that why we’re here?
Oh, there’s Rob & Chris. “Hi Rob & Chris!”
I share my observations with Brother Younger. He thinks otherwise.
5am Go to bed. Less said the better.