Sunday, July 25, 2010


...and later in the afternoon I lay in the garden on a picnic-blanket and cushions with picture of dogs on them under a homemade pretend-tent made from a sheet of blue tarpaulin and listened to old Ghanaian Highlife records.

Since every festival in the UK this summer will probably feature Vampire Fucking Weekend, this seemed like a sort of skewed response. A microscopic protest against...something.

Conceptually speaking, it would be more elegant (and hermetically-sealed) if I told no one whatsoever about this. But I had such a great time that I felt I should mention it. It's definitely worth trying your own personal variations on this.

Occasionally, one or both of the kids would pop in and join me. Kid Kid Shirt wrote a sign with "CLUB BOOM" on it and put it by the entrance.

"Is this what it's like at a festival, dad - you just sit in your tent and hear music in the distance?" she asked.

"Yes," I said.

Kid Kid Kid Shirt brought me a bowl of raspberries and sat eating them for a while with me. Occasionally she said random festival type things like "shoe eyes!" - the sort of thing some stoner in the next tent might suddenly shout out after two days on the ganja.

But most of the time I was by myself. Just me, the music and the 'tent'.

I was facing the screen of trees at the bottom of the garden, so it (unintentionally) felt like I was camped out in the woods. We have wood-pigeons and assorted bird-life down there. We've deliberately let it turn wild and created a sort of micro-meadow. There's butterflies around at the moment: red admirals, cabbage whites, gatekeepers and elephant hawkmoths. The girls spotted a Blue this afternoon.

In the evening, I switched to some Egyptian Pop, drank black coffee, smoked, looked at the tarpaulin and had a good think.

My wife appeared for a while and threw the Plastic God Beard at me - the one that Ade sent me a couple years ago when I was going through my Kevin Godley period.

"I think you'll probably be needing this," she said. She's cool like that.

One Man Festivals: it's the way to go.

Keep watching the big-name bloggers and the coffee-table papers: they'll be covering all this eventually, probably a year or two down the line, just like they finally wrote pieces this year about facial hair and biggin' up 10cc. They're sooo hapless and slow. Dinosaurs.

The 1-Man Fest will be huuuuge by summer of 2014. People'll be saying "Ah, it's shit now - too many people; too corporate - but those early one's were fucking great."



At 8:45 pm, Blogger doppelganger said...

Actually it was a plastic 'Ood' beard, not a God Beard

I kinda like how it's been promoted though...

Can a plastic toy beard comic book freebie gift experience a sense of hubris?

At 8:54 pm, Blogger I am not Kek-w said...

It got used a few weeks ago, when me and the girls played a game called "Gaddafi" - we're partially living in the garden now, since house is in pieces, but have erected a crap pagoda my wife bought for a tenner just before Woolworths closed down and moved an old sofa and table in under it, so this became a bedouin type tent in which "Gaddafi" / The Old Man of The Mountains / Ali Bongo (the name became nebulous) entertained his guests by dancing / song / etc (all improvised by myself and children)....each of us would take it in turns to be "Gaddafi" and wear the Beard and be entertained or be the entertainer....sometimes "Gaddafi" became transfused with "Jewishness" and uttered "ach"s and Old Testament proclamations; other times he was avuncular: "Please! Be Seated! We shall slaughter a sheep! You are my guests! Let the wine flow and the dance commence!" etc, etc

At 4:20 am, Blogger Fritz Bogott said...

Other people's music is a useful stopgap for when you're indisposed and temporarily unable make your own, I suppose. Tens of thousands of people all listening to OPM is just sad. Don't those folks have friends and ukuleles?

At 4:44 pm, Blogger the X said...

Mum worked very briefly as a phone lady/secretary for N. Hydro in the late 1970's, when she once got mr. Gadafi *himself* on the line, asking to put him through to her boss... Which she did.
(Although being a 1968 hippe leftist, she was a bit starstruck for a few seconds, apparently. Can't blame her- a touch of celebrity, and all that...)

At 8:06 pm, Blogger I am not Kek-w said...

Return of The X !!

Your mum didn't end up in Gaddafi's elite chick bodyguard corps, did she?

At 3:00 pm, Blogger the X said...

haha- no, as a librarian... ;)

(*and happy with that- it was only her summer job for two weeks, poor thing- hard to get jobs those days, i think)

BTW, sorry for messing up our art/kunst 'collaboration'! i've been very ill for some years now... if i apologise, do you mind if i write you again?
all the best to the Kek-sters **


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