...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."