Leeds Festival Diary

Mike Reynolds gives you an insight into what Sandman scribblers get up to at the annual Yorkshire Music Carnival with his Leeds festival diary and he seems to have developed an unhealthy fascination with a torch.

Day 1: Soothsaying and Pirate Torchs

Commitments, damn commitments. No Dance To The Radio stage on Thursday for me so the real story begins on Friday with an epiphany of the potential mud bath. Ok, so it was not actual clairvoyance but pictures on the web that initiated the mad dash to buy wellies (and a nifty little torch with Pirates boats and skulls on it); still a worthy realisation despite the resulting late arrival.

This also means that I was pretty ignorant of the furore that we at Sandman caused when we chose The FF'ers to play the BBC Introducing Stage. The band's set had to be cut short when 3000 people turned up for the Foo Fighters, a quick glance at the name reveals why such a rumour started - but bottling a Leeds four-piece for actually being the advertised band is a tad harsh; good ol' open minded music fans.

Day 1: When The Hurly-Burly's Done...

The planned festival bingo game goes awry as we failed to actually set which cliched sights scored points (such as discarded welly, man in dress, or Hollioaks cast member) and making it up on the spot isn't as much fun: "I damn well do three points for a sun-burnt man in a dress with noodles thrown on him!"

Slowly, and predictably, the watching of music gets ever more punctuated with visits to the tent to pick up more alcohol; all culminating in the opening of the Sake and a very drunken early morning visit to the Silent Disco.

Now, I would love to regal ye with lavish stories, but all I can really remember is that the Dutch DJ was an utter legend, apart from being the umpteenth person today to tell the audience how much better they were than Reading. Oh and my disgust at Abba being played was replaced with amazement when I took the headphones off to hear 1000 people singing perfectly in time and tune, miles better than that primetime TV Saturday Night shit.

Day 2: ... and the battle's lost

Festivals are unsympathetic, if you say, get very drunk and collapse in a heap with you tongue stuck to the bottom of your tent (don't ask) then you will be feeling fragile in unfamiliar territory; not to mention you won't get the taste of tent out of your mouth for weeks.

It appears that my Pirate Torch, which I had drunkenly lambasted Hanna for losing the night before, was in my tent all along, although I have a suspicion it spent last night on the rum. Before bands there is just enough time for a bacon sandwich and a quick Sandman meeting, I refuse to note the bands I'm planning to see, assuring my colleagues 'it is all up here', whilst pointing to my head (i.e. 'I'm still a bit drunk from last night and have no decision-making abilities').

Day 2: Getting On With It

I decide to take my hangover with good grace and a pair of shades; even managing to refuse alcohol until 6pm, I believe in karma; if I drink too much and have fun then I have to be prepared to take the pain. That sinking feeling in my belly doesn't prevent me saying fairly ridiculous things when BBC Introducing ask for an interview. I have no idea if such comments were broadcast, would anyone be kind enough to inform me if I managed to make an arse of myself on national radio?

Today is the day when fellow Hullians Cherry Cobb Cartel play the BBC Introducing Stage and as we bump into a few familiar faces. The CCC have got ready for plenty of promotion with leaflets, a few flags and 300 CDs to give away. Their party was only just beginning when they stumble off stage, and from when I last saw them it was still continuing in the guest bar at around 2am.

Whilst we are on the subject of the guest bar, there was no cool for school DJing; more the 'Best Of The 90s' with Fresh Prince's 'Summertime', a bit of Warren G, and even 'Return of the Mac' by Leicester's finest (sic).

Day 3: Coffee, Tea and (in) Decisions

Festivals are all about 'escapism' but as you get older you get more entrenched in real life and by the last day thoughts turn to 'escaping.' Another night at a festival represents an extra night that you aren't recovering from the previous week. Essentially: stay and party tonight, or run off home after the last band so that you get to wake up to a bank-holiday in bed. Fortunately, I can't drive so I could happily drink what was left of the weekend's alcohol. My colleague and driver (I was going to write chauffeur but fear a slap), Hanna, wasn't so lucky and you could see the conundrum etched on her face for most of the day.

Even by the time the last band have played we still haven't decided the best course of action and even make our way back to camp Raw Talent, tonight is their party night as for the whole weekend they have been running the BBC Introducing stage and preparing a show for today.

Eventually, the festival loses and we put our tents down in the darkness (Pirate torch wins, again); a fight breaks out nearby, which is almost as if Dionysus was sending us a sign: job well done, now get some well deserved rest.

Mike Reynolds

www.leedsfestival.com