Yup. I bit the big one. No, wait, that's the other thing. Well to some it might seem the same, but not to me, not in the least. My wedding was - and I will say this myself - absolutely, totally and utterly, mind blowingly fantastic.
I will try and sum them (yes, them) up here, but this is the third, if not the fourth time I've tried it, so this time I've decided to cut it down a lot, and instead rely a lot more on photos.
On July 9th, I said 'I do' (actually I said 'ja' which means 'yes' in Danish) to my lovely, lovely girlfriend. We'd been engaged for just under a year, and had been planning it since about January. We had decided to get married in Copenhagen, have a small reception at our flat (we are lucky enough to have a roof-top terrace), have a small dinner for family and that would be it. The main party would be held the next weekend in the UK, at my parent's house in East Sussex. There, we'd have a ceremony so that it wasn't 'just' a big party. The ceremony was to be all the speeches that would normally be given during the meal, that way, when we did sit down to eat, we could do precisely that. After the ceremony, there would be the usual photos, and then a big old BBQ, cooked over halved oil drums (a fantasy of mine since childhood).
All of this we did, and we did it well.
Copenhagen was incredible.
From the design help for our website and invitation (below) from the sweet and talentedTrine Falbe, our engagement shoot with the fantastic Amanda Thomsen, the kind words fromAyfar Baykalas she married us, getting our booze directly fromMother restaurant's supplier, our cupcakes from Agne's Cupcakes, having our hair and make-up done by our lovely friend Morten fromLadefogeddahl, and spending the long, warm, afternoon on the rooftop terrace - our wedding day was truly something remarkable and unforgettable (don't puke, it really was).
We were incredibly lucky to find Amanda Thomsen, a brilliant photographer who knew exactly what we wanted, and wanted to shoot more photos like that herself. After a great meeting with her, we decided upon an 'engagement shoot' so we could get to know each other, and be able to appear relaxed in front of the camera on the big day. The engagement shoot went perfectly. If you want to see a bit more, the shoot appeared on über cool wedding blog, Pretty Chic Blog which features modern Scandinavian weddings.
I won't bore you with all the photos.
We prepared at the flat, with my Mum and Dad and Uncle Ian and Auntie Ann over for family support.
Copenhagen City Hall is rather special. A beautiful building inside and out. We were lucky enough to be able to use the Council Chambers as opposed to the usual registry due to the fact that we had Ayfar at our side. We left, exhilarated.
Once we left the City Hall, as wife 'n' wife, I cycled the missus back to our flat. Our friends followed, on bikes or on foot, and we met back at the flat, where a kind ex-colleague of mind had agreed to help out by arranging the food and booze ready for our arrival.
The top of our building never looked as good as it did on that day. Full of those we loved and cared for, covered in bunting, corks popping and cupcakes slowly melting in the afternoon heat. It was just marvellous.
This is all I'm going to write about it. There's no need to go into more detail, and if you'd like to see more pictures, then you'll have to ask.
(Update) Or you can look here as our wedding got on the rocking blog, Rock n' Roll Bride!
It was, surprisingly (in all seriousness) one of the best days of my life. The other, was just around the corner.
I never thought getting married would be so spectacular. It might have been the booze, but as I stood in the sun, family and friends around me, and my one-and-only by my side, I felt invincible. Life? Whatever. I had it sorted. Bring it on.
Another Glastonbury down, and another head full of mixed feelings. Inside me there is a massive blog post, and I'm going to try to get it out here. I can't promise it won't be rambling.
The famous flags.
As some of you may know, 2010 was my first Glastonbury. It was a scorcher. 33 degress (hotter than Rio, we were told. Constantly). I left browned, dusted, and dazed, with a desperate need of a bed, shower, and silence. To be honest, when I left, I was glad. I needed to get away. I had arrived on the Friday and was quite literally thrown into this heaving mass of 177,000 people - it was madness. I had totally underestimated the size of the festival and what it actually was.
Glastonbury is not a music festival. It is, as it says, a festival of contemporary performing arts, which means that while there is an awful lot of music, there are also a thousand and one other things to see and do, from sculptures to yoga, to workshops to circus tents. There's no way on earth you can do this all in a weekend, and hardly any chance you can do it all from Wednesday morning to Monday morning. Certainly not if it takes you 5 hours to get through the gate.
Yes, while my first Glastonbury was last year, this year was my first Glastonbury. Oh, the mud. The mud, the mud, the mud.
One of the many rivers of mud.
After queuing in the car for coming on 2 hours (not bad!), I parked the car and dutifully joined the queue, which was already a good 90 metres long. It had rained heavily that morning (not to mention the previous days) so the ground was already good and wet, and when it started to rain again, I realised that I had managed to pack my sleeping bag on the outside of my rucksack. I don't know why. I scrambled for my anorak, wrapped it around it, and then managed to find my other rain poncho thing, throwing it over both me and my rucksack. It didn't stop raining, and we didn't move.
For 3 hours.
Over this 3 hours, my energy levels just dropped completely. Sinking slowly into mud, with the rain beginning to trickle down my neck, I was just starting to wonder if it was all really worth it when we began to stumble forward. Over the next hour, we covered the 90 metres. By midday, the couple behind me began to discuss what was going on.
Last year, said hubby, they had left home at the same time, yet by noon they were pitched, unpacked, had had a picnic, and were watching the England game (World Cup - what a joke) that started at 12. What on earth was going on this year? As we found out the next day, 110,000 people had decided to, ahem, 'skip the queue' and arrive early. Speaking to someone else on the Sunday, I found out he had arrived at 6pm on Wednesday, driven straight in, and not had a soul to queue behind for the gates. Dammit. Damn him.
So, 4 hours later, still standing in foot-deep mud, we finally got to the gate only to find another 15 minute walk, this time up a hill, in mud getting ever slushier and ever deeper. People who had brought wheelbarrows or trolleys were screwed. I had my big rucksack, a small rucksack, and a plastic bag with 16 cans of John Smiths in it. That's quite a weight, let me tell you, especially when you can put anything down because you managed to pack your sleeping bag on the outside. As I awkwardly swapped my bags front to back and side to side as my back muscles began to cave, and the plastic bag cut into my fingers, I looked around at my fellow fesitval goers, and their sorry faces. It was like something out of World at War. A sorry bunch, with ponchos over bags giving us abnormal humpbacks, steady streams of rain running off noses, mud up to our knees, cigarettes hanging out of mouths and overall enthusiasm dying rapidly. Some people were knocking back the booze - in hindsight, I probably should have done the same and lightened my load, not to mention my mind.
There we stood for another 45 minutes before finally being let in to the turnstyles. Once through, the race was on to find a decent spot. Of course, most of the good places had been taken (a huge number of people had slept in their cars on the Tuesday night), so after a good mile long walk, I found a field virtually empty, and threw down my bags. It had, thankfully, stopped raining, and there was actual grass in this field - for now. I had only eaten a sausage roll since 5.50am, and in a fit of desperation, I opened a beer. It was good.
I was in.
View from my tent on Thursday morning. Rain and grass. One of these was to stay.
The odd thing about Glastonbury is that I seem to always leave with a sense of relief, only for the nostalgia to hit me just an hour or so later. It has to be experienced to be understood - there's no way any amout of writing can ever do it justice. It's just so massive, and I don't just mean in size. The impact, the emotions, the people - everything.
A wedding.
It's a place, as my brother so rightly put it, that can make you realise that it's not you who's got things wrong, it's the world. It's a pop-up city of 177,000 people, filled with alcohol, and yes, drugs, but where there is no violence. No fights. People live and let live. You have to leave your outside self at the gate (if you ever get there) and enter with absolutely no judgement, no preconceptions and no ideals. My greatest piece of advice would be to give up on contorl - let it control you. You have no idea where you'll be come 2am.
That's one thing I realised after last year. I had far too many bands I wanted to see, and saw it purely as a music event.
How wrong I was. I have had to, and will still have to, learn what I want from the festival. This year, I chose a select few bands (ultimately, a very wise decision given that the mud mad it impossible to get anywhere quickly), and then promised myself I would just wander, and get lost. Those bands I saw were (in no particular order);
Kitty, Daisy & Lewis (one of my highlights)
Anna Calvi (another highlight)
U2 (great to hear the hits, but somehow not amazing)
Warpaint
Fleet Foxes (beautiful)
Mumford & Sons (better suited to smaller venues but made me cry. Again)
Beardyman (genius)
Janelle Monae
Pulp
Aloe Blacc
Chemical Brothers (a trip)
Laura Marling (beautiful)
Paul Simon
Robyn
U2 in the rain.
Not that many, but more than enough. I was sad to have missed The Secret Sisters, and also missed a surprise appearance from Radiohead (although 60,000 others didn't), but other than that - I was happy.
It was, as might be clear by now, the mud that really left an indelible mark on my trip. The trip from the tent wasn't so bad - all downhill. The way back, on the other hand, now that was something else. The length of the surrounding fence is 8 miles (almost 13 km), so you can imagine the kind of trips you have to make. Even just for a bacon butty. Each step pushes more mud up your boots, which then in turns sticks more mud to it, pushing it further up, and so on, and on. I wish I had a way of weighing my boots just to see how much I was lifting with each step. On the plus side, any guilt about eating festival food (my low point was Wotsits for breakfast) vanished. I think I lost weight.
As so many have said, this is what festivals are like. I got lucky last year, and experienced the other end of the spectrum this year. I'm glad I did - honestly I am. After all, while the mud might be depressingly thick and oppressive, rain is only rain, and after 10 hours of it on Friday night, even though the rain had soaked through my anorak, my army surplus jumper, two t-shirts, a vest and my bra - I couldn't care less. Dancing to Dizzee Rascal with a pint of lemon cider in a churned up field was probably a flashing highlight - looking up to see that no one cares. We're having fun; let it bloody rain.
Queuing for toilets in the rain.
Of course the sun did come out - twice, in fact. Once on Thursday afternoon, which lasted until Friday noon-ish, and then again Saturday afternoon, lasting until the end of the festival. It got hot, which was nice, and dried up the mud, which was a blessing.
Looking out over the site.
Polished paths cut through the drying mud on Saturday.
Once again, despite all the mud, I was struck by the differences between Glastonbury and my other festival experience, Roskilde Festival in Denmark. Granted, they're hugely different in terms of size, which of course leads to a number of immediate differences. There are two things though which I thought I'd mention.
Roskilde's camping system is cool. It's one hell of a lot easier to navigate. See photos below.
Compared to
I know that size is an issue, but having the area block style á la Roskilde keeps things simple, and safe.
The other thing is something I think Roskilde should learn from Glastonbury. The peeing. At Roskilde, you can be sure to see at least....20 different willies. Probably more. You'll also see a lot of girls randomly squatting for a quick wee. The place stinks of piss. Reeks. It's absolutely disgusing. Whatever you do, do not sit against a tree at Roskilde. Glastonbury has a strict no-peeing policy. There are signs all over the place, and people will give you grief if you try to pee in a hedge. Not only that, but they also have their own Green Police. The Green Police are there to make sure people treat the grounds with respect. Peeing polutes, it's as simple as that. I wish I had actual footage of someone people caught (we saw someone this year - it was brilliant), but this is what I could find on YouTube.
The idea is (as it stated in the Glastonbury guide) to humiliate you into not doing it again. It's brilliant. Roskilde - learn!
But enough comparing. As I've stated before; it's impossible.
Glastonbury left me exhausted, both physically and mentally. My muscles ache, my head is full, I have a cold, it cost a lot of money, I had to queue for absolutely everything, I sat in multiple people's pee and probably a bit of poo too, and I stood for almost 60 hours over 5 days. It's a monumental effort.
Will I be back? You bet your arse I will. Wife in tow.
I'm not a conspiracy nut. I love them, but that doesn't mean I buy them. I love zombie films. Doesn't mean I carry a cricket bat with me at all times, just in case.
So, with that in mind, I love the Zeitgeist films. The first is the best, third the worst, and you can figure out how the second is. I don't believe in all of it, but they do have their moments. I won't discuss each point, but there is one which still pops into my head now and then, and that is the bit about religion. It's probably the most logical explanation I've ever heard. You can watch it all in the three film clips below - it's only 30 minutes long and definitely worth a look. As a bonus it also debunks (as if it needed debunking) the whole end-of-the-word-in-2012 thing.
