Am I alone in..

[Southern Shandy]

Year after year, looking forward to V more than I actually enjoy V?

The anticipation of the other bands to be announced, the 'first dry weekend' of the year so you can be getting the tent out of the loft and cleaning it, the annual visit to the supermarket to buy beer and Haribo, the joy of loading the car and putting together an iPod playlist for the journey, the pumping up of the trolley tyres, the extra roll of gaffer tape to keep everything in place, the late decision about what coat to take and the hope that the car-park we end up in is going to provide a swift exit on the Moday morning?

And when you get there? It's all downhill. Sadly, not literally.

The Jesus lovers who try and part you from your cash the moment you've parked. The 40 minutes walk from the car to the first 'check-point' where at lease one of our party will have ignored the repeated warnings about bringing glass, the decision about whether or not to queue for the wristbands before pitching the tent, the discussion about where to camp (I prefer the extra walk to somewhere quiet, others have had enough by this point and want to camp in the closest possible spot), the unpacking of the tent and the errection process (pnnar!) the meeting the neighbours who all seem really sound (until 4 in the morning on the Saturday and they are still going for it!) and then it all happens.

You wake up on the Saturday morning early, about 6ish, it's foggy/misty, but you are awake, you decide to be one-step ahead of the opposition and make your way towards to the toilets to drop off the previous nights beer and burger only to find about 3,000 others are already up, awake and in the queue with a roll of Andrex under than arm. Bad times.

You decide to 'wait', working on the basis that you'll be first in the arena and you can go to the loo then, and instead, you'll go back to bed for an hour, but you are awake and now cold, and the food stall in your field isn't yet open so you can't get a brew, but you go back to your tent anyway, everyone else is still asleep and you don't want to wake them. You kick your heels for an hour, sitting on a damp camping chair, envious of people a few tents away, who have cooked bacon sarnies on a disposible barbie and are drinking hot coffee.

Midday comes around, everyone is up, and the universally agreed 'beer for breakfast' routine is well underway. And you want to get in the arena for a dump before the toilets get too busy but you are waiting for the others. You collectively agree to leave in a couple of minutes. Walking from your campsite to the arena, you notice the toilets aren't as busy as they were first-thing and say, 'you go on, I'm going to park my breakfast' and your friends do go on, at your insistence, you could be twenty-minutes.

Lighter, you make your way to the arena where you can't find your friends for love nor money. Turns out, there is more than one Walls ice-cream van. Confused, you try your phone. No one is answering. You queue for beer tokens - the queue moves quickly. Sadly, the same can't be said for the queue for a pint, nevertheless, you persevere and eventually get a pint of Carling. You try your phone again, still no answer from anyone.

And so you are destined to spend 4 hours on your own, not really watching any band in particular, mooching about until you either stumble into, or are contacted by your mates.

You meet up and they are twice as drunk as you are, you decide to play catch-up and before you know it, you've mis-timed the drinking and are bongoed.

Repeat for the next 36 hours (well, either you or one of your party).

Go home and declare to the wife that 'Christ love, that's it for me and the V festival, it's more hassle than it's worth, once again, we all got split up, it took me a month to get packed up and out of the car-park, the beer was sh*t, it was expensive, hardly slept, it was too busy, there was a lack of toilets, everything was really hard work, and there were loads of reports of people getting robbed, didn't see anything myself, but loads of people were talking about thefts from tents'.

She nods in agreement and suggests that maybe it's time to knock festivals on the head.

You agree.

Then they announce the line-up for 2010 and you buy a ticket.

[wilko8]

HAHA....very good.

Agree with pretty much everything you've said.

This will be my 10th year, and at least the last four years have been my "last" V festival.

I'll be buying a ticket come Firday though!

[Southern Shandy]

HAHA....very good.

Agree with pretty much everything you've said.

This will be my 10th year, and at least the last four years have been my "last" V festival.

I'll be buying a ticket come Firday though!

[craig-g]

Year after year, looking forward to V more than I actually enjoy V?

The anticipation of the other bands to be announced, the 'first dry weekend' of the year so you can be getting the tent out of the loft and cleaning it, the annual visit to the supermarket to buy beer and Haribo, the joy of loading the car and putting together an iPod playlist for the journey, the pumping up of the trolley tyres, the extra roll of gaffer tape to keep everything in place, the late decision about what coat to take and the hope that the car-park we end up in is going to provide a swift exit on the Moday morning?

And when you get there? It's all downhill. Sadly, not literally.

The Jesus lovers who try and part you from your cash the moment you've parked. The 40 minutes walk from the car to the first 'check-point' where at lease one of our party will have ignored the repeated warnings about bringing glass, the decision about whether or not to queue for the wristbands before pitching the tent, the discussion about where to camp (I prefer the extra walk to somewhere quiet, others have had enough by this point and want to camp in the closest possible spot), the unpacking of the tent and the errection process (pnnar!) the meeting the neighbours who all seem really sound (until 4 in the morning on the Saturday and they are still going for it!) and then it all happens.

You wake up on the Saturday morning early, about 6ish, it's foggy/misty, but you are awake, you decide to be one-step ahead of the opposition and make your way towards to the toilets to drop off the previous nights beer and burger only to find about 3,000 others are already up, awake and in the queue with a roll of Andrex under than arm. Bad times.

You decide to 'wait', working on the basis that you'll be first in the arena and you can go to the loo then, and instead, you'll go back to bed for an hour, but you are awake and now cold, and the food stall in your field isn't yet open so you can't get a brew, but you go back to your tent anyway, everyone else is still asleep and you don't want to wake them. You kick your heels for an hour, sitting on a damp camping chair, envious of people a few tents away, who have cooked bacon sarnies on a disposible barbie and are drinking hot coffee.

Midday comes around, everyone is up, and the universally agreed 'beer for breakfast' routine is well underway. And you want to get in the arena for a dump before the toilets get too busy but you are waiting for the others. You collectively agree to leave in a couple of minutes. Walking from your campsite to the arena, you notice the toilets aren't as busy as they were first-thing and say, 'you go on, I'm going to park my breakfast' and your friends do go on, at your insistence, you could be twenty-minutes.

Lighter, you make your way to the arena where you can't find your friends for love nor money. Turns out, there is more than one Walls ice-cream van. Confused, you try your phone. No one is answering. You queue for beer tokens - the queue moves quickly. Sadly, the same can't be said for the queue for a pint, nevertheless, you persevere and eventually get a pint of Carling. You try your phone again, still no answer from anyone.

And so you are destined to spend 4 hours on your own, not really watching any band in particular, mooching about until you either stumble into, or are contacted by your mates.

You meet up and they are twice as drunk as you are, you decide to play catch-up and before you know it, you've mis-timed the drinking and are bongoed.

Repeat for the next 36 hours (well, either you or one of your party).

Go home and declare to the wife that 'Christ love, that's it for me and the V festival, it's more hassle than it's worth, once again, we all got split up, it took me a month to get packed up and out of the car-park, the beer was sh*t, it was expensive, hardly slept, it was too busy, there was a lack of toilets, everything was really hard work, and there were loads of reports of people getting robbed, didn't see anything myself, but loads of people were talking about thefts from tents'.

She nods in agreement and suggests that maybe it's time to knock festivals on the head.

You agree.

Then they announce the line-up for 2010 and you buy a ticket.

[Southern Shandy]

god you're good, so why do we keep doing it?

always striving for past glories methinks, i keep going knowing full-well it'll never be as good as those first few years.

still good though innit?

[staffsknot]

It sounds so true except the music kicks in and I have the stupidest wide smile on my face.

It's just one of those things, I do Hard Rock Calling and even in a hotel you get the miserable bit when somebody decides they want to meet up and you get the "I'm next to the Scotland flag" txt ten minutes later, how many times the guy with the flag moves too!

I love festivals and I find the night before I have everything kit checked, sorted, organised to the point of OCD. Then get there find I'm in a different car park have to lug everything further and find one of my mates brilliant kit carriers has broken and I have another load of useless crap to carry. still I wouldn't change it for the world.