A playground for all ages, The Secret Garden Party boasts a reputation as a festival where you can temporarily seek refuge from the hassles of real life and indulge in a few days of crazy creativity in a temporary community where a surprise lurks around every corner.

In my estimation, The Secret Garden Party is the closest you can ever get to Wonderland without reading Alice Through the Looking-Glass (It even has croquet). Held in the Cambridgeshire countryside just outside Huntingdon, this festival occurs on the grounds of Abbots Ripton Hall, home of Lord de Ramsey. These days the festival is a pretty badly kept secret and as many as 26,000 people attended this year, compared to the more petite 1000 or so that partied there back when it was begotten in 2004.

The grounds, as well as the festival goers, function as an impromptu art exhibit with fancy dress encouraged and contributing to the surreal ambience. Although marketed as both an arts and music festival, the lack of well-known bands means that more often than not the attendees are lured to the festival on the premise of the experience itself.

Illustrations by Lilly Allen

Festivals rest in the perilous hands of the weather and although our entrance to the festival was marked by the rain, an ominous start to the weekend, it was hot enough by Friday that we could mosey to the lake and go swimming with hoards of other eager beavers, desperate to wash off the glitter and UV paint from last night’s exploits. The lake is a vital part of the festival atmosphere, not only because you can swim and row across it, but because there is also a temporary stage in the centre that you can only get to by boat. This stage, in the shape of a dragonfly, was burnt on the Saturday night.

Blondie, illustrated by Sam Parr

This is a festival where you go with the flow, whether you choose to follow the trail of glow sticks being left by a person in the distance in the hope that it leads you somewhere, or you want to sit in front of the sand stage and relax burning marshmallows on the bonfire. Each festival experience is unique and as well as being handed some snacks by someone in a Kindness Initiative tabard we were approached by someone who presented us with a piece of paper reading “switch off your alarm clock”; SGP is a hands-on festival if ever there was one.

There are an impossible number of things to do. They say that curiosity killed the cat, but this is a place to satiate your interest, taking advantage of what’s on offer, whether that is life drawing or an introduction to fetishes: in a tent filled with pillows where you are required to take your shoes off at the entrance and a small make shift cinema (complete with popcorn). Forming just a sample of the odd attractions on offer, you’re guaranteed never to be bored. Other more mainstream activities to pep you up during the day include miniature golf and yoga. If you want to watch someone in a wasp spray costume chase a bee around, or throw paint at people you don’t know in the annual paint fight, then this is the place to do it. With so much on offer its impossible to sample everything in one visit and this festival will undoubtedly leave you wanting more.

We got more than we bargained by watching mud wrestling, the climax of the show being impromptu nudity as well as a Mission Impossible style drop for items located in the mud pit. We also checked out Shitfaced Shakespeare, a performance of Romeo and Juliet for which the actors are completely and utterly trollied. Both of which made for unique experiences.

We were totally sheltered from the real world here: with no plug sockets, the news of Amy Winehouse and the Norway massacre filter through the crowds with shock, reminding us that we have to go back to our lives on Monday.

Married to the Sea, illustrated by Nicola Ellen

The majority of bands playing at SGP are relatively unknown and reading down the list makes me feel suddenly lacking in hipster knowledge. There are big names, too: Leftfield, Martha Reeves and the Vandellas, Mystery Jets and of course Blondie. We watched rising stars like Cosmo Jarvis and relative unknowns like Married to the Sea, wandering through the various stages in search of the best tunes. But mostly, we weaved in and out of the tents soaking up the atmosphere, picking up the phone of the random call box that lets you talk to strangers somewhere else on the festival and being glad that we were lucky enough to get tickets.

Cosmo Jarvis, illustrated by Rosemary Kirton
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There is more to SGP than the music. This is the festival to end all festivals and has a certain je ne sais quoi that other festivals fail to achieve. If you want to dress up as a different animal every day then this is the place for you. It’s an art gallery with its visitors welcome to become part of the exhibit. The Secret Garden Party is one of the few experiences in life when the reality of the festival will no doubt outstrip your expectations.

All photography by Jessica Cook

This week Two Degrees is hosting Crayfish Bob’s al fresco pop up crayfish shack every evening in the paved courtyard next to Toynbee Hall. How could I resist the chance to sup on South London wine whilst crunching on succulent seafood? I couldn’t, is the answer, and I was lucky enough to secure a seat at the first sitting on Monday evening.

Crayfish Bob’s is supplied with Bob Ring’s freshly caught American Signal Crayfish from the Thames, an invasive species that has been busy decimating our native wildlife since the 1970s. At first introduced to be intensively farmed in controlled ponds American Signal Crayfish soon used their ability to walk across land and spread out across the country. One account tells of a late night encounter with a long procession of crayfish walking from an abandoned trout-farm pond and heading directly towards the nearby river. Clever buggers. I’ve encountered a crayfish clambering out of a pond at Hampstead Heath as it goes: it caused much consternation amongst the nudist sunbathers on the women’s ‘beach’.

American Signal Crayfish carry a plague to which they are immune but which kills our native White Clawed species and they also damage river banks with their tunnelling – but despite their disastrous effect on the environment nothing much has been done to stem their march. Sadly the crayfish that are increasingly used in tasty sandwiches and snacks across the UK are all farmed abroad because it is so hard to trap the American Signal Crayfish found here commercially. So, determined to do his bit, Bob Ring has hatched a plan that goes against the grain of modern business acumen: he hopes to build the Crayfish Bob brand into one of high integrity and desirability so that he can sell as many tonnes of UK caught American Signal Crayfish as possible. His ultimate dream is to go bust due to lack of stock. Obviously I felt very good about helping him on his way to achieving this.

Bob Ring.

Clare Patey.

As soon as we were seated Bob’s co-conspirator the interdisciplinary artist Clare Patey darted past, offering us beautiful peach coloured Urban Wine from the gardens of Tooting (it was very good) and stacks of moist sourdough bread. Our food looked utterly beautiful, served with panache by Blanch and Shock food designers, who produce theatrical food productions and educational workshops based on themes of sustainability and the psychology of eating. They aim to provide opulent food with the minimum of waste. Again, happy to help out.

Large glass bowls of locally sourced and wild foraged salad – I never knew that Common Hogweed was so darn tasty – were placed on our tables but for the main course we were encouraged to visit Crayfish Bob’s shack for ourselves to converse with the man who had caught our delicious meal. Crayfish are a messy dish to eat, requiring a certain amount of cracking and sucking to demolish, but with a finger bowl of water at the ready we all got a certain amount of pleasure from the ordeal. There was time for chat with our fellow guests as we were all seated on a friendly communal long table.

Peach coloured Urban Wine from Tooting.

On one side I was joined by food blogger Laura Fleur, who I have conversed with on Twitter (ain’t it always the way these days?!) and her friend Lizzie, aka Hollow Legs. On my other side I chatted with Kevin and Jane of Platform, another organisation which is doing great things by mixing up art and activism and with whom I worked to Redesign the Royal Bank of Scotland for Sustainability in 2009 at the Arnolfini. On my right sat Peter Koenig, a former financial editor of the Independent. What an intriguing and diverse bunch!

For desert we were served a gorgeous Douglas Fir Panna Cotta that slid off the spoon in the most delectable manner, with a side serving of strawberries and butterscotch.

Kevin with a rescue parrot that came to visit us!

It was a rare and wonderful chance to talk with some new friends whilst remembering how enjoyable good local food can be. As Diana Damian points out on her blog for This is Tomorrow, our act of eating the American Signal Crayfish demonstrated how social engagement can become a political act in itself, and an enjoyable one at that. I couldn’t really put it better myself.

At only £5 for the entire meal this was fantastic value so not surprisingly all seats at Crayfish Bob’s have now been sold out, but there is plenty more going on at Two Degrees over the rest of the week. I shall be taking part in a round table discussion about the state of climate activism on Saturday 18th June between 1-2pm. Please do come along and take part!

I woke to a parent discussing the merits of dressing up as a crocodile with her child, and when I peeked my head out of the tent a man was relaxing across the way with a book emblazoned with the immortal phrase Do More Faster. Perhaps not at Wood, eh?

Wood Festival 2011. All photography by Amelia Gregory.

Wood Festival on Saturday was like those days you dream of… breezy sunshine, children running through the grass, plenty of good music. And no trouble in deciding what bands to listen to – for the very simple reason that nothing ever clashed at Wood. From the workshops to the music acts everything was timed to fit together and allow for maximum participation without boredom.

And so in the morning I was able to take my boyfriend on a mini tour of Braziers Park – a place that I have often visited with FSC camps, but which I have never really seen inside of. It’s an inspiring community founded on principles of sharing for a better world that was formed in the wake of two disastrous world wars. And it has some truly wonderful gardens, not to mention an ancient listed barn house that I am lucky enough to have called ceilidhs in.

Trevor Moss and Hannah Lou at Braziers Park.

Acupuncture is something I’ve wanted to try out for ages so for a tenner I decided that Wood would be the perfect place to experience acupuncture in the ear and in the feet. It was meant to help my sore back but I think that my lifestyle, sat in front of the computer for hours every day, is going to be hard to cure in one session. Despite my boyfriend’s disparaging opinion of alternative therapies I definitely felt a bit soozed once I had the tiny pins in my ear from Abingdon based Ana at Acuabi and I’d like to try it out again.

Acupuncture for a teddy at Acuabi.

Our first musical stop of the day was the dulcet alt country tones of Owen Tromans, joined on stage by Joe Bennett in what was to prove a bit of a common theme – one or other (or both) of the Bennett brothers taking their place on the stage with a band.

Joe Bennett on keys and vocals with Owen Tromans.

In the afternoon we went on a sound tour with Dan Mayfield of Enderby’s Room, who encouraged us to listen to all the sounds around us, not just the background music. He started to explore alternative sounds after moving from rural Lincolnshire to London, and he referred us to his well battered copy of Wild Soundscapes: Discovering the Voice of the Natural World, which I am very tempted to hunt down and read.

Good Biscuits, who helped out at Comma Shop the next week on the ACOFI Book Tour.

Workshops are announced.

And then we headed into the afternoon’s entertainment. In typical multi-tasking Wood Festival style the keyboardist with Co-Pilgrim was the girl who sorted out my press pass. Police Dog Hogan offered more soothing British Bluegrass sounds under canvas.

Co-Pilgrim.

Police Dog Hogan. And children skipping.

Then it was time for Sarabeth Tucek, much championed in these very pages. She sat beside her partner (apparently a very well known music producer) head bowed, slightly nervy, apparently a bit uncomfortable with performing. But as on record it was her voice and songwriting that shone through, a wonderful mix of languid folk and bittersweet lyrics.

Sarabeth Tucek at Wood Festival by Sam Parr.

Uiscedwr, pronounced Ish-Ca-Door, were at pains to explain their strange name, which means water in both Welsh and Irish. Badges bearing the explanation ensured a pint sized riot as the younger members of the crowd deluged the stage. The bouncy lead singer was very engaging and a brilliant fiddler who soon got the sleepy afternoon crowd bouncing along.

Uiscedwr.

The Truck Monster proves a great distraction to everyone, including former Amelia’s Magazine music editor Cari Steel.

Cari Steel chatting with festival organiser Robin Bennett.

Khaira Arby is not exactly a sprightly young thing but in her gold medallion encrusted headdress she was certainly giving it some as she shook to the Afrobeat sounds. One of the festival highlights for many if the party mood of the Saturday night crowd was anything to go by. Impressive!

Khaira Arby at Wood Festival 2011 by Sam Parr.

Then it was straight on over to the Tree Tent to hear Amelia’s Magazine favourite Trevor Moss and Hannah Lou, who gave us an assured set of new songs from their new album Quality First, Last & Forever! Their harmonies may be deceptively simple but the way that Hannah’s voice occasionally curls over the top of Trevor’s falsetto is really quite special.

Headliner Willy Mason then took to the stage in his jeans and braces, dusky orange shirt tucked in. Despite his laid back demeanour this was a crowd pleasing set from a very confident young man, who is clearly happy with his lot as underground folk festival pleasing favourite. You can read a great write up of Wood Festival on Green Wedge, which features a soundcloud interview with Willy Mason about offshore wind turbines in New England. Love it.

Robin Bennett playing with Willy Mason.

Back on over at Tree we finished off Saturday with The Epstein, whose keyboardist managed to freak every single member of my group out with his somewhat spooky stare. Granted this might have been because we were all lounging around on the ground in a rather sleepy way when he might have preferred us to be hopping to the beat, but no matter what, it was a lovely way to end a lovely day at Wood.

The Epstein.

Make sure you also read my review of Friday’s bands at Wood Festival here. I’ll leave you with a great video from The Epstein:

Click here to view the embedded video.

Jon Hopkins and King Creosote by Gareth A Hopkins.

King Creosote is the driving force behind the fabulous Fence Records collective and runs HomeGame Festival in Fife, a cult destination for many a muso. Jon Hopkins collaborates with the likes of Coldplay and Brian Eno. Together they really have made something exceptionally special, a sprawling re-imagining of King Creosote songs from across the years, bittersweet lyrics offset with a lushly atmospheric backdrop that includes the sounds of real life. I caught up with both Kenny ‘King Creosote’ Anderson and Jon Hopkins to find out how this unique partnership came about, and what the process of making Diamond Mine was like. First up here’s Jon:

When and where did you first hear King Creosote’s music? Did you fall in love immediately or was it a slow gradual thing?
A friend of mine kept putting Kenny And Beth’s Musakal Boat Rides on at parties and stuff. It took me a while to get into, it had such a different sound to the more polished things I was used to. It grew on me quickly but it was when I first heard his much harder-to-find album Psalm Clerk that I became a massive fan.

King Creosote and Jon Hopkins by Felice Perkins.

This album was produced over a number of years… how has that process worked in reality? How many times have you managed to meet up, and are there any memorable moments from those meetings?
The album probably took about 6 or 7 weeks in total, but hugely spread out. We recorded most of the vocals in one go, then collected sounds from all over the place to build up the backdrops. We’re friends predominantly so we meet a fair few times a year, sometimes we record, sometimes we sit around talking nonsense and consuming fruit beers. 

You talk about the songs tapping into the “sweet sadness” of everyday life, and I think this is the first album in so long that has made me almost want to cry. Why do you think that Kenny’s voice is so evocative? And how have you done your best to encourage those emotions he defines so well?
For me it’s something in the accent, the phrasing, the lyrics, and the fact that there aren’t any singers that sound like him. On this record I wanted to kind of build these sonic worlds for that voice to live in, if you can forgive the pretentiousness of that sentence. The crucial thing was never to add any parts that would detract from the voice.

Jon Hopkins. Photo by Steve Gullick.

Where does your female choir come from?
It is just one voice layered many times, that of Lisa Elle, who harmonises with Kenny throughout the record. I liked the idea of making her sound like a choir of sirens, in keeping with the whole seafaring thing – that is what the end section of John Taylor’s Month Away is supposed to be.

Some of the tracks feature a backdrop of normal daytime noises against which Kenny’s vocals are overlaid. Why did you decide to do this? And where were these recorded?
I liked the idea of dropping the listener into the reality of the world that these songs come from. All the field recordings are from the fishing villages in Fife around the place Kenny has spent his life. It’s a big part of the record, and is a technique I’ve been using on my own stuff for a while too.

Jon Hopkins and King Creosote by Lorna Scobie.

What was the best part of visiting Kenny in Fife?
I’ve been visiting that part of the world regularly for 7 years now; Kenny and his friends organise an incredible music festival there every year, which attracts some amazing artists. Too many amazing memories to list, plus most are unprintable.

Will you and Kenny be working again, and if so what have you got planned?
We have been thinking about a follow-up, yes. No definite ideas or plans yet though. This is not a project we tend to move quickly on.

Listen to a taster of the album here:

Next up, my interview with the equally fabulous King Creosote…

Montreal Festimania commences on July 7th with Montreal Completement Cirque which will curate 18 days of contemporary circus acts, then between July 11th-13th the Just for Laughs Festival presents comedy in many forms, from one man stand up shows to themed evenings. Zoofest between 14th-31st July showcases more risque comedy alongside cabaret and avante garde story telling.

The Osheaga Arts and Music Festival between July 27th-31st features more than 60 groups – including Owen Pallett, Arcade Fire, The National, Robyn, Jimmy Cliff and Pavement – performing across five outdoor stages.

Osheaga 2010. Photography by Susan Moss.

Click here to view the embedded video.

I’ll be in town during the first week of August in time to see bits of the Fantasia International Film Festival, which runs from July 14th-August 7th showing ground breaking international genre cinema.

Ceremonial headdress by Owisokon Pauline Lahache. Photograph by Franois Bastien.

Click here to view the embedded video.

I’m also looking forward to the Montreal First Peoples’ Festival between August 2nd-9th, which focuses on a contemporary First Peoples’ perspective in the arts seen alongside ancient connections to the land and spirit, and the Montreal Fashion and Design Festival from August 3rd-6th, showcasing everything design related, from graphic arts to architecture and fashion. And you know how I love a good catwalk show…

Montreal Festimania is being promoted by Youtube sensation Merton, who visited London, Paris, Toronto and New York virtually via Skype. Passers-by were urged to enter a colourful tent and once inside Merton invited them to come to Montreal with his inimitable improvised songs. In each city Merton offered a Golden Lanyard VIP trip to Montreal for a couple of lucky people, but fortunately there is still a pair of these Golden Lanyards left to be won on Montreal Festimania’s Facebook page.

Click here to view the embedded video.

The contest is open until June 9th and anybody from England, France, the USA or Canada is eligible to win. I say jump on in – what the hell are you waiting for? A free, all expenses paid trip to Montreal plus spending money. Hello!!! What’s not to like. Maybe you will be joining me in Canada this summer?

Wood Festival is billed as one of the greenest festivals in the UK, a fully sustainable event that takes place in the lovely sun dappled meadows of Braziers Park in Oxfordshire. It is the brainchild of the Bennett brothers, who started having babies and decided that they needed a more family friendly festival than their longer running Truck Festival, now entering its 14th year.

All photography by Amelia Gregory.

We arrived as dusk was falling after a hellish drive out of London, parked in a bordering field and walked past an immaculate recycling point with signs made out of old records to enter the festival a few yards down the track. As we waited for our press passes a man with his bike picked up a free beer token with his ticket, a thanks for cycling to Wood. It’s the special touches such as this that make Wood Festival quite unique.

Goodnight Lenin by Rukmunal Hakim.

Once our tent was up it was time to check out Goodnight Lenin in the Tree Tent, where a protracted soundcheck was made light of with a humorous discussion about the various merits of certain crisp flavours.

Goodnight Lenin.

If you’re a fan of Mumford & Sons and ilk then the sweet harmonies of this Birmingham based band should be right up your street. A real find, catch Goodnight Lenin again soon at the Moseley Folk Festival.

Goodnight Lenin by Lou Cloud.

Click here to view the embedded video.

Then it was a short trot over to the main Wood Stage (when I say main, I mean it wasn’t inside a tent) for Thea Gilmore, who from afar sounded a bit 80s but up close was a bit middle of the road folk for my tastes. But she’s got a great voice and she had a good line in banter, bemoaning her lack of festival cider due to pregnancy.

Thea Gilmore.

Back at the Tree Tent the last set of the night came from Telling the Bees, at which point I must confess that I have a bit of a soft spot for protest folk. Telling the Bees are best described as Levellers meets Circulus – a mix of tuneful folk, protest lyrics, unusual instruments and a certain sartorial extravagance. Bagpipes and pearls should be obligatory at all festivals.

Telling the Bees.

Before bed there was just time to hang out for a bit at the central camp fire, a lovely way to end the evening.

If you want to know more about Wood Festival why not read my preview interview with Robin Bennett? More to come in my next instalment soon.

When my oldest pal Lydia announced her engagement and subsequent wedding, I struggled to imagine her having a generic do with a meringue dress and posed pictures. Her list of likes include folk and rock music, vintage fashion and living a sustainable day-to-day life. So it was no surprise when she declared that her wedding would take place in the woods.

I apologise in advance if this article may seem a little self-indulgent, and the truth is, it probably is. Well, sod it.

Lydia and Nathan

Photograph by Paul Saxby

Lydia and Nathan’s day began at the local town hall, with a low key ceremony. I had been so nervous about my continous blubbing throughout, but as The Beatles’ Love Me Do skipped on an old portable CD player, my tears turned to laughter. Lydia entered in a floor length Grecian-inspired dress with an artificial pose of sunflowers. Blimey, these civil ceremonies don’t last long do they? Before I knew it, they were Mr and Mrs Collingham and we were ushered outside to pose on the lawn. (Is it a civil ceremony when you get married at a registry office? I hope so).

Camping! Illustrated by Natasha Thompson

Anyway, the festivities began. Car-sharing had been arranged prior to the day (unfortunately there isn’t any easier way of getting around our small network of tiny villages) and guests had been discouraged from travelling from overseas. We arrived at the reception, set in our friend Alice’s beautiful garden. Lydia and Nathan are really fortunate to have such lovely friends who already take sustainability and climate change very seriously. The newlyweds had tried to create a festival vibe, whilst keeping carbon emisions to a minimum. We were all camping! A little camping area had been set up at the entrance to the woods, where tents had been pitched, and for a split second I could have been at any of the summer festivals – coloured tapers adorned the trees and homemade signs with directions had been painted.

Next up – food and booze. The food was incredible, and all locally sourced to reduce environmental impact. Organic elderflower champagne was provided as a reception drink, served with delicious vegan canapés. A delicious hog roast, provided by local butchers, was layed on for the meat eaters, but the menu was, by and large, vegan. Lydia’s mum had made a gorgeous mushroom en croute to accompany Ecoworks’ delicious selection of salads and nut roasts, and some of the vegatables had been sourced right here from the gardens!

The food! Illustrated by Kayleigh Bluck

Every method of recycling was taken care of!

Ecoworks is a community organisation based in Nottinghamshire with ‘the interests of people and the environment at its heart’. They work on conservation and restoration projects and run the FRESH project, which champions regeneration, education in sustainability and health.

They also run courses that encourage people to grow the good stuff and eat sustainably. Their Harvest Café van (a gorgeous converted vintage Citroën H van, no less) caters at festivals and events and specialises in vegetarian and vegan food, They provided spuds in the evening, with chilli or dahl, and a veggie breakfast the following day. I didn’t manage any of the latter because I had the world’s worst hangover, but I’m told it was a delight…

Lydia and Nathan’s dog Polly even managed to get in on the action, dressed to the nines in a ruffle of sunflowers…

Illustration of Polly by Naomi Law

I’m always hot for a Stella McCartney shoe – especially sourced on eBay at a bargain price. You can put the girl in the woods, but she’ll still wear hot shoes. AND Stella would have been proud. Sorry, I couldn’t resist… arrrrr!

Illustration by Michelle Urvall Nyrén

And so, very quickly, the afternoon turned to the evening and it was time to party, after taking a visit to one of the garden’s many eco loos. A total shock for many, this was. Wails of ‘Is that really where I go to the bloody lav?’ could be heard in the camping area, but just about everybody got used to it pretty quickly. One guest, who shall remain nameless, was even caught photographing down one…

Hay bales covered in vintage blankets created space for guests to mingle, while the epicentre was The Dome.

This recycled space appeared like a vision of the future from the 1960s, and Alice’s mum kindly informed me that it used to operate as a swimming pool cover. It was in here that local live bands played, including the wonderful 10 O’clock Horses – a suitable blend of folk, rock, roots and punk. Lydia and Nathan had their first dance to this band’s first song (as I stood aghast) and then we all had a good ol’ jig.

10 O’clock Horses, illustrated by Jaymie O’Callaghan

Candles lit the gardens, which was a bit of a struggle to begin with but we all soon got used to it and danced into the small hours. And so after a few too many organic beers and far too much shameful dancing on my behalf, it was time for bed. What a fabulous, fabulous day.

We retired to our tents, and Lydia and Nathan skipped off to their tepee to consumate their marriage…

Lydia and Nathan in front of their teepee, photographed by Paul Saxby

I have no idea if they did or not.

The costumes have been returned to their dressing up boxes; the mud has dried out and been brushed from the boots; newly-learned dance workshop moves have become vague; reality has crept back into view… The Shambala Festival has packed itself away for another year – and, my oh my, what an incredible time it was.

Shambala is a 3-day voyage of discovery. Yes, there’s a programme – and an impressive one at that – featuring acts and activities as diverse as chant-arousing Dizraeli & The Small Gods on the main Shambala stage, the jaw-dropping Cirque de Freq in the Kamikaze tent, min-beast safaris in the Permaculture garden and the Cock Drawing Club in the Random Workshop Tent. But the most magical Shambala experience is a haphazard one, in which the clocks stop and the concept of time is snubbed as punters follow their ears, noses and tapping toes into the most thrilling and unexpected of entertainments.

Noémie Ducimetière creeps out The Compass House of Lunacy

Poet Rosie Carrick in the Wandering Word yurt

Bewitching bewilderment was the lifeblood of the Compass House of Lunacy, in which the ghosts of French songstresses (Noémie Ducimetière) and high-kicking, be-corseted madams ruled the stage. Just around the corner, the Wandering Word yurt beckoned dazed punters into its cosy folds to have their ears tickled by pirate poets and their imaginations led through eerie worlds summoned by storytelling eccentrics.

After Friday’s inaugural explorations and familiarisations, on Saturday Shambala donned its gladrags and revelled in magnificent peculiarities and with newfound friends. For Saturday was the festival’s official fancy dress day (not that that prevented costumes from coming out to play all weekend…), and was topped by the spectacular Shambala parade.

Shambala blows: Getting down with the didgeridoo

Peeping over the debauched brow of Saturday night, Shambala’s Sunday air was thick with drowsiness as the festival rubbed the night before from its eyes, picking up lost wellies, rogue headdress feathers and the first few threads of the real world. It was on Sunday that the Healing Area really came into its own, offering to knead the weariness from revellers’ muscles, revive their vocal chords in the Music & Voice workshops and fix them a jolly good old cup of chai to nestle between their crossed legs as they flanked the crackling camp fire.

So, there’s a whole year until Shambala returns. Will it be the same? Of course not, and that’s exactly why we’ll love it. Expect the unexpected – and in the meantime keep the Shambala spirit of discovery alive by forgetting your watch every once in a while…

After a hurried fish ‘n’ chip supper by the Quay near where I work on Friday evening, I enjoyed my hours’ journey to Shobrook Park, in mid Devon, with the promising late afternoon glow of a sunny Bank Holiday weekend.

Arriving through the old stone gates and through an avenue of trees, I saw the orange flags of Aeon, luscious greenery and silver lakes. Bit like Camelot.

On greeting my already established friends, I was shown their fruits of labour: wooden spoons which they carved from small logs in the Campcraft workshop. After thee hours of chipping away under the trees they had rather crude Goldilocks spoons, decorated in little smatters of their own blood and proudly sporting large blisters on their thumbs. The main subject then turned on to our beloved Lost Horizon tent, and where was it? My friends had looked out for it all day but sadly it wasn’t to make an appearance. This was a brilliant cushion scattered tent-come lounge area, chai teas, blessed rose custard and madder-red onion bhajis, the sweetest you’ll ever find. It also held open-mic sessions and boasted a very DIY spa in the outside tepee area, with a paddling pool plunge bath, Native American style sauna, and shanty showers with lots of naked hippies with free tours offered. Hopefully Lost Horizon will return next year.

But on to what was there to entertain between the bands. There was a Recycle Centre chap with a stall called Release Your Inner Vandal. You could smash up some old 80s crockery with 3 balls for a £1. We rescued a charming yellow fish dish who escaped his mosaic project destiny because you could purchase the bric-a-brac for pennies. Book Cycle was also crammed full of treasures again this year. A volunteer-led charity where you can pay whatever you wish, the money goes towards tree-planting across the UK and to schools in countries such as Ghana.
Tents for psychic readings, mental health, massage, cupcakes, morning Tai Chi and a bit of second hand clothes/fancy dress (which unfortunately wasn’t as bountiful as the year before; we had hoped to pick up some animal-type garb for this year’s World Safari theme.)

Aeon Festival t-shirt, illustrated by me!

We sought out the No Guts No Glory stall which sold this years Aeon Fest tees, which yours truly illustrated and enjoyed some little tea cups of complimentary champers.  Workshops for the children included clay creations, face paints, hair decorations, circus skills and Punch and Judy.  We started off feeding on yummy falafel and feeling quite virtuous, and there were certainly loads of tasty, healthy, nourishing food for the veggies, even a Make Your Own Veggie Burger stall which my friend tried in the early morning. Unfortunately she didn’t quite like her mushed-up mushroom burger and basically described it as actual poo – oh dear.  All this healthy food soon sent us on a meat hunt, and then we found the pies, lots of lovely pies for only £1.75 from the fantastic Butchers stall which sold local produce and other Devonshire goodness. Breakfasting on bacon and egg butties and marmite on toast to a bit of gentle Dub in the mornings at a graffiti decorated open air cafe is bliss.

The biggest attraction at Aeon for me and my friends is the beautiful settings, the affordability and the cleanliness. Each camp had a mound built up to accommodate bonfires and logs for everyone to gather round, to discover strangers’ life stories in one conversation and warm up the cockles before heading back to our tents. Aeon has been voted as one of the Top Ten festivals with clean loos by the UK Festival Awards. As their budget-fantastic £1.50 program states, ‘If you spot a poo loo please report it to a steward who can get a message to one of us to clean it up.’ And so they did – the portaloos were positively peachy.

The Vintage Movie Bus

We observed the Sports Day races on Saturday afternoon, this was a humorous event to behold including lots of tumbled bodies and broken organic eggs. Prizes were fabulous medals of animals sprayed gold on ribbons.  After a local Dunstable Farm chocolate ice cream, we visited the recently restored, one-of-a-kind Vintage Movie Bus which had been salvaged, cleaned up and put back into service, and now works with local projects and museums as a real cinema and to bring old documentaries to the public in it’s unusual setting. We were treated to the local archive film Hippies and Hooligans. For Devon this meant cute little children scamming a few extra pennies for Guy Fawkes day, and a few youths sat on curbs or hanging around public lavatories. It mainly documented the ‘youths’ at their deportment lessons, and young lads acting out restaurant etiquette. Not exactly This is England, but very amusing and queer.

World music being played in Cabaret Voltaire ended up being the highlights for us this weekend, in particular RSVP Bhangra hailing from Bristol got everyone learning energetic moves such as ‘Windscreen Washers’, ‘Screwing in Light Bulbs’ and ‘Picking Up a Tenner and Still Looking Cool.’ Everywhere you looked the crowd was full of bumpkins in sync. K’Chevere, an afro-Cuban salsa group that sounded like Holly Golightly’s party mix tape, also got our feet moving nineteen to the dozen.

Doll and The Kicks

We all marvelled at Philip Henry and his tremendous talents on the steel guitar and harmonica, a mix of American and Indian sounds with a bit of harmonica beat boxing thrown in. He was also joined by a lady fiddle player who really was quite beautiful to watch. I imagined some kind of romantic drama between them. They are also part of the band Roots Union who played later in the evening, unfortunately I find the singer sounds too much like James Blunt to enjoy their lovely music, it was all about the harmonica for me. Inflatable Buddha and their comedic singer entertained with fun gypsy music. On the Prophecy stage we took in a bit of polished rock and roll from Karen O-esque Doll and The Kicks. I missed some of the headlining acts such as The Boxettes and Acoustic Ladyland but some of the best moments for me and my friends at Aeon are the ska and gypsy bands, such as Backbeat Soundsystem and Melosa suiting everyone’s drunken enthusiasm to dance with great energy and celebration at the foot of the stage.

Sunday’s grey sky and showers came along. We lounged in anoraks on the grassy ampi-theatre next to a man with a giant Lego head and a man with a potato/sausage/apple/fried egg and fork piece of millinery and watched Glorious Chorus fill the stage in red evening finery, as they began to sing ‘Oh Happy Day’ the sun burst through and everyone cheered, and I got teary eyed, as usual during happy moments such as these when feeling tired and generally chuffed with everything. Another Aeon, another perfectly agro-free weekend, not just a music festival, but a spot in the country which is a community event, where feathered children run free with dogs, families dance, teenagers dress up like hippies, rock stars and ravers, and where the rest of us can get involved, get a bit older and party gracefully. Happy fifth birthday Aeon, see you next year!

Cowboys galloping down the hall on ‘neeeiigh’ing broomstick steeds; Thundercats high-kicking in shrunken primary colour pyjama sets and felt-tip pen facepaints; Ewok hunters on a mission through Endor, branch spears brandished and costume jewellery jangling… Every time my brother and I emerged from our childhood dressing up box, we did so as reborn beings – sometimes scaled, othertimes boasting barnets naively shorn by blunt Crayola scissors, and always adding to our mother’s list of rushed patch-up jobs. Remove teaspoon antennas from balaclava; scrub ink-stained cheeks; clip son’s whole head.

Gabby Young and Other Animals. Image: Joseph Lee

For hours we rampaged in our otherworldly guises, worries of school tests superseded by raw terror of the giant ape hot on our heels (our dad’s friend Ted also enjoyed dressing up. His repertoire included a gorilla suit) or the snapping alligator circling expectantly beneath the plank some called the kitchen table.

Shambala 2010

And one day the lid of the dressing up box was lowered, unceremoniously, for what turned out to be the final time. Ewoks, indians, aliens, mermaids and imaginative hybrids of all of the above played out their death-defying scenes in the dark innards of boxes – not just ours, but Halkirk’s and Halifax’s, Ramsgate’s and Rhyl’s – as cracks crept through their parched facepaint palettes and the first fine layers of dust settled on their lids.

Shambala 2010

But whispers of a weekend are heard on the wind; a weekend for which hands rub dust from the tops of forgotten chests that yawn wide to reveal feathers and sparkles and wooden swords of old; a weekend that brings badass bass and acoustic amazements together with knife-throwing, tea dances and wondering wordsmiths. It’s peopled by the curious, the creative and the downright cuckoo; its tents bear the names of The Lost Picture Show, The Compass of Lunacy and Twist & Spout; it’s powered by wind, water and waste cooking oil – and it’s called Shambala.

Alejandro Toledo and the Magic Tombolinos

Shambala 2010

In a secret location somewhere in Northamptonshire, the Shambala festival bubble will emerge on Thursday 26th August – filled with spectacular and outlandish music, games, adventures and theatre – and will pop for another year on Monday 30th. Location details are known to ticketholders alone – and to be one, you’ll need to sign your August Bank Holiday weekend (and perhaps a little drop of sanity) away via the Shambala website. And, of course, hope that you can still wriggle into that old matching pyjama set…