Our first family festival foray happened entirely by accident. My son, then just 14, won 2 tickets on a radio phone-in to the newly resurrected Isle of Wight festival. Within a blink of a DJ’s promise, he was on the phone to his best friend, hatching a plan involving bicycles, pocket money and two half-fares to a distant island. Except their plan didn’t seem to involve parents. Not surprisingly, his friend’s mother insisted her little darling could only go if accompanied by ’a responsible adult’. She wasn’t the festival sort, so I’d got myself a babysitting job.
After some cajoling, the boys reluctantly let me join their party. So long as I promised not to cramp their style. I wasn’t to camp near them, or talk to them, or bother them, or curtail them. Ever.
Glad to say, they thawed the moment we arrived on the Island in our creaky family car, laden with tents and sleeping bags and baby wipes. There’s something about a festival atmosphere that melts away tension. Those two surly teenagers morphed into brilliant festival company. We pitched the tents side by side (their choice) We made fires, and friends. We waited for tea, and in queues for toilets. We compared wristbands and gig lists and talked about bands late into the night. I took care of the catering, they took care of their younger sister, helping her squeeze to the front and making sure no one trod on her. Not exactly the ski hotels I had pictured for our yearly family holiday, but interesting non-the-less!
It was lovely to see them feeling alive, and happy, living the music and enjoying the illusion of freedom. In reality they stuck to me like glue - I actually had to shoo them away so I could have a few moments to read the Sunday papers. So much for me not cramping THEIR style!
The experience was so wonderful, they were making plans for the next year before we’d taken our tents down. Ironically, I was automatically included, as was their little sister. We had become a festival team!
I am convinced that foray into Festival world played a great part in shaping their adolescent years - and without a doubt, for the better. Festivals were a place they felt understood, our adult / child differences were forgotten and we found time to sit round a fire, talk to each other, and bond over music. Priceless gifts for teenagers. We continued to head to the Isle of Wight Festival every May until went away to Uni and we had to find other festivals to fit academic schedules. This year, I’ve managed to get a ticket to Big Chill. The boys - who are in their mid-twenties and still firm friends - have been hunting round for tickets too. I’m pleased and flattered they still want to do the festival thing with me. Although I am tempted to say, as we pitch our tents ’Boys, you’re welcome to join my festival - but please don’t cramp my style’.

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