It’s the weekend and we all know what that means – it’s paaaaaarty time! Don’t let enforced confinement be a Debbie downer, I’m here to show you that while Glasto may be off, you can still have an authentic British festival experience without ever leaving your flat.
Step 1: Getting there
You can keep it traditional and use a large camping rucksack, or go rogue and take some kind of wheeled-suitcase scenario. As no one is actually going to see you, you won’t be subject to the looks of scorn/ amusement/ derision that would normally haunt you as you drag it, mud-caked and heavily sweating, through the 8th field. Once you’ve loaded yourself up you basically just need to tramp up and down your hallway for approximately 40 minutes or until one of your shoulders is glowing red from the Ikea bag straps cutting in, because you couldn’t decide if you should bring boots or trainers or both and so have 5 pairs of shoes with you. Normally you would have had at least a couple of cheeky cans in the car on the way there, so technically, you’re behind. In an effort to catch up, be sure to drink continuously throughout your hallway voyage and do not stop to go to the toilet even if you are desperate. Feeling like you might piss yourself is an integral part of any festival journey!
Step 2: Setting up camp
Now, obviously you’re in your house where (I can only assume) you already have a bed, so you may be tempted to skip this bit, but you really would be missing out on a wonderful part of the experience: pitching the tent. It’s best to find a patch of floor where there isn’t quite enough space so you bash into furniture as you wrestle with tent poles, nearly poke someone in the eye, and trip over a lot. Once the tent is assembled and you’ve piled all your stuff inside, have a heated argument with someone (housemate, pet, stuffed animal etc) about your bad choice of tent door direction that you are too lazy to now do anything about.
Step 3: Heading out
I hope it goes without saying that you should have been guzzling down your choice of tepid beer/cider throughout the entirety of the tent uprising, and have now ascended to the higher plane of consciousness known as ‘tipsy’. As it’s only the first night of the fezzie there won’t be much on, but you may as well head out and get your bearings. Wander aimlessly from room to room for a couple of hours, pausing to watch half an hour of a very average improv show on youtube, and some kind of dad disco garden shed set. Keep the door of the biggest room, or as I like to call it, the ‘main stage’, shut – that doesn’t open until tomorrow!
Give up around 11pm, reminding yourself that it is a marathon, not a sprint. Stagger back to your roomtent realising how drunk you are, and then realising you have been drinking for 9 hours straight. Luckily for you it is much, much harder to get into the wrong tent, when there are no other tents. Another win for Flatfest! What a great weekend this is already shaping up to be eh? Before getting into your tent, be sure to find a four-hour psy-trance playlist on Spotify and put it on a portable speaker positioned approx 1.5 metres from your head. Ideally also open the window and turn your heating off so it’s fucking freezing. To counter this, you should put on every single item of clothing you bought with you, but just know you will wake up dripping in sweat and with feet akin to burning coals. Goodnight!
Day 1: Flatfest
Wake up and immediately start drinking. This is very important and (like with so many other things now) time is irrelevant. Let the smell of one of your co-habitants cooking bacon waft over you, as you sadly eat 3 x frankfurter sausages from a can and curse past you for eating all the good snacks. Spend the next 2-3 hours ‘getting ready’ which in this context means: trying on every outfit you bought with you, making cocktails, spilling cocktails, trying to mop up cocktails before they get inside your sleeping bag, repeatedly losing and finding your stuff within the square metre of your tent, and making more cocktails. Once you’ve got bored of that, announce “shall we head in and check it out” to no one in particular. Repeat every 15 minutes for an hour.
Now this bit will take some imagination on your part, but using whatever technology is available to you, set up live streams / mixes / concert recordings to play from different devices in each room. You could cheat by only putting on artists you actually like, but to retain the authenticity of the experience I would advise putting on a mixture of things you feel like, hate, and have never heard of, in disparate genres and at varying volumes. You can put on something you love, as long as it’s at the same time as the one other thing you love, but in the room furthest away, so you can dash between them. Ideally all of the noises will coagulate in a lovely sound clash and create a transcendent sound bath** experience in the hallway.
Roam from room to room, drinking heavily. Whenever you need the toilet, wait outside the door for at least 10 minutes before going in. You could also try a cup wee. Maybe it’s something you’ve always wanted to have a go at but were too nervous out in the fields? And you did say you were going to use this time to learn new skills… This is your time to shine! Probably don’t let your housemates see, though, especially if they don’t already know about Flatfest. They will definitely think isolation has pushed you over the edge, and probably also make you buy a new cup.
Additional fun festival activities at home can include but are not limited to:
Shouting out random names to see if anyone answers. You can switch this up with just chanting the same name over and over again, or just use random words. There doesn’t need to be a reason why.
If anyone answers to any of the names, celebrate wildly. Obviously this is less likely to happen if it’s just you in your flat, but you could have a go shouting names at characters on the TV instead and see if you get any of those right? #isolationhacks
Facetime random contacts in your phone. Virtually recreate awkwardly bumping into them in a field. Make polite small talk while desperately scrabbling in the sloshy recesses of your mind to work out who the fuck they are. (Except this is much weirder, because you’ve facetimed them at 3pm on a Friday afternoon during a global pandemic, off your face and pretending you’re at a festival in your kitchen.)
Order some niche world food that you would never normally eat, like paella or churros, to be delivered. If possible, pay twice what you want to for it.
Turn on aeroplane mode and try desperately to call/text/whatsapp your friends with no signal.
Pretend to overhear someone saying their sisters’ boyfriends’ mate tours with Radiohead and they are playing a surprise set at 5pm down the Rabbit Hole. Spend the next 2 hours trying to find the Rabbit Hole before dismissing it as unfounded rumour.
Recreate the waltzers by spinning really fast in alternative directions while turning in a circle until you want to puke.
Name the rooms in your house fun quirky things like “the wizards willy” and “pineapple shakedown” so when you run into your housemates/irritated spouse/small children and they ask you what you’re doing, you can confidently answer “just heading through the sunflower field to Dobby’s Castle Party to catch Baaaa-llerina Boogie’s 3 hour disco sheep ballet workshop” etc
Change your outfit 4-6 times per day, in increasingly bizarre combinations. Ideally you would have themed Flatfest in advance, and created specific costumes for each day and theme. Come on, what else do you have on?
Lose all of your things again.
Pretend to overhear someone raving about the amazing once-in-a-lifetime unmissable Radiohead set you missed and swear violently.
Once it is dark outside you should keep all the lights off inside too, especially in the bathroom. Navigate your way by the stars/your phone torch. Head back to the tent so that you can get changed and do your make up in the dark. Make yourself up a hideously strong bottle of spirit and mixer and head back ‘out’. For added danger, mix your drink in total darkness.
By about 3/4am you should be jumping on the sofa blasting Donna Summer’s “I Feel Love”, simultaneously feeling a bit sick and like this is the best night of your life. Call a random acquaintance and tell them how much you love them and that you’ll always be there for them. Find a novelty party hat from somewhere and use the Houseparty app to drunkenly make friends with strangers. Continue drinking until you are sick on your shoes. Stumble back to your tent for the crack on! Spend the next 3 hours chatting top quality shit. It doesn’t really matter if you’re by yourself for this bit as no one would be listening to you either way. Eventually pass out fully clothed, party hat askew.
Day 2: Flatfest
Repeat Day 1, but with less enthusiasm and a hideous hangover.
Day 3: The last hurrah!
It’s sloshy Sunday, baby! You should smell a bit funky, look like shit, and feel slightly unhinged from barely bothering to sleep for 3 days. The great thing is, as you’re actually still in your house and not at a festival, no one else can see how disgustan’ you currently are. Eat half a pack of plain digestive biscuits while staring blankly into the abyss. Wash down your dry, dry mouth with a big gulp of water. The water was straight gin. Dry heave out your tent porch. Deliberately let your phone die so you can’t text your friends and find out where they are. As you’re in isolation and can’t see them anyway this won’t be as annoying as usual, so that’s another positive.
At this stage I would strongly recommend cracking out a box of red wine (sweet precious), putting on your comfiest sparkly leggings, and lying on the floor listening to readings of Letters Live, sobbing quietly at the really emotional ones. Alternatively, try to have a nap whilst feeling guilty for not ‘making the most’ of the festival. As the sun sets, it’s time for the final push! You’re really tired and can’t be bothered, but you force yourself to change and start half heartedly drinking the paltry remains of your booze supply, which is now Tesco basics vodka with flat tonic and squash. Luckily everything shuts early on a Sunday, so after a final limp boogie, you crawl back to your tent and collapse into your sleeping bag, grateful that tomorrow you can go home and sleep in your nice clean bed after the easiest journey home ever!!
*depending on your definition of expert
**I do not know what sound baths are
This blog was originally written by Tamsyn Black for the popular festival blog ‘That Festival Life‘
