Losing My Mind?

This morning as I was driving to work, I thought I saw a polar pear in a field just outside Woodingdean. It turned out to be a white horse, but for a brief moment I was convinced. The worrying thing is that I wasn't in the least bit peturbed by this prospect, I just thought to myself "Oh look, there's a polar bear" and carried on driving. I really need a holiday.

Kylie Minogue at the o2

Last weekend I went to see Kylie at the 0² Arena - a major departure from my usual gig circuit of dingy pubs and muddy festivals. I hadn't been to a stadium gig since the early nineties (INXS at Wembley Arena was my last), and had forgotten what a strangely impersonal experience it was. Walking into the venue formerly known as the Millennium Dome, I felt literally nauseous surveying the 19,999 other punters lining its cavernous interior. I was there with Neel (who had organised the outing) and two of his other lovely fag-hags (and I mean that in the friendliest possible way ladies), Fred and Laura. Once we'd sat down and I'd had time to adjust my internal scale settings, I was soon infected by Neel's obvious excitement, and looking forward to witnessing what I'd been told would be an impressive show.

Descending onto stage like spiderwoman in her web, the diminutive pop princess embarked on a two-hour marathon of hits that included material from the new album, X, as well as many old favourites. The steep-sided auditorium and lack of leg room were rather prohibitive to dancing, but we did manage to bop around for a couple of numbers, including Love At First Sight - my own favourite Kylie tune. A veritable visual spectacular, the set included numerous costume changes and an impressive light-screen stage that made the 70s underlit dancefloor seem positively prehistoric. Flanked by a troupe of scantily-clad buff male dancers (she clearly knows her market), Ms Minogue exuded energy and charm throughout, leaping about deftly like someone half her age. Taking us all back in time, she finished on her first ever hit single, I Should Be So Lucky, which came out in 1987 - when I was in the last year of primary school. Back then, I wouldn't have been seen dead dancing to Kylie (I was on the verge of becoming a moody rock-chick), but have since realised that a slice of cheesy pop in the musical pie is well worth having. Apart from getting rid of the poodle perm and puffballs skirts, Kylie hasn't really changed much in over 20 years, and despite not having any real singing talent, has managed to sustain a successful career in the pop industry. You've got to respect that.

I very much doubt that I'll be repeating the experience any time soon (the claustrophobic tube journey back to London Bridge was enough to put me off forever), but it was good to be dragged out of my comfort zone for one night and mix with the masses. Hopefully it'll also make me appreciate the more familiar territory of muddy fields and obscure bands at Kendal Calling this weekend.

Photo from Mirror.co.uk

My Cupboard is Bare

When I originally took up the challenge of trying to write about food for a whole month, I thought it would be easy; cooking, food shopping and eating are some of my favourite pastimes after all. But I found that after two weeks, it was a struggle to find new things to say about my day to day eating, and various circumstances prevented me from indulging in any noteworthy extra-curricular culinary activities. So as you may have gathered, I failed the challenge. But it has still been a worthwhile exercise, that will hopefully lead to more foodie posts in future.

This weekend I am off to another music festival - Kendal Calling in the Lake District. I'm taking Ant with me this time, so I imagine that mealtimes will be much more regulated than my infrequent ad-hoc snack attacks at Latitude. And if the weather turns out to be as grim as predicted, we might even go off-site for a meal at one of the area's notable restaurants or gastro pubs at some point. Certainly a visit to the Lakes wouldn't be complete without a trip to the legendary Grasmere Gingerbread shop, whose distinctly moreish produce can only be bought (legitimately) directly from the shop, or via their website.

Photo by Frazgo on Flickr.

Pimm's!

One of the things I forgot to mention about Latitude - which certainly contributed to the civilised air of the weekend - was the Pimm's. Being the main sponsor of the festival, it was inevitable that they would be flogging the stuff everywhere, but I never imagined that we'd be walking the site round carrying a whole jug! Even without the usual trimmings (cucumber, strawberries, lemon, mint and a good glug of vodka being my personal preference), a simple Pimm's and Lemonade was just the ticket to revive our party-worn spirits on Saturday afternoon. There was even a Pimm's bus, which we walked past, but felt would be too dangerous to enter.

I've always thought that the herbal, faintly medicinal flavour of Pimm's would be well complemented by the sharp spiciness of ginger beer, but have never been bold enough to experiment with such a classic winning formula. Upon researching the precedent and etiquette of Pimm's mixology, I discovered that there were once many variations of the actual drink itself. The one with which we are familiar these days is Pimms' No.1 Cup, which is gin-based; but apparently they used to make other versions too, based on each of the popular spirits - including rum. Considering that gin is my least favourite spirit, and I still love Pimm's, it is probably just as well that you can no longer get hold of the rum variant, or I might find myself with a serious habit. Still, it can't hurt to dream about it....can it?

Musings on Latitude Festival 2008

I originally came up with the idea of going to Latitude Festival this year as a 30th birthday present for my friend Harriet - it was going to be a girlie weekend with just the two of us. And for me, my main summer holiday. Then we found out that loads of our other mates were also going, including Harry's boyfriend, so it quickly became a gang outing. I'd only ever been to festivals with a partner before, so it was a whole new experience for me being part of a mob of ten for the duration. Not that we spent all our time together - inevitably we wanted to see different things and ended up drifting off into smaller groups or going solo at various points, but we managed to meet up regularly, even without the help of mobile phones.

Daytimes were filled with gig-going and walking between stages (it's quite a big site to get round, though the scenery makes it more bearable), with the headline acts coming on at about 9.30pm. There was still plenty to do after the bands had finished, and each night held its own unique magic. On Friday, Harry and I had our girlie bonding time, running around the woods, dancing, chatting to random people and sampling the interactive exhibits such as the Digital Funfair and the Bad Ideas Press (where you wrote down confessions and they published them). We were surprised to be the last back to the tents, as the sun was just on the brink of rising. I stayed out late (early) again on Saturday on my own (and had a ball) and on Sunday we managed to keep the whole gang together for a boogiefest in the cabaret and comedy tents that saw us dancing to Blur, INXS, The Gypsy Kings, Gloria Jones and Motorhead among other madcap tunes.

The whole weekend was a real adventure, and I couldn't possibly capture it all in a single blog, but here is a little taster...

--- Cultural Highlights ---


Sigur Rós, Martha Wainwright and Seasick Steve - © Rowan Stanfield

My second gig of the festival, on the 'BBC Introducing' Lake Stage, was Kyte, a youthful bunch of pretty boys with pretty tunes to match. Somewhere between Explosions in the Sky and Sigur Rós, and right up my street.

Undoubtedly the buzziest gig of the weekend (everyone was talking about it afterwards) was former hobo Seasick Steve, who brought us all together with his mischievous banter and infectious blues riffs.

We already have most of Sigur Rós's albums at home, but I had mixed feelings until seeing them live on Saturday night. I'd anticipated pretentious downbeat dirge, but was pleasantly surprised to discover magical euphoric symphonies. The whole Steam Punk garb was rather amusing too.

On Sunday night, I'd intended to go and see Tindersticks as my final gig while the others were at Interpol (why?), but accidentally went to the wrong stage (it had been a long weekend, OK?). All was not lost though, as I ended up stumbling across a fantastic little jazz funk band playing in a gazebo outside the cabaret tent, and stayed watching them instead - a much more fitting end to the festival for me. I was unreliably informed (by an overexcited drunken dad) that the name of the band was Sweet Pea, although I haven't been able to verify this.

I also really enjoyed Ken Campbell doing improv in the Theatre tent; Nic Dawson Kelly, Slow Club and Soko (all new discoveries) at the Sunrise arena; Beth Orton, The Breeders, Grinderman and Foals on the main (Obelisk) stage; and Howling Bells, Martha Wainwright and Noah & the Whale in the Uncut tent.

--- Encounters ---


The Cardiff crew

Not always wanting to see the same stuff as the others in my gang, I spent quite a bit of time doing my own thing, especially on Saturday, and ended up chatting to lots of strangers as a result. Everyone was very friendly and affable, and a jolly, conspiratorial atmosphere prevailed...

Some of the people I particularly enjoyed meeting: the dapper chap in the queue at the 24 hour supermarket, a fellow air-guitar hero at the woodland stage during my GNR mosh moment, a second well-coiffed young man outside the toilets and a couple of the more chatty fellow-photographers in the pit.

Most fondly remembered though are the entertaining Cardiff gang who invited me into their fold for the latter part of Saturday night, when all my friends were either MIA or asleep. What a lovely bunch.

--- Memorable Moments ---

Woodland artwork, piano jam and Nick in vest - © Rowan Stanfield

Being called "pretentious and gay" by a total stranger whilst taking photos of artwork in the woods on the first night.

Joining a spontaneous chorus of Bohemian Rhapsody with about 40 other people, all packed into a small gazebo with a piano.

Giving Nick my star-spangled vest to wear for the Julian Cope gig.

Moshing and air-guitaring to Guns n Roses at the woodland stage during Friday night's DJ set.

Coming up with the notion of a Jean Michel Jarre vs George Michael tribute band called George Micheal Jarre.

Having a good cry to the ephiphanic sounds of Sigur Rós.

Being surprised to find myself dancing to one of the more upbeat Sigur Rós tunes.

Writing a story in the woods with my new friend and fellow note-keeper, John.

Playing table tennis (badly) outside the Digital Funfair with Sheldon.

--- Overheard ---


Cat lady, Harriet in headphones and father-son moment - © Rowan Stanfield

Festivals are always a great place for people-watching and eavesdropping. Latitude was no exception, with its eclectic mix of punters providing plenty of material for my notebook. Here is a selection of snippets heard and said during the course of the weekend. Interpret them as you will.

"You could ride a badger with a worm on a stick"

"I'm scarred and hard on my mental insides"

"Watch my guy ropes, bitch."

"Rowan is a mentally insulting frisbee"

"She's like a sassy combination of PJ Harvey and Rolf Harris"

"Why don't you be Kirsty?"

"Don't get me started on poached eggs"

"I thought I was at Latitude but I'm on the fucking Death Star"

--- Missed It, Missed Out ---

There's no way you could possibly do everything at Latitude, but I was particularly disappointed to miss:

Buzzcocks playing during Mark Lamarr's DJ set on Saturday night. The tent was full when we got there, so we went to the woods instead.

Photographing Nick Cave - my camera battery died just as Grinderman came on, and we only had one song in the pit.

Tindersticks. I went to the wrong stage, dur! There was so much else going on that I also annoyingly missed Anya Marina, Ida Maria, I Am Kloot, Mark Thomas, Emmy the Great, Sebastien Tellier (who I heard was amazing), Phill Jupitus, Marcus Brigstocke and Midnight Juggernauts all of whom I had planned to catch, but somehow didn't.

But Latitude was only festival two of five this summer, so there are plenty more musical delights to come over the next few weeks. Next stop, Kendal Calling...

Full photoset from Latitude at: www.flickr.com/photos/rowstar/sets/72157606322133121

In Need of Sustenance and Sleep

So, the mobile blogging thing didn't quite work out as planned. Due to jammed networks and patchy coverage at the festival, it took a while for messages to get through, and by Sunday I gave up trying and left my phone in a locker. The food wasn't as inspiring as I'd hoped anyway - consisting mostly of burger and noodle vans, there were no nice foodie tents to hang out in like at Green Man. The best meal I had all weekend (unless you count a smoothie as a meal) was a veggie curry on Sunday night, just before my (fantastic) final band of the festival. But more on Latitude musical highlights to follow - today's priority is to get myself a hearty lunch and catch up on some sleep before sitting down to edit all my photos and write something coherent about the weekend.

Festival Carbs Fix

Spicy potato wedges with sweet chilli sauce, eaten whilst listening to Seasick Steve.

Festival Breakfast

Blueberry smoothie and a cup of tea from the Smoothie Criminals van.