This year, Scotland’s weather went full on Armageddon and hurled rain down for days. By the time I arrived on Sunday afternoon, the festival site resembled some sort of First World War Western Front reenactment, only with reggae in the background. My heart broke for the organisers.
They put their hearts and souls into creating these events, only to see Mother Nature behave like a stroppy teen throwing a tantrum. Advertisement Advertisement Did you know with a Digital Subscription to Edinburgh News, you can get unlimited access to the website including our premium content, as well as benefiting from fewer ads, loyalty rewards and much more. Visitors too plan for months to go to these festivals.
But by gum, they weren’t going to let a little thing like a total drenching get them down. These party animals were battle hardened. They’d come prepared.
Cagoules, rain hats and sturdy ponchos were the coolest fashion looks around. Wellies had been packed. Not by me, obviously, because I am an idiot.
I was wearing a little pair of trainers that are now sitting mud-caked and ruined by the front door awaiting their rendezvous with the bin. Never liked them anyway. The adults were enjoying themselves with a determinedly manic manner, drinking their booze out of cups with covers on, because otherwise the chardonnay would have been nine parts rainwater in about five minutes.
They were dancing in the mud, rebelliously sticking it to the weather gods and having a good time. Advertisemen.
