That was what the sign read that one glitter-garnered Gardener used to carry about Secret Garden Party up until 2013.
The loss of such a character was keenly felt by the Gardeners, in particular by Head Gardener Freddie Fellowes who - after a chat with DJ and Producer Eddy Temple-Morris - decided that CALM, which stands for the Campaign Against Living Miserably, should have a presence in the Garden.
This year, CALM - a male suicide prevention charity that I do alot of work with - became the official charity of Secret Garden Party. And I was invited to go to the festival with them last weekend to tweet on their behalf and capture 'the essence' of CALM at SGP.
If you follow Feral Beryl Travels and, in particular read THIS POST, you'll know that I don't have much time to write between work (yes, I work) and frolicking in a field. So, what follows are some of the more wonderful things that happened last weekend in what is now my favourite Cambridgeshire Garden:
- It took no more than 10 minutes from the time I got out of my cab at the entrance of the festival to unpacking my tent. No joke. Zero queueing. Why? Because I was Crew - ahhh, the delights of being Crew...
- Feral Beryl - as is her wont - desired to be up a tree, and then got stuck there. Less like a ninja squirrel, more like a scaredy-cat.
- I danced with foxes, a badger, an owl and many other spirit warriors.
- Indeed, I found my spirit warrior, which was being painted onto a large board by this super talented guy, Louis Masai Michel.
- I spoke broken Spanish to a Peruvian and Argentinian and smoked the majority of their shisha.
- My teeth became super white. In comparison, that is, to my paint covered body, after being pelted with bags of coloured dust. But I gave as good as I got.
- A lady chameleon crawled up my arm and hung out for a while.
- I bumped into a school friend I hadn't seen in 12 years. She hadn't changed a bit, but her voice was alot more gravelly (as is mine).
- We were overjoyed by low flying planes dancing across the sky above the Great Stage, and looked up in wonderment at the Saturday evening firework display - better than the Olympics.
- I fell in love. With Mr. Bruce of The Correspondents, who careered across the stage like a leather clad puppy on speed, then bounded into the crowd to surf on its hands without a missed beat or audible pant.
- I became an ant, part of a colony, following my queen - or some other cog in a machine of many parts - as I joined in with The Forum and delivered a gift from The Hat Man to the lady with floral head pieces.
- I was watched with a keen eye as I packed up my tent at 6am on Monday and told I was the fastest they'd ever seen.
To read an interview with Freddie Fellowes that I set up with the Evening Standard, publicising the festival's relationship with CALM, click here.
Now, to Nozstock festival and back to my own neck of the woods...