But this isn't a what's-hot-what's-not blog for trendies and lovies. This is Feral Beryl Travels; home to the furriest, bushiest tales (or tails) this side of the Jungle Book, so I'll focus on the top 3 things that made this a memorable (despite our best efforts) start to the festival season.
1. The sun, it shone.
Ahh, the weatherman. He said t'would be raining. ALL DAY, as Bubble Butt would say, mimicking the eminently watchable Schmidt of eccentric E4 comedy New Girl. Well, IN YOUR FACE Michael Fish (or whoever does it now). The sun had his hat on, B10 got sunburn (nothing new there, he would burn in a fridge) and I had to wear my special denim baseball cap that takes embellishment to new levels. I shone like a lamp under a Bristol bushel.
2. The people, they came.
Yes, we see each other as often as we can (I'm still keen for us all to marry one another - the idea has been parked for now) but, traditionally, LSTD is when all the ski faffers - come hell or high water - come together once more to relive the joy, the rapture and the silliness of our incredibly childish 20s. And this time was no exception.
3. The journey home, it was feral.
What's all this talk of being feral, I hear you ask. Well, let me ask you this: What's another way of saying animalistic? How else might you describe a wild goat? Or, I know, what's a good word to describe an individual who is led - like a donkey by a carrot on the end of a stick - by a friend leaving a trail of peanuts to highlight the way home, and then having to stop and scout around for said missing individual, only to spot them pop up from behind a wheelie bin or a parked car down a nearby side street? Starts with F, ends in L.
Looking forward to St.Paul's Carnival, Secret Garden Party, Nozstock, Boomtown (and maybe Shambala)... ;-)