Top Gear Festival 2013

A thousand apologies for I have been dealing with incredible writers block and haven't written in so long. Also a word of caution, it seems that my new writing voice is incredibly self indulgent - you have been warned! Also all images and videos are courtesy of Yashen Moodley. 

Yup

Does anyone else remember last year’s Top Gear Festival? I do. I remember lots of guidos fighting; I remember plastic cups of black label, the smell of petrol fumes and dust so thick it made a line on my teeth where they stick out from beneath my goofy smile. I said to myself: “Not this time girl – you have come too far to be picking miggies out of your mouth.”  So this year I went as a guest of Shell. Oh friends what a delight it is to experience the VIP hospitality that is Shell at Top Gear. Let me count the ways ...

Because walking is so Top Gear 2012.

My colleagues and I got escorted to the media centre at the Moses Mabhida stadium. This is critical information because what I am saying is that we did not have to queue – I hate a queue. We got our media passes and from there the world of Top Gear was ours. All access, free food ... the only problem is that once you get a taste of VIP – Oh friends you cannot enjoy Top Gear without it.

We made our first stop at the Shell stand where I got to sit in an F1 car simulator as well as change an F1 racing car tyre. I was told that it takes the pros 5seconds to change the tyres and refuel an F1 car. It took me around 14 seconds to just pick up the heavy drill. I was the model for the day so I got to do some fun things of the girl’s - day - out - at - Top Gear variety. I think it was pretty amusing for my colleagues because I can barely drive. I was shown some sort of special car that had travelled Siberia and was told by Shell to point to the oil thingy for a picture. So embarrassing, I don’t even know where one places their car oil. The man had to show me, eventually placing his hands on the oil thingy because I don’t understand where “next to the engine” is!

Is it there?

They had the sexiest Greek men working for them; I guess it is the equivalent of eye-candy for bitches. Unfortunately for me these men where all business –there was no time for silly girls who don’t know car things. I had to do a small video and pretend that I had raced a circuit and they acted like it was their worst day ever. The video below is an example for you taken just before we made the official video. Look how angry this man looks, and look at me trying so hard – bless. Back in my youth the men used to check out my rack, now he looks like he is having the worst day of his life (I learned later that he was in fact dating the other sexy Greek man)

After that humiliation, Yashen, my wonderful colleague, and I went and hung out in some VIP car place. I don’t know cars, but I do love a shiny new beast of a machine and I have a weakness for Audi’s. So whilst Yashen gushed over something called a Bumblebee and something else with numbers and Z’s in it, I sat sipping my champagne staring at my Audi.  There is something wonderful about lounging on a chaise sipping Champaign and eating strawberries whilst the general public looks on from behind the velvet ropes and bouncers – and there was a pianist!

Sorry dahling ...

Ok, so I am milking this VIP thing and you are probably puking by now, so let me move on. We got escorted to the Shell hospitality suite in the stadium where we were greeted with a table full of beers. Yashen and I caught up with our Motoring Editor at the bar. He was on his fourth cider. We were called a bunch of pussies for not being drunk. “When I was a cub reporter we would be laying in a pool of our own vomit before this thing even started. Free drinks – you are a disgrace”. Well forgive me but I thought this was a work outing ... However, so as not to disappoint anyone I ordered a nice glass of merlot and headed into the VIP suite. Ladies and gentlemen – how will I ever enjoy the stadium again? Those suites have the best view, there was a private bar, and there was Lasagne for Christ sakes! It was as if Top Gear had just said “Crumbles - let’s make this girl happy”, and so they did.

The show was cool, there were cars, and babes and jokes about Oscar Pistorious (perhaps too soon). I was happy because I had done some really fun things and all it cost me was 200 words.

Can I have this one?

MTV Africa All Stars with Snoop Lion

One of the members of Camp Mulla chatting after their performance.

Saturday was one of the craziest nights of my life. I had to get legal advice in order to sort-of tell you what happened, but there are a lot of things I wish I could, but just can’t say. What I can say is that I had been waiting for this night ever since I first heard that Snoop Lion (aka Snoop Dog) was going to be in town. I received an invite to the African All Stars concert and I actually broke a nail in my haste to type a reply: “YES I WILL BE THERE – THANK YOU!”

Snoop Lion on stage at The Peoples Park.

I was already a little tired from the Dune Rats gig at Live - The Venue the previous night, but as soon as I drove into the stadium the atmosphere was electric! There were hundreds of people there - ok the number was closer to 13 000 people, but it was a truly South African representation. The crowd was completely mixed - I love this kind of vibe. It is the feeling you get when you go to a soccer match as opposed to a rugby game. We were all brothers and sisters and man, was I feeling the love.

Penny Lebyane on the red carpet.

Having said all of that, I must profess that there is one kind box I do enjoy being put into, and that is VIP. Friends, there is nothing like a bit of VIP access. You park close to the venue; get escorted to where you need to go and you get free food and drinks. I arrived with Penny Lebyane (of Motswako and Idols fame) so I was lucky enough to be escorted into the venue with her. The whole night was like that - there were ZAlebs everywhere. I just put away my press card and acted like I was a super star for the night.

I was welcomed at the door by a colleague who was working the event. When I asked her about not being able to take photos backstage (Getty had those privileges) she just said: “Trust me, once you are inside, you won’t want to leave.” She was right!

Dinner is served.

My favourite bar staff.

The VIP tent was a distinguishable from the highway; a huge see-through tent lit up with multicoloured lights. It was high off the ground with a vast wrapping balcony which took up half of the field alongside the stage. As I walked towards it I could see various lit tables with waitrons carrying silver trays of hors d'oeuvre scuttling beneath tall outdoor heaters. My invite said come at six; it was now half past and I was afraid of missing out on the snacks. Silly me. I have been told wondrous tales about events backed by the provincial government, there were three bars laden with alcohol, five different dining stations and fifteen Ola ice-cream carts filled with everything from Sole’s to Magnums. The best part was that if you were too busy talking about your wonderful, wealthy life, the waitrons were all too keen to fetch you whatever you needed. This is how the ZAlebs roll.

Cocktails and beautiful people.

I got myself a drink and headed out onto the balcony. I like doing events alone because I love meeting new people, but before that first drink I am always a frightened squirrel. I bumped into an obnoxious writer I know. This person prides himself on offending people. I usually find him rather funny, but he has recently graduated to mocking people just to see them get hurt. I don’t like this. But I went and said hello because I am nice. He started to mock my voice (it is rather nasal and whiny). As he stood above me, waiting for me to react I couldn’t help but notice some rather large nose hairs peeking out from his nostrils. Instead of giving him what he wants, I reached up and plucked the hairs straight from that large nose and showed them to him like a hunting trophy. I then wiped them on his shirt before heading back to the bar. I know it was childish, but seeing the tears in his eyes felt like wonderful revenge for all the ugly things he said to people in the past.   

Half of Camp Mulla, a Kenyan Alternative Hip Hop group.

Professor on the red carpet.

Professor was onstage and I couldn’t help twerking to Jezebel with the rest of the girls. The royal family (the younger members of course) were all sitting at the end of the room, distinguished by their royal leopard skins and headdresses. I asked the prince if I could take a photo with him and the family and I got chatting to one of the members of the family who I cannot reveal because he asked for weed in exchange for a private meeting with Snoop Lion (Snoop was staying backstage with his ‘people’).

Members of the Zulu Royal family.

When Snoop did eventually come on stage I lost myself. We all headed onto the balcony and danced for the rest of the night. He sang a lot of his old songs, so the throes of dancing managed to somehow damage the balcony which started to collapse under our booty-shaking asses. But all was well in the end - I managed to get my backstage pass.

After the show I made my way through the offstage smoke and haze ... and standing in front of me there he was: “Sup, you like my show”?

Snoop Lion on stage at the MTV Africa All Stars Concert. Note the Zulu headdress usually reserved for royalty.

Freedom Festival

Chanelle and I are trying to do the trance dance ... 

I woke up super early on Saturday morning to go to the Freedom Festival in Umhlali. I am not usually one for psy trance – or any kind of trance for that matter. But I am definitely not one to turn down a party. So after stocking the car with a veritable smörgåsbord of food (chips, cheese and cashew nuts), Chanelle, Courtney and I were on our way. Obviously none of us knew where Umhlali was, but that is what a GPS is for, and so we faithfully followed the Garmen all the way to fuck-knows-where amongst some sugarcane.

A delicious corn snack for the road.

After about a thousand kilometres we reached a tiny farming town and realised that we were probably not going to see another ATM soon. If you have ever driven through the Eastern Cape, you will recognise the kind of town I am talking about. There was one road, ten chicken outlets and a lowly Checkers which housed the only cash delivery system for about twenty kilometres. This was the only place to draw money. We parked amongst various vendors selling walky-talkies (SA name for chicken neck and feet) and braaied mielies. Coco stayed in the car whilst Chanelle and I made our way through the various goats and Sangomas to draw money. We arrived back to find Coco in hysterics because a man had tried obtain her for some good old fashioned raping, so needless to say we sped the hell out of there.

Chanelle in tears as she realises that
we are completely lost.

After another hour of driving, the Garmen lady told us to turn left down a gravel road. We knew we were close because the polo fields on which the festival was to take place were down a dirt road. Only once we had reached our destination (the famous Garmen words) we were literally at the end of a footpath which looked on to sewage and cane fields. Literally at the shit-end of the world, we were lost. Apparently this particular GPS likes to take its followers the long way around. Personally I think it was someone’s idea of a cruel joke. But luckily we are resourceful girls. We used our phones to look up the directions on the Freedom Festival website and soon enough we were on our way. The instructions were to take Glendale Road and follow it till the end; “You can’t miss it” according to the website.  Ladies and gentlemen, this is a deceptive remark. We found Glendale Road. What we didn't know at the time is that we were at the other side of Glandale Road. About thirty kilometers from the end of Glendale Road, where we really wanted to be.

Umhlali - beautiful but we weren't there for the scenery! 

We drove at around fourty kilometers fer hour down the rockiest dirt road ever. We were out of cell phone range and our petrol tank had been flashing red for the last half hour. At the top of the next bolder we decided to head back, certain that we had made a wrong turn. We were literally the only people on the road, the festival started at twelve, it was now four and we were getting scared. On our way down we saw a police sign and turned up another dirt road to ask the police for directions. They were helpful and told us we were on the right path but it would be about another twenty kilometers to our destination. We happily drove on. On the way we saw a bunch of small children who had caught a swallow and tied it to a string. I convinced them to let it go in exchange for a packet of Fritos.

Coco and I trying to make our humble abode.

We arrived at the festival at half four and set up our tent for the night. There are two kinds of people who go to a trance party. There are those (like me) who are there for the experience. These people tend to get into the spirit by dressing the part and perhaps even indulging in a bit of contraband. And then there are those who live for trance. They are at every festival; they are the true hippies who are involved in every aspect of a trance party. I met two of these characters. One was a forty-year-old woman who came up to us and asked us: “Do you girls want to spin?” “Sure, why not” we replied. We all held hands and spun around the field. I must say it was rather pleasant in an innocent childlike manner. This was all destroyed however when two men who were clearly not trance regulars joined in. Things got kind of out of hand and our new friend let out a cry: “You are going too fast.” And then it was all over. The second noteworthy character we met was a man we now refer to as ‘the toy maker’. He was a mixture between hippy and Goth, dressed in black, with black hair that would not have passed the ‘pencil test’ during apartheid ( it was shaved at the sides I guess to prevent the afro-effect which his hair is no doubt prone to). I digress. This man made us all imaginary balls in a kind of weird wizard dance. Once each of our balls was made he just stood with the ‘ball’ in his palm until we pretended to take them. I put mine in my pocket and he moved off doing a strange dance with his ball as if it was real and bouncing around. I just wonder what these kinds of people do other than hang out at trance parties? I cannot imagine him functioning in society. As judgemental as that sounds, how does he relate to people in everyday situations like work when he is constantly creating his own world in his head? I suppose on a weird level that is what everybody else is doing – Perhaps just in a less obvious way.

Pretty.

The main dance area. As you can see inhibitions are lost here ... Mr Two-steps.

Anyways, I realised psy trance is not for me. Boom-perdy-boom for twenty four hours can make a person seriously crazy. Literally every DJ set is the same boom-perdy-boom.  I can imagine all the woodland creatures eventually saying: “All right boom-perdy-boom, we get it, but can you change it up a bit for God’s sake?” Bambi’s mom is literally on the verge of suicide every time she gets word that there is going to be another trance party in her neighbourhood!

I love wine ...

At around two in the morning Chanelle and I fell asleep in the back of the car and at eight we woke to the sound of – you guessed it – boom-perdy-boom! We got out of there, and this time (following the right directions) it only took an hour to get home.

Chanelle loves cheese!

The festival by the way was beautiful. It was decorated so beautifully and it was in the most beautiful place. I felt really at peace and I met some of the most wonderful people. I really do recommend that everyone goes to a trance party at least once in their lifetime - if only to experience it.

One love! HERPDI DERP!

Friday night at Live - The Venue

It gets a 3 on the Kinsey scale. 

I had an amazing phone interview a few days ago with one of South Africa’s up-and-coming bands. These guys truly are amazing. Their music is amazing and the singer, I believe, has one of the best voices in the country. I just know these guys are going to be huge, and very soon too. My interview went wonderfully because the lead vocalist who I chatted to was an absolute treat. All too often the fame goes to the musos' heads and the band members walk around thinking they are Mr. Big Dick and they have no time for us little journalists. But not this guy: he was very polite, very sweet, and went as far as inviting me to be on his guest list for the band's gig this Friday. So of course I went – I would have gone anyway!

Saturday was my friend Chanelle’s birthday so naturally she was my plus one for Friday’s gig at Live – The Venue. Unfortunately I was a little late in meeting her at the Durban flat, so whilst I was getting my act together and driving down, she got stuck in to the Vodka. My fault really because I took so damn long. But by the time I got to her I had a lot of catching up to do, which I tried my best to do.  

By the time we got to the venue we had made best friends with our taxi driver, we sang him our favourite Zulu song, and had nearly got knocked over crossing the road, and then I nearly got electrocuted  when I walked into what I thought was a bank van, but what was actually an electricity station. Hot damn.

In the Taxi to Live.

We made our way to the bar, had a couple of drinks and reassessed our sobriety. I was ok, Chanelle remember had just polished of a bottle of vodka on her own. We decided to get meat pies. As fate would have it, we bumped into a rotti merchant at the door and he was good enough to deliver us the onioniest rottie ever. But it saved our lives. 

That face could melt the heart of a thousand warriors. 

The band started and we made our way to the front. Again I will say that this band is absolutely incredible. Their set is really tight, and let’s not forget that Live has got to be the best stage in terms of acoustics. That, combined with the voice of a baby angel and you get pure sexy magic onstage. We had a fab time.

After the set Chanelle and I went to say hello as I had promised to do. We waited patiently whilst all the lusty women and men did their usual gushing over the band. Once things had quietened down I approached a band member to introduce myself: “Hello, I am Alex with Media24. I did your interview last week. Thank you for coming so far to share your music with us”. I got a “Hello” and a grunt as he turned away from me. Yowzer! A little frosty for someone who had asked me to watch the band perform. Things got a little worse. I went to the vocalist who I had interviewed to introduce myself and left Chanelle standing with the other guy. She told me that after a while of standing next to him she said: “Hello you must be freaked out with me standing here.” “Yes I am,” he replied. So then the girl gives it here best; “It’s my birthday tomorrow – I’ll buy you a Jagermeister!” He moved away. 

I'll drink your Jagermeister!

This might sound a little silly, but if you are in a band, and you are doing well, there is a chance that you just might meet some girls who don’t actually want to fuck you. I get that there are groupies around, and in this band's defence they were being swarmed with pussay, but we were there as friends and as their guests. Yes we love you. No we don’t want you - just your music. Let this not tarnish their stellar performance and their absolute professionalism. I still think they are great, but common – it was Chanelle's birthday, let her buy you a drink for Christ’s sake!

But no, I still love you. After that we headed to Origin for another of my friend's farewell. But we ended up spending an hour at the hot dog stand instead where Chanelle got the biggest wors of her life. We ended the night on the couch watching The Banger Sisters, oddly enough, a movie about two groupies ...

Bend and snap!

4U Rage Intro - Rocca Bar Street Party

It's pure love between us! 

This weekend was probably one of the busiest to date – and it followed after one of the busiest weeks of my life. Slowly and happily my career is starting to take off and the sheer excitement of my wonderful life has left me in a crazy stupor. I really do mean crazy. I mean like bat-shit crazy.

After my busy week, my plan was to pop into three events in Durban for a couple of hours and then to go home to bed on Friday night. Then I heard that my wonderful friend Chanelle would be in town, so one thing lead to another and we ended up planning a whole night of partying instead. 

After a long drive we arrived at our accommodation for the night, both needing to pee really bad. You know the night is about to go south when you step out of the car at a gated residence and find yourself squatting behind a tree. Chanelle is the kind of friend you can pull your pants down in front of. As soon as we got inside our host said she could see everything from the window. She also alerted us to the fact that our heels looked like we had just run through a sprinkler.

Our first destination was an awesome club that I usually go to and I really wanted to party with my friend that night. But as soon as we got there I knew something was different. We were the oldest people there. It was crazy. We stood out from the crowd looking about a hundred years old. But being the positive person I am we decided to persevere and have a drink. Many Tequilas and a G & T later and we were still the oldest people in the club. So I decided to called up my wonderful friend Jay Tweek and asked him where the hell he was. 

I never could handle my tequilas!

We arrived at the Rocca bar Street Party completely overdressed. I was wearing a slutty dress with fantastic red wedges and, needless to say, my pretty shoes are now ruined. We found Jay and started ordering shots. I am not entirely sure what else we did that night besides drink, dance and party.

Rocca was really awesome – they should host outdoor events more often. The club has a really interesting design and when it is opened up like it was on Friday, it becomes a really fun maize of music. Chanelle and I ruined our shoes dancing to P.H.Fat. We realised that all the adults we had missed in the previous club were at this bar instead. Which is another reason I am so impressed because with the thousands of bodies all around, we had no problem at all getting a drink, perfect!

Jay Tweek doing his thang, take a look at those guns.

Jay was asked to play with Veranda Panda so Chanelle and I spent the rest of the night dancing. As soon as his set was done at around four, he gave us a lift home, but not before getting a meat pie at the local petrol station (this is getting to be a habit). Then Chanelle showed me how to TC (tactical chunder) which was just hilarious and didn’t work at all. Now that I am sober I realise that Jay is probably horrified at having to watch me behave so inappropriately. But at least he laughed! 

We woke up the next morning, watched Death Becomes Her and ate the world’s burniest pizza. Awesome weekend. Rocca aweh! 

So much love, and my ass is too big for that dress - White girl got junk yall!

The Colour Festival Durban

Sure looks colourful!

Saturday the 6th April saw the first Colour Festival to be held in Durban after recent success in Jo'burg and Cape Town. Now before everyone gets all up in arms and tells me that the Holi Fest has been around for decades ... I know. I said that this is the first, of many, Colour Festival's to hit Durban. The promoters of this event tout it as an electronic dance party which incorporates the coloured powders from the original Holi Festival in India combined with a "stellar line-up of local and international deejays". 

LEFT: Before Colour Fest
RIGHT: At Colour Fest.

Crowds.

Now forgive me for my negativity so early on, but I don’t recall any international DJ’s. However, I will give the organisers the benefit of the doubt because they were probably referring to the Cape Town and Jo’burg venues. The music was good and the general atmosphere was just incredible. I had so many people tell me that they absolutely loved the festival and they loved the concept. I think that it is really exciting for Durban to hold these kinds of events.

So what did I think? Not that it makes a difference, but here is my tale about this colourful event.

The queue at the entrance.

My friends and I got to the Wavehouse, Gateway at around 3 pm. On the way in I passed our official photographer for the newspaper who had earlier been so eager to do the event. He was leaving and had only two words for me ‘Sodom and Gomorrah’. Now when shit gets biblical you know that you are at the right kind of party.

Ronnie ends this video in an awkward way ...

I was so grateful for my media pass because the line for the entrance was crazy. Despite the thousands of people, it only really took ten minutes for my friends to enter the event. Once we got inside we traded our tickets for two packets of colour powder. This was when I got my first powder experience. What nobody told us - I guess because it is common sense - is that the stuff gets everywhere. My first dust cloud entered my mouth and nostrils. I was left coughing and spluttering - begging for mercy. Just as I took my second breath another cloud hit me. Thank god for my sunnies or I would have been blind as well.

You have to watch this ...

I was a bit annoyed with the powder packet people because they were not allowing people with R190 tickets to get any powder,  although their ticket stated they should get two packets each. Luckily my friends stood firm and insisted they get their powder. Forty minutes later we were off to the bar. Honestly I lost my shit. The problem with using the Wavehouse as a venue is that it actually does not have enough facilities. This is not just my opinion. There were not enough bar facilities and not nearly enough bathrooms. It took over an hour to get drinks at the bar. Not just because the bar was too small to serve the large crowd, but also because the bar kept running out of stock. We all just stood and waited for more stock to be brought in. Very sad. I had to be a snob and get us all drinks from VIP because it was the only properly run bar. 

Always with the mouth open -
No wonder I  am still coughing up purple.

As for the bathrooms, you know us girls and our bladders. After eventually buying our buckets we all needed to pee. Unfortunately for us we had to leave the Wavehouse and actually go into Gateway to use the bathroom. The whole of Colour Fest was doing the same because nobody wanted to wait in an hour-long queue. At one stage in the night my friend and I went to the men’s bathroom because we couldn’t wait any longer. Only to find ourselves ankle-deep in what we now know was urine. Desperate times... Also while I am on this tangent, the Colour fest website promised showers to rinse ourselves off ... I guess there was one in the heavily populated, unbearably overcrowded bathroom.

This is the only pic you will ever see of me on the loo.
As vulgar as it is, I think that it illustrates a point.

 I did have an amazing time despite all my whining. I think this is going to be a regular festival on Durban’s calendar and I will return. I love to dance and I loved getting colourful. Colour Fest Durban was over all too soon. But not our night...

Amy and I had got separated from our herd. So we decided to taxi back to Umhlanga, get some pizza, clean the powder from our nooks and crannies and head out to XS nightclub. We ended up sitting on the grass at Engen waiting for our taxi for ages – it seemed to be the common story for the night. So - and this is incredibly naughty of us, do not do this ever - we ended up asking some fellow Colour Fest revellers for a ride. Not the smartest thing I have ever done. Their car had a strange curtain up which separated the front of the car from the back. We told them we were going to Cotton Fields and as soon as they drove off we ran back to our hotel room at The Oysters.

I spent the rest of my night chatting to my good friend Jay Tweek as well as arguing with the owner of FITS about the article I wrote about him.

What an awesome weekend. I could not have had a better time if I tried. To everyone else who went to Colour Fest Durban, makeup remover is the only way to get that purple out of your pores ... it’s a pleasure!

The next morning we cured our hangovers with a Big Daddy beer at Hooters.

Splashy Fen 2013 - Part 2

Five minutes later I was face down in the brown ... At least I did not spill my tea.

This year’s Splashy Fen lived up to its name with a downpour starting on Friday night which cooled the Underberg Valley down after a scorching week of sunshine. The rain came back with a vengeance on Saturday night leaving me drenched, but it did not manage to dampen my spirits as I took to the various tents to stay dry, drink and listen to music.

This is the place where good clothes go to die.

After days of deliberation I had decided to travel down to Splashy fen on my own. I was really feeling good about this decision because I was going there to write so the fewer distractions the better. The night before I was to set off I got a message from my friend in Cape Town. He was on his way to Splashy and wanted to know if I wanted a ride. Considering that I am the world’s worst driver and have no sense of direction, I decided to change my independent woman attitude (to an extent) and become a co-driver. Anybody that drives from Cape Town to Splashy gets my company any day.

The beer tent became the host comedy
package on Sunday due to the rain
washing out the Splashy Fen Marquee. 

Unfortunately for my dear friend, we still ended up getting lost ... A good few times. I however call it divine intervention because by the time we eventually got there we had missed the torrential downpour.  My friend drove in his VW Caddy van – extra length, so we didn’t even have to pitch a tent. Once again I thank the stars because the rain meant that any actual camping - in a tent - would have sucked balls. Our ride had two mattresses in the back, two down duvets, blankets, pillows and all the comforts of home. Plus we were mobile so we could just pull up to the jol!

Besides the music -which was the reason I was at Splashy, my highlight for the weekend was spending the Saturday night downpour with one of my good friends in the beer tent. All I can tell you is that this man can drink. We started the night at the bar. He asked the bartender for a bottle of vodka and ten Red Bull’s. I know it is not good to judge, but if I were to guess, our bartender was about eighteen, she probably had never worked behind a bar and she was really out of her depth at this point in her life. Being the good girl she is, she asked her dad if it was OK. He said no. So my friend asked her if she could pour him thirty drinks instead. The look on her face made my night. We later bought a bottle of Jagermeister from her dad.

Some of our Easter entertainment.

Apart from the Easter eggs I got showered with on Sunday morning, I loved the ‘chill’ areas at this year’s festival. I spent hours in the smokers lounge, I don’t smoke, but it was fully equipped with couches, bean bags and the most amazing security man who kept fetching us tea and coffee. The Mobile Cafe saved my life, they sold over two thousand cups of warmth on Saturday alone and I swear most of them were sold to me. 

Food place ...

Aaand I am glad I didn't drive
my own car ...  

I have to thank so many people for my amazing weekend, you know who you are. But lets be honest, the music was amazing. Jay was charming, P.H.Fat broke me, Niskerone and Miki - Love, Veranda Panda, Paul Snodgrass killed and sharing Red Bull's with Phizicist -  the best.

And my yummy sponsored meals from Pasta Boys, I am sure that they know that I love them. Thank you Craig and Winton and that man from the Dominican Republic. I love you all.

I love Splashy