DID you optimistically buy a ticket to a festival even though it was a gamble as to whether it would happen? Here’s how to cope with realising you won’t be going.
You were convinced you’d be lying in a muddy field, sunburnt and maybe having a bad ketamine trip this August. The very thought of it got you through lockdown. It’s definitely happening this year – something as trifling as a £10 million insurance risk won’t stop the music.
You can’t believe that the apparently bohemian, hippy festival you’ve naively been enjoying for all these years has actually turned out to be hugely corporate and is bowing to The Man. You’re so furious that you burn your inflatable armchair and comedy jester hat in the garden.
There must be some way it can still happen. What if everyone was in a zorb ball? Or they halved the crowd and it was socially distanced? They must know you wouldn’t start hugging strangers and telling them you love them after seven pints and half an E. You’re a responsible adult.
All of the fun and joy of life have been removed now that you can’t spend three days getting shitfaced and not changing your clothes. You are in a deep, dark pit of despair, and feel almost as bad as you do the Monday after a festival when you haven’t slept for three days and have only eaten dodgy burgers.
Well, it’s sad, but actually think of all the money and brain cells you’ll save, not to mention the fact that you won’t need two weeks off work to recover and no one will have to put up with you banging on about how ‘life changing’ Idles were on the Friday night. Maybe it’s not so bad after all.