They opened the car parks today for the Reading Festival…it seems to get earlier every year. When I was growing up round Reading the Festival was such a little thing (relatively speaking) you’d hardly know it was on if it wasn’t for the slight increase in people with long hair and Iron Maiden (!) T-shirts in the town centre.
These days you can tell the Festival is drawing near for weeks in advance as all the Port-a-loos turn up in the fields by the river and seem to stay there for several weeks afterwards.
The heavens opened in Reading this afternoon, about the same time as the car parks opened. I trudged past all these happy campers after work, one after the other they marched up the towpath in their brand new wellies, various degrees of waterproofs carrying cheap new tents (hope they are waterproof) and trolleys of beer…I watched them as a crossed the weir, pausing to admire the torrent of water coming through the weir gates.
To be Frank, and please feel free to call me an old fogey, but I don’t care how good the music is, you wouldn’t catch me camping in an area known to flood this weekend…