Renoir Paints the Walls

The whole atmosphere of A Day on the Green reeked of middle aged men and women, the local wine, Heineken beer and tobacco. My first ever summer festival and I was with my parents. Sad, I know, but no one else I know loves The Angels, or has even heard of them. Probably due to the fact that when they were famous, none of my friends were even single celled micro-organisms inside their parents’ bodies.

There was nothing more fun than using the picnic rug as a temporary shelter from the rain while the man on stage sung When the River Runs Dry, or getting unlimited free V energy drinks in all 3 flavors. It was after about my 2nd can in half an hour that it was pretty much certain that caffeine does not affect me in the slightest. I enjoyed watching the people around me, observing them and their behaviors. I saw 50 year old women, who look like in their average life would be fairly sophisticated, taking swigs out of wine bottles. I was there to witness a blonde beauty wearing a blue crochet bikini top underneath a see-through beige long sleeve shirt on the shoulders of a man. She swayed and danced to the music, and even through her aviator sunglasses, it was obvious that she had captured the attention of one of the guitarists. She was aware of it and she played him like he strummed his guitar. You could see it, the two of them watching each other. Although the blonde beauty had to be almost 40 years younger than he, she enjoyed making him smile that way. If only I had the ability to capture someone’s attention like that. Without saying a single word. I placed myself at the front of the stage when the band I had waited so long to see came out to perform. I danced with people old enough to be my parents (except for the odd few) while observing everyone around me, and silently laughing at Doc Neeson’s skin coloured garter that became visible after he removed his jacket.

After refusing an old man a bite of my meat pie, it was obviously apparent that a lot of the crowed was intoxicated. The crowd that is probably filled with the exact people that are trying to stop teenage binge drinking, yet when you put them all together at a music festival where they try and re-live their prime years, they’re worse than any teens. I’m glad I can still walk around without having anyone support my weight/trying to shove me in the right direction. Hopefully they stayed clear from the steering wheel, if they were even able to find their car in the dark.

Perhaps next time I’ll choose to go to a festival without my parents and where I don’t have to reject toothless men asking for a bite of my food.