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Woodford really is an amazing place. I mean honestly, where else on Earth would you be able to spend a lazy Sunday morning lining up for a sausage sizzle outside Smithy’s IGA with nothing to listen to but the sweet sounds of a young Woodfordian playing Train’s entire back catalogue? Not in Brisbane that’s for damn sure, and it was in these homely surroundings that I suddenly felt safe in the knowledge that for 2010, Splendour in the Grass was going to be just fine. All the signature trademarks of a classic Byron Bay Splendour are there in these otherwise unfamiliar surroundings. There’s plenty of dirt and trees; a fine selection of tie-dyed clothing, mid strength Smirnoff’s and fist pumping party boys as far as the eye can see. Yep. Just chuck in an extra day, change the state and baby, it’s beginning to look a lot like Splendour. Maybe i’m a diva, but I don’t do camping. Thought I could, failed miserably and now I feel it’s wholly necessary for me to remove my treasured Bear Grylls doppleganger photo from my Facebook profile. How could I even think I stood any chance of matching the survival instincts of the man with the mighty nose and an insatiable appetite for BLOOD. Actually, if Bear was forced to watch my attempts at manning up on the first day during the tent construction phase he probably would have been downright ill, and considering Bear didn’t even chunder after drinking his own urine then you can safely assume that I was terrible. Who would have thought that masculinity alone doesn’t make for a quick and easy tent construction. Throw in pitch black darkness, a torrential downpour and the very real threat of a mudslide of crazy South American proportions and you’ve pretty much got my first night at Splendour. I’m just glad Bear wasn’t around to see me slipping and getting airborne after losing it completely on a drunken trip to the shower block. Impressive, but embarrassing. Thursday came and went in a hung over haze but as Friday finally arrived the

punters were ready to reap the rewards of their 450 dollar deposit. Getting biblically drunk the night before and losing all your modes of communication made locating friends and navigating the grounds fairly challenging and also makes for a pretty lacklustre day, so the lol’s are at a minimum. I did manage to locate a friend long enough for him to disprove the theory that if you roll underneath the tent towards the back of the Mo Rockin’ Wine Bar you do not in fact end up in Narnia, but you do find an empty back area perfect for all bathroom emergencies. Store that in your memory banks for Splendour 2011; it could save your life. Saturday? More like Strokesday. This forgettable introductory sentence pretty much sums up the general feeling shared by a large portion of the festival’s attendees. Using my festival intuition I decided to beat the crowd and stake out a spot close enough to and once they got on stage they of course proceeded to kill it armed with their extremely solid back catalogue and famous New York steez. The time had come for drastic measures as the Sunday morning sun shone down on many a shirtless bogan who had passed out on their deckchairs after a wild Saturday. Firstly, let’s get one thing straight, bathrooms are magnificent and amazing things and should never, ever be taken for granted. The brushing of teeth, bathing and relieving of oneself in picturesque and pristine white porcelain filled rooms is a priceless moment of joy. I can’t speak for the girls, but time spent in the bathroom for the male race is time which should be cherished. Although after 3 days of hard-living and hard-drinking the bathroom facilities of the Marshall C campsite weren’t pristine, they were downright frightening. So frightening that they had managed to achieve urban legend status around the campgrounds. In fact im pretty sure some thoughtful camper or campers inadvertently opened a portal to Hell in toilets 1 and 4 of our toilet/shower block, and if you were brave enough to look down said portal, you would have bared witness to some serious evil. So it was decided that it was completely necessary for me and another friend to undertake a desperate preening mission to find some neighbouring campgrounds as far away from toilets 1 and 4 as possible. After being reassured by a friend that she was not in fact taking me deep into the countryside in order to murder me, we finally made it to a random but picturesque camping retreat. Feeling a little more badass than we actually were, we grabbed our towels and stealthily made our way through the grounds and utilised the much cleaner and nicer facilities. Still feeling totally badass we were ready to face the final day of Splendour and made our way back to our own camping grounds to do as a lovely gentleman camping nearby recommended and get shitfaced.

It was at about 6am that I and all my camping buddies decided to end the sleepless pain and make a run for it before the throbbing mass of humanity decided to return from whence they came. I had a date with the Oporto breakfast menu in Brisbane and as a result we thought it was best if we just made the quickest escape possible. This meant that the tent, which had become our humble abode for the past few days had to be sacrificed to the sun gods of Woodfordia. Who knows if our tent will still be there waiting for my return in 2011 but as Bear Grylls is my witness you best believe that I’ll be back ready to reclaim my manhood in a blaze of camping glory.

Splendour In The Grass  

Here is a little write up I did during the time I spent writing for Peny Lane (A Brisbane fashion and culture blog). This is basically a rou...

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