I spent saturday at
Field Day in Victoria Park. It was wet and muddy and I got caught out by wearing vans with no socks on. It was also filled to the brim with shoreditch's finest totty which, albeit a bit pretentious, more than made up for my watery pain.
Me and my mates decided it would be a great idea to be thrifty (cheap) and pre-drink outside. In our heads, we were sticking two fingers up to the festival bars and their £3.70 a can madness.
Our mate MJ was obviously a lot more gutsy.
We're in! Smiles all round.
Here we are with our bar bought cans. Guess our rebellious stand was no match for the allure of lukewarm pear cider. Goodbye £3.70. Hello Mr Drunk.
Santigold's set was delayed by 30 minutes. Those 30 minutes also happened to coincide with a torrential downpour of hollywood blockbuster proportions. We were not best pleased. We were even waiting so long that a bit of facial hair action started going on. Burt Reynolds has nothin on us.
She came on eventually and the crowd were pretty hype. The whole apology routine went down and although she did the usual crowd pleasers and a cover of The Cure's '
Killing an arab', her set didn't feel worth the soggy jeans and wet feet. Might've been because her backup singers were made to be moody as fuck and expressionless the whole way through. But I'm probably just bitter that the delay's with her set meant that Skream's set was cut to a miniscule 15 minutes as a consequence.
The rain cleared up considerably after Santigold's set (typical) and it revealed this magnificent sunset. Spirits were lifted - we're easily pleased.
Mystery Jets were the surprise number 1 set of the day. They got the set list spot on, launching into '
Hideaway' complete with the sirens to build up hype and following it up with compulsory singalongs '
Half in Love With Elizabeth' and '
Two Doors Down'. Another added bonus was finding the cheeky bevvy that we managed to smuggle in using all our wit and charm. Needless to say, we had a ball!
This is a photo I took walking home at 6:30am the next morning. We all ended back at my mates flat to afterparty which consisted of watching Charlie Sheen's finest hour in '
The Wraith' and Samuel L Jackson being a straight up gee in '
Jackie Brown'. Wild.
