Splendour Blues

Sigh. This weekend the entire world bar me is at Byron Bay for Splendour In The Grass. Not so long ago I was on a record of nearly striking five years in a row. The conclusion of Splendour just had me counting down the 364 days to go until the next one. I swore I would bring my (future) kids when it came to it so mumma can still have a boogie and unleash her hippy spirit via henna, an armful of string bracelets, gumboots and headbands. Unfortunately work commitments have stolen this pleasure away from me and all I can do is reminisce. Splendour is so much more than just an event, its a culture. I miss the road trip, with the token Maccas stopoffs and random friend making with all the other north bound grommets. I miss the Big Banana photo op. I miss the wedding chapel of evil, the rainbow slurpees spiked with my BYO vodka, the carefree vibe, the party in the tee pees, and the occasional 'actual' hippy- glazed eyes, cotton wrap around 'skants' and armpit hair in full tow. AND I miss the music. The eery and powerful sounds of Florence and her machine, the sing along campsite feel of Mumford & Sons, the synchronised dance moves to Hot Chip, and the sitting on shoulders to Birds of Tokyo. The amount of times 'I loved this song' actually turned into a drinking game. Speaking of which, I miss the caravan and the vodka breakfasts, the festive spirit of everyone on the bus, the suspense in walking into the festival and the arrival; the middle of winter sun striking heat so warm a new pair of speciality festival shorts were required each day. Funny how sometimes you can feel such intense love for something. I heart music at the best of times. I heart Splendour more than my potential wedding day!
* Words that I do admit may have escaped my mouth on the odd occasion...
** Granted being the true romantic that I am, once upon a time I have also been known to declare that I would marry Triple J and the Shire's local nightclub if I could...