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Festival

It was high summer and the sun was setting, lighting pink and amber flares in the clouds as it did…

 

We were surrounded by thousands of happy people snuggling into blankets and fleeces as the temperature dropped. We were waiting for Razorlight to come on stage to headline the first day of the Cornbury festival.

Arun, my seven year old was looking a little worried as he sat on my lap. He tugged at me and looked up at me.

“Oh no!” He exclaimed. “We’ve forgotten to go to bed!”

I laughed out aloud and gave him a big squeeze. “No Arun, we haven’t. We’re just staying up a little later to watch some music.”

He seemed happy with that, concern at his comfortable bedtime routine being disrupted having been allayed.

Sadly, festival season is over for us. We went to three this year – Radio 1 Big Weekend, Cornbury and the Cambridge Folk Festival.

As many of you will know, I have a spectacular dislike of folk music. Any genre that considers an accordion solo acceptable should be taken out and shot. However, this year was the fourth year in a row that I have been to the Cambridge folk festival simply because it’s a great place to take the kids in a safe, not too big, not too small festival with a great atmosphere and lovely food. Oh, it also has great toilets.

Arun, loves music and it is the one thing that has consistently spoken to him through his cerebral palsy and autism. Through exposure at festivals, my daughter, Meri, loves music too. She is familiar with not only the Foo Fighters and Taylor Swift (many five year olds would be) but also the Imagine Dragons, Larkin Poe and Frank Turner (indeed – she’s met the last two). I think that’s pretty good and eclectic taste for a five year old.

My aunt commented when she saw the pictures of them at Cornbury, “She’s going to be a real festival chick – flowers in her hair.”

“Yes,” I said. “She’s already been to more festivals aged five than I had been to aged thirty five.”

“Ha! I can see the two of them traipsing off to Glastonbury in twelve years’ time.”

“That’s fine by me,” I responded. “As long as they take their old man.”

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