I was dreaming about music festivals again.
I was organising one, in the most beautiful grounds of a mansion, not far from the sea. In fact, from the place I was camping there, I could just see the sea and cliffs over the treetops.
My memory of dreams fades throughout the day and I can’t remember this clearly, apart from sitting around a table with the other people who were organising this festival, who were also my uni lecturers. A lot of my friends where there too. We had this private little meadow to ourselves to camp in, but we could hear people arrive at the festival over a hedge.
We were camping in really cool tiny geodesic-dome tents in a grey-brown canvas, each just big enough for one person. The groundsheet was seperate to the poles and canvas, so we decided to play a joke on a friend by lifting his tent up while he was sleeping but he was all curled up like a cat, so I think we just said ‘awww’ and put his roof back.
There are a lot of fragments of walking around places sorting stuff out, calling people on 2-way radios, lots of concrete pads with abandoned farm machinery. Lots of being really bony-weary tired but sitting around that table leaning on the person next to me because I was so damn tired… People appreciating I was tired and I’d pulled my weight in sorting out this festival and just holding me and letting me nap in their arms.