Graffiti Garden party

Bearing up suprisingly well under the weight of my birthday present to myself (a woefully lingering and persistant hangover) I frantically threw together my supplies for the weekend, rendering the boat a compete shambles in the process. Getting older has only (foolishly) reinforced my confidence that I can pull this style of prep work off, tackling it whilst suffering the after effects of a suprisingly entertaining impromptu birthday celebration was not pleasant, a picnic compared to what was to come on the Sunday after the Graffiti Project Garden party at Kelburn Castle.


Being thrown into the mix to fend for myself was invigorating, I think I had become slightly complacent as I grew used to moving in Burner circles where its harder to NOT make friends. Loved it, the environment of the castle and its art was spectacular, the grounds perfect for late night exploration and the mix of people from uber-chav to ultra-rich made for an interesting crowd in which to weave my blinkie magic.

Most memorable moments:

Erecting the large dome and kitting it out with fairly lights and elwire as my neighbours looked on with shocked mocking eyes. Later to confide in me that despite looking a bit mental, after all the effort I put in they definietly wanted to hang out.

Young stylish chav trying to scrounge up a condom, me helping the poor lad out only for him to ask if I had one that was flavoured, no. Then what about ribbed, no son this aint fucking Boots. Cheeky shit.

Twitchy chav admitting he was going to steal my goggles until he realised it was me in a new costume, then asked to borrow them, feeling in someway he had just proved how trust worthy he truly was.

Bribing some big guy with sweeties to go stop his friend jumping off the bridge, big guy promptly marches up to the guy, grabs him around the waist, drags him to the other side of the banister and then carries him back to me upside down; pockets emptying all over the bridge causing a scramble type affair amongst the other pedestrians.

Watching one of the graffiti artists force down a hamburger even though he is a vegetarian out of sheer desperation, I was happily munching on mine after making a break from the tent and going on the scavange for "proper" food.

Stumbling across a group of Aussies who whilst straight looking to start with rock up an hour later in more camp outfits than my own; purchased in Aberdeen no less. The leopard print leggings with a leather gerkin were a definite winner.

Seeing how many people from Leeds you can fit in a small sports car, 3 apparently with one being reduced to a mere head and shoulders. Later same person evolving legs as we go on a wander and expressing a desire to go back to the head a nd shoulders situation as it wasn't nearly so grim.

Bridget happily spinning fire, watching chavs gather round like proper moths to the flame. Stopping one from approaching mid spin in the hope for a light, common sense was a little short on the ground in some camps.

Encountering a spur to spur interface issue and falling flat on my face after introducing myself to a large group of people. Quite the first impression to make.

Hearing about 6 chavs who legged it into the shrubs with a case of beer each, after being asked to help carry them to the bar. It was a free bar, these guys then hid in the bushes drinking whilst they could have been enjoying the tunes and supping as much as they wanted in comfort.

Having the principles of falconery explained to me by the head falconer at Kelburn castle and his two apprentices. Apparently there are 5 stages involved, the last being teaching your bird to hunt, at which point you become a falconer, until that point you are a Fanny! One of the apprentices was not only a Fanny but also a Trumpet.

Undergoing no less than 3 costume changes and confusing the hell out of the more wasted revellers, as they couldn't work out if it was me or a completely new person who just looked a bit like me.

Wandering along in a mission to find the secret garden, no idea whether I actually found it or not but I did disappear for over an hour. So there could have been magic at play...possibly...or more likely there is no garden and it is just a cunning ruse.

Finding some ming during a major MOOP sweep, finding no one to claim it and sharing out the love appropriately. It did make the whole process go a lot more smoothly in some camps.

Mister Squint destroying the dancefloor with a skew-whiff tank helmet (mine), trashed pink sunglasses (lost & found) and some devastating body popping footwork. Miss "you really do look like David Tennat" falling into uncontrollable fits of laughter everytime he burst into her field of vision still dancing despite the late hour, the crap weather and the fact no other bugger still had the balls to keep going.

Zen style becoming one with nature is no protection against the Scottish midge, only a flamethrower will apparently do. Midge bites are now on my list of least favouirte things, along with flip flops and cous cous.

Being told a horrific story by one lady about how she was trying to pull one of my neighbours but instead managed to scare him off properly running down the street in the other direction . Finding him the next day looking dazed, dirty and very bruised with a feeling something bad had happened. Didn't have the heart to tell him.

Feeling a proud moment as I watched the crowd making its way up to the DJ tent and 1-in-3 wearing a blinkie of my creation. It was even easier to be king of the blink there than it was to be the best (read most ludicrously) dressed.

Trudging back to my tent on Sunday undergoing 1000w evil stares form the well-to-do golfers next door, the staff and most importantly the famillies arriving to enjoy a nice day out at the castle. This situation not being improved by my mad dash through the carpark naked (but foir a strategically placed sleeping bag) to get my clothes from the car. How they got in the car whilst I was in my tent, in the dome I do not know. Zooty recommened I go with the catepillar technique unzipping the bottom of the sleeping bag, instead I did the superman with extra crotch grab, more manouverability.

Sitting like laird in my tent within a dome setup, Russian doll style. Take one small tent, erect within a large dome and sit in the middle looking all smug in a sleeping bag pulled up to your ears. Until it really starts to piss down and the noise becomes unbearable. Not even piling all your (damp) clothes on your head is able to quiet the din.

Escaping the site to a B&B in Largs soaked through, unable to access any dry clothes and with only a bag of haribos and a nutri-grain bar for sustenance. Munching on both in the bath feeling ridiculously content in my overly tongue and grooved pine covered cupboard that is impersonating as a bathroom.

Driving home after a 5.30am start mainlining IRN-BRU and Ian Rankin audio books, it was rough but in the context of the Nowhere drive a complete piece of piss. Arriving at work shattered, still vaguely damp but satisfied. Thank christ for flexi time.