Days of apocalyptic rain aside, I’m packing for a festival this weekend. What a difference fours years and two kids makes.
Here’s a rough idea of my essentials packing list pre and post children.
Costumes x 3
Accompanying wigs, underwear, tights, jewellery, nail polish, footwear
Any necessary props
Suitable festival bag
Glitter and make up sourced from theatrical costume shop in Covent Garden
Variety of LED lights for night time
Twinkly LED umbrella
Eye mask and ear plugs
Hot water bottle
Ankle length pack-a-mac
I realise this doesn’t look as though I’m preparing for three days of unbridled freedom with my festival besties and that in actual fact I’m going walking in the Lake District.
This shameful display is not representative of all parents. I know plenty of festival-loving friends who are fully committed to family life and still turn up to the event bedecked in a witty interpretation of the festival theme, insouciance in tact.
Alas I’m not one of those people. Parenthood has taught me quickly and harshly that I’m a chronically awful multi tasker.
Since becoming a mother I seem to be wholly focused on that, for no other reason then I bloody love it. But it means other areas of my life – career, cultural pursuits, glitter shopping etc has all plopped down the toilet; stymied by motherhood and not having room for an au pair.
But I’m not a total stick in the mud. (Mud – dearest holy fuck, I hope it’s not too muddy or I’ll have to go home). I still love a party. I’ll be in that sweaty crowd. It’s just that instead of dazzling in glitter and costumery, I’ll probably look like I’ve just wandered off Helvellyn.
Not in any way cool. But damn comfy.
Dancing and spending time with friends is of course still high on the list of priorities.
But as for the other usual festival excesses? The idea of having an entire weekend all to myself without wiping anyone is making me so joyful and light-headed I’m not sure it’s even necessary.
Now where’s that book…