While My Guitar Gently Weeps

There is a two-day music festival this weekend, down on the Cotswolds, in North Oxfordshire.

It’s not the kind of festival that would be graced by the local glitterati; it’s a free music festival.

Yes, that’s right. A free music festival!

I’ve been before; two or three times (five, actually).

I’ve even played guitar on a very inconsequential stage during a day-time slot. This sentence says more about the level of expertise of the band I played with at that time, than about anything else.

But that’s not what this thought-dump is about.

I would like to go to the aforementioned, two-day free music festival.

But there is me and there is her and there are her two girls.

It would mean, if we went for the two days, camping. In a field. Overnight. Actually, the distance between here and there is so great that it would, in all likelihood, mean staying out for the first night anyway.

And in the festival world, staying out overnight means camping.

Unless we don’t?

Another unless is ‘unless we don’t go’…

The weather forecast for the weekend is awesome.

The list of bands is brilliant, but Saturday night’s schedule has a couple of ‘must see’ names.

And I’d like to must see them all.