Music festivals are great. We know this, you know this, everybody knows this.
Tents definitely know this. Festivals are bloody brilliant if you’re a tent. They’re a rare outing. A trip away from that seldom touched area of the loft which serves as your home for 51 miserable weeks of the year. An opportunity to hang out with some other tents and listen to the distant sounds of some cracking music. Bliss.
But, let’s face it: there are pitfalls. Sliding away in a sludgy tide as your owner watches on, helplessly. Being urinated on by baseball-capped oiks while the other tents stand, frozen in fear, trying not to draw attention to themselves for fear of similar treatment. Being eaten by a cow. These are just a few of the many ways a festival can go wrong for a tent.
If we were a tent – and, as you’ve probably gathered, we’ve spent more time than is categorically healthy thinking about being a tent – we’d want to go to Benicassim.
That way, we’d get to spend our days reclining in the Spanish sunshine in a nice beach resort. And we’d get to go for eight days – because that’s what a camping ticket entitles you to. It’s like tenty Shangri La.
Plus, this year, we’d get to listen to Arctic Monkeys, Arcade Fire, The Strokes, Mumford & Sons, Elbow, Friendly Fires, Pendulum, The Streets and Tinie Tempah, plus loads of others.
Although, it would be a bit of a drag being tent-poled to the ground the whole time, and not being able to hit the beach or check out the veritable delights of nearby Valencia and Barcelona. But maybe that says more about the innate drawbacks of being a tent than it does about Benicassim.
Poor old tents.
Get you and your tent a ticket here.