Having a Positive Latitude

Someone (I can’t remember who, and I don’t have time to Google) once said you shouldn’t let the truth stand in the way of a good story. With that in mind, I nearly called this post A Real Latitude Problem, which would have been funnier (I use the term relatively) although not very accurate. But I just couldn't do it. Latitude was excellent fun and to describe it as anything less just feels wrong.

I discovered that pop-up tents, while a doddle to errect, are a nightmare to pack away again. I only have dim memories of high school physics but I'm pretty sure we didn't study anything which remotely resembled the very complicated twisty mechanics involved.

I also discovered that boys (of any age) have an endless vocabulary when it comes to bodily functions; I went with three friends, all male, and at various points over the weekend one or other of them announced they were weeing, whizzing, whazzing, peeing, having a slash, taking a leak and going to the gents. I am told that these all mean the same thing; the last one was made funnier by the facts that a) the toilets were all unisex and b) Neil, who said it, was wearing a nun's outfit* at the time.

Tom Jones sang in the woods at midnight. Phil Jupitus and Ben Miller rocked at karaoke. Paul "Beautiful South" Heaton donated a bottle of cognac to the front row of the audience, who politely passed it around during his set. Empire of the Sun wore crazy outfits, Stephen K Amos dealt with middle-class heckles ("What's your name?" "Harry" "Of course it is") and Rich Hall was apparently very funny, but I wouldn't know because I was too busy deciding whether to see the end of James or the start of Noah and the Whale to go and watch him.

Late on Friday night, on a stage built over the lake, Daniel Kitson and Gavin Osborn (brilliant comedian and gorgeous singer-songwriter respectively) told stories about love. With the sky full of stars and a breeze blowing through the pine trees, it was nothing short of magic.

I could go on. But I won't; if you were there as well then you know what an amazing event it is and if you weren't, well, poor you. Having me tell you about coloured sheep and the ballet dancers in the woods and poetry performances and comedy and cabaret and the comfy couches in the literary salon probably won't be much fun.

Having me tell you about smelly toilets and communal showers and my newfound respect for the inventors of wet-wipes might be marginally more fun, in a schadenfreude-esque sort of way, but likely to put you off going next year, and that's the last thing I'd want to do.  Latitude is ACE. 

That is all.


* This outfit is also the reason that, in the early hours of Sunday morning I found myself saying to a guy in a wrestling mask "I've lost my friends. Have you seen a nun and a monk?" Not something I ever thought I'd hear myself say, especially while wearing a bright pink afro wig.