Happy Campers!

I'm reading at a festival this weekend. You can tell by how the clouds are gathering, it's growing cold and threatening rain. Apparently there are sunny festivals sometimes. I have never witnessed such a thing. The very first festival I went to was Reading Festival in 19ahemahem (bad enough I had to admit to the 19) and it rained so much that I fell into a bog on my way back to my tent one night and had to be pulled out by kindly passers by. I was encased in mud up to my chest and the only thing I had to clean myself off with was a packet of Wet Wipes. My clothes were so filthy and wet that on the last day I had to walk around in my pyjamas. I thought that was bad. A few years ago at Glastonbury I woke up at five in the morning to find it raining on my face through a tent that was not built to withstand monsoon. By noon half the site was underwater. On that occasion I had to resort to walking around wearing only a bikini and a bin liner, and there was such a rabid queue for the welly stand that the police were brought in to control the crowd. But hey, as long as the music is good and the drinks are cheap, who cares.

Anyway, if you too are anxiously scanning the long-range weather forecast for Lulworth Castle because you are heading to Camp Bestival, well then meet me in the intimidatingly-named Laughter tent at 5pm on Friday where I will be reading out loud from my book, assuming the pages are not so sodden that they have degenerated into one great soggy mass only suitable for making a mishappen bowl with, in which case join me in the Laughter tent at 5pm on Friday for an impromptu class in papier mache.

See you there, bring your own brolly. I'll be reporting back next week.