Watchfield

“What are the bits in it, do you think?”

Miranda was swirling the lukewarm liquid in her cup round and round, staring at it intently

I shrugged; “Don’t know – it’s odd isn’t it. Maybe that's the Turkish part - it definitely tastes of coffee."

She nodded in agreement, and then we reverted to a contented silence as we sat sunning ourselves, gently waking up. It was still fairly early, and not many people were around, just one or two little groups of people wandering up and down.

It was the beginning of another wonderful day - you could tell it was going to be a gloriously hot one, like all the others so far had been. The sun was just starting to burn off the fog from the fires of the night before. I wrapped my hands around the styrofoam cup, trying to get some warmth into my hands from it. Then I finished the coffee in one mouthful – there wasn’t an awful lot, and yawning, stretched my arms up to the sky, trying to catch the first rays of heat.

I made myself a roll-up, and passed the tin to Miranda, who took it and smiled at me. She didn’t say anything, but there wasn’t any need ; I knew she was thinking exactly the same as me - how lovely it all was.

Right from the minute we’d arrived –it felt as if we’d been there forever although it was only a few days - we’d hardly stopped smiling.

Stretching again, I looked at my arms, admiring the way they’d got quite a bit browner since we’d arrived. I was fairly sure it wasn’t all dirt either. Really, it was amazing to think we’d only been there such a short time.

I breathed in deeply, remembering how the smells had been the first things I’d noticed when we’d arrived; such a curious, unforgettable mixture – woodsmoke from fires, dope, patchouli, hot unwashed people, strange food, dry dusty grass, and parched earth.

It was the first time we’d been allowed to go to a festival – ridiculously unfair to have to wait so long - we were fifteen after all - and it had been the most exciting thing ever – arriving, knowing that we had a whole week of freedom.

It was so easy too! I didn’t understand why people didn’t live like this always. You hardly needed any money for a start. The food was all free – we didn’t bother much with it ourselves, since it was always disgusting lentil curry, made by the Hari Krishnas who’d irritate people every morning going round the campsite chanting and banging their drums – still it was nice of them to do the food for nothing like that.

It was great not having to worry about meals. The less we ate, the less we had to use the awful loos – they were almost the only bad thing, apart from the Hells Angels. When you had to go, you put your head down and walked swiftly, holding your breath for as long as you could – you could smell them a mile off. Once you’d finished, you ran away as fast as possible, gagging at the horrible stench.

The other good thing about not eating was that you could get drunk very easily, so you didn’t need to spend much money on alcohol either, which left us plenty to buy drugs with, and at Watchfield you could get anything you wanted.

I finished my roll-up and stubbed it carefully out on the ground next to me. Miranda gathered up the empty cups and got to her feet.

Still silent, we picked our way through the makeshift tents and sleeping bags, carefully avoiding the glowing embers of the fires that had been lit the night before. Mostly everyone was still sleeping, but we passed by a small group of people sitting in a little circle, sharing a joint, and they smiled and waved, offering us a toke, so we stopped for a minute or two, smoking and passing the time of day

It was all so peaceful and friendly – if it hadn’t been for the Angels, really it would have been perfect .