Despite unfavourable weather for outdoor activities, at multiple points throughout the summer, we pack up our tents, cans and ignorant levels of enthusiasm and set off festivalling.
The Irish Festival is an institution. Here are the things you’re guaranteed to overhear.
“Can you see my Capri Suns?”
Ever the ingenious bunch of economists; we figured out a long time ago that the price of drink inside a festival arena is astronomical. The hidden nagen is a staple of festival fashion and is usually concealed best in homemade Capri Sun chicken fillets.
“We have to see [insert obscure artist (OA) here]”
Someone in the group will have a vested interest in finding and taking credit for discovering the next big thing. The following year will be spent recounting tales of how you saw [OA] on the [smallest stage] when there were only ten people in the audience. You made eye contact and pretty much inspired their debut album.
“I’ll just wing it”
There’ll be that one chap who hasn’t a bean. No tent, no sleeping bag and certainly no change of boxers. He’s confident he’ll find somewhere to lay his head. He’ll be found wrapped in tinfoil in the morning.
“He hasn’t touched a drop”
Most likely to be uttered by a worse for wear underage first timer who’s petrified the paramedics will call his parents.
“Corners are key”
Queuing for the toilet requires a strategy. You’ll hear hoards of girls advising to head for the corners where you’re all of a sudden queuing for three available cubicles instead of the one. Genius.
“Your tent or mine?”
You’ll either hear this said or read it printed on multiple t-shirts.
“It’s like Oxegen ’07…”
Spoken by the people who excelled at the comparative essay in the Leaving.
“It’s not as bad as Slane ‘15”
Nothing will compare to that landslide.
“It was around here somewhere…”
Yes, it was.
“How does she look like that?”
We’ve been here 20 minutes and look like we’ve been dragged through a bush backwards and thrown in a wind tunnel. She looks flawless. Pass the dry shampoo.
“Oh, I know this one!”
There’s always that one fomosexual who comes along for the craic. They’ll be heard squealing in glee when they recognise a tune.
“I don’t really drink beer…”
Well, there’s not much we can say to you. Try find some Capri Suns.
