Thursday night's Gatecrasher event allowed us to collect our festival wristbands early. The quiz was a bit of a letdown, marred by inaudible sound for those of us sitting in the Roadhouse tent. The picture quiz element sparked more debate around our table than anything else. While the inaugural event might not have been entirely successful, it was a strong foundation to build upon. Being able to order food was a plus (though I didn't).
On Friday, the sun was baking hot. We waited on a park bench under the shade of a tree before the gates to the event opened, then headed in via the VIP lane. I had a quick explore before the first act, Cassidy Paris. The queue for drinks in the VIP area was exacerbated by the fact that the lines weren't set up yet. They couldn't start serving until this was done. They kept saying five minutes, but that stretched to twenty-five, so I missed the start of Cassidy Paris.
Planet Rock breakfast show DJ, Paul Anthony, was our host for the weekend on the Inferno stage.
I didn't warm to Cassidy at all, nor Regional One. By the time Anthony Gomes came on, I had found a bench in the VIP area to sit. Anthony sounded great. I paid a visit to Devere, had a brief listen and returned to VIP. I enjoyed The New Roses, a fine German rock band. I started to feel exhausted due to the heat and lack of sleep. I purchased an early dinner from one of the food outlets: three chicken tenders with chips, £13. The experience felt like I'd been mugged by an Apprentice candidate on a fast food profit task. Minimal food for maximum cost. At least, it tasted fine.
I struggled to find somewhere shaded to rest, so I chose to exit the venue to go sit in the park. The park benches weren't shaded either, so I headed back to the hotel during FM's set.
By the time I got back, my energy levels were painfully low, my eyes were stinging, and I just wanted to sleep. The room was boiling, despite the window being ajar and the fan blowing at full speed. I crashed out on the bed, waking up after a couple of hours, with just enough time to return to see The Temperance Movement. By now, the evening had cooled, but my lungs still burned on the long walk.
The band was excellent. Singer Phil Campbell dances like a toddler, with endless energy and no inhibitions. He definitely holds your attention as the frontman. They closed the first day well.
This was my first rock festival. Somehow, despite attending hundreds of gigs, I'd reached the age of fifty-five, still a rock festival virgin (TRNSMT doesn't count as it was only for one day, and I got to go home afterwards). But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Three of us (Bob, Scott, and I) headed down from Renfrewshire to Maidstone, leaving at 6 a.m. Bob kindly volunteered to drive. His daughter had booked our accommodation through Booking.com for a location within easy walking distance of Mote Park, the home of the festival.
We stopped off a couple of times along the way, the first for breakfast at Mainsgill Farmshop in East Layton (an excellent cafe and shop with a delicious breakfast and a huge range of cakes and scones) and again for lunch and petrol at one of the motorway service stations (less tasty but more eye-opening as the queue for the Ladies stretched halfway through the food mall, resulting in some joining the shorter queue for the Gents' cubicles).
All good so far.
Mainsgill Farmshop
As we arrived on Union Street in Maidstone at 3.30 pm, the weather was burning hot (over 30 degrees). Leaving the car in the nearby public car park, we carried our bags to the house. Bob was concerned because he hadn't received the email yet containing the keycode to unlock the key safe, but we'd just witnessed a man open the front door for a nurse, so we knew someone was inside. It did imply, however, that there was a possibility the place had been double-booked.
It was worse than that.
We knocked on the door and were greeted by a man who sounded of Eastern European origin. He indicated he was the current owner, that the site was now an occupied private residence, and that he had instructed Booking.com to remove his listing six months earlier. Despite booking and paying in fullfour months earlier, we realised this meant we now had nowhere to stay.
Bob got straight onto the travel agent while Scott and I got out our phones to search for suitable accommodation within Maidstone. Neither of us had any luck. The Booking.com agent, an American, was cordial but not much use. He identified there had been an error, offered us 25 Euro compensation on top of our refund, and looked into finding us somewhere nearby. They were not prepared to pay for more expensive accommodation as that was not how the system worked. Price was irrelevant, though, as there was nothing left in town.
Of course, there wasn't! There was a bloody three-day festival on!
After an hour of back-and-forth with the agent, we found a hotel in a nearby village with sufficient rooms to accommodate the three of us for the duration of our stay. The agent made the booking and gave us the option of paying them again or waiting and paying directly at the hotel. Like we were going to give Booking.com any more money!
The Mercure Maidstone Great Danes Hotel was nice, certainly less smelly than the residence in Dogshit Street, as we renamed it. Steve in reception was sympathetic to our situation and arranged two rooms beside one another on the first floor.
The titular Great Danes
We dumped our stuff and drove back into town, parking somewhat ironically in the same car park beside that residence. By now, we knew we couldn't make it to the festival for the start, so we headed instead to a McDonald's for dinner. The first one we tried was closed. I hadn't realised it was in a mall, but we did get to watch three argumentative kids, suspected of shoplifting, being held by security.
We ended up at this McDonald's.
We sat in to eat, despite there being a child play area inside. I took comfort in pretending the children's shrieks were due to an axe murderer slaughtering them, but then my imagination went too far, suggesting the burger meat was now made from the children's flesh. Not so tasty, but at least they'd given us an extra free McFlurry by mistake. I hate to imagine which bodily fluid they used to make them.
We then trekked to Mote Park, arriving much later than intended, missing the entire set of the first band, White Raven Down. Attaching our VIP wristbands, we headed in and collected our goody bags from the merch booth. The tote bag contained a programme, a lanyard with the festival schedule attached, and a reusable cup.
After a quick site recce, we made it to the VIP rest area, bought some well-deserved drinks and settled down to listen to Blaze Bayley from the benches. The cheap soft drinks I'd anticipated didn't quite work out that way when I discovered the £2.50 price tag was only for half a cup of our reusable pint tumblers. Sneaky bastards!
While people-watching, I was amazed to see the huge variety of festival and band T-shirts being worn. Knowing I was among my people gave me a warm feeling.
I'd kinda forgotten Blaze Bayley was, for a time, Iron Maiden's frontman. It was only when the tunes went on and on without any lyrics that it twigged. I'd given up on the Irons after Bruce left, so I didn't know the songs. I have to give Blaze credit for the passion of his delivery. They may have sounded like an Iron Maiden tribute act, but that's unfair because the singer was actually in the band.
At the end of his set, as the crowd dispersed to restock their drinks and stomachs (but mainly drinks), I managed to secure a spot on the barrier at the front of the Phoenix Stage. I was so happy. No one was going to stand between me and my heroes - GUN. I even messaged my wife to tell her the good news.
No one in front of me this time!
Then this happened.
The press photographers swarmed like paparazzi, constantly moving about, desperate to snap (and sell) whatever iconic shot they could grab from the night. They remained there for the first three songs, somewhat detracting from the quality of my video.
Regardless, I loved GUN's set, despite the pesky photographers, the lack of proper stage lighting, the poor sound quality, and my concern for Dante's health (he was sweating badly but still kept on three layers, his vocals not at full strength). I wished it could have gone on for longer, but by the time they were midway through Fight for Your Right, they'd overrun, and their mics got cut. Show over.
Afterwards, I was on such a dopamine high I beamed like a Maidstone Cat, a feeling that would repeat multiple times over the festival.
Bob drove us back to the hotel.
Show opener - Lucky Guy, Here's Where I Am, & Don't Say It's Over
Better Days
Shame On You & Fight For Your Right (until the mic cut)
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