Sunday 9 August 2015
Latitude 2015 - porcine shards and the joys of Public Service Broadcasting
the new day arrives like an asthmatic lark with the splutter of a diesel motor from the camper-van next to us. Time for a quick recce with the camera followed by a skirmish in the showers.
Two things strike me as I undertake my morning ablutions, namely the increasing popularity of ill-conceived tattoos amongst men of all ages and the high incidence of pubic topiary amongst the young. On my return to Veronica the van I convey this alarming news to mrs electrofried, who is just awakening from her slumbers. She feigns complete indifference and rolls over.
An hour and a half later and we're comfortably ensconced in the breakfast tent. The morning tsunami of hungry campers has already washed away most of the breakfast fare leaving us with crisped slices of bacon that explode into shards of potentially lethal porcine shrapnel on first bite and a variety of mushy things that are orange and of uncertain origin. Fine stuff with which to start the day!
We've opted to kick off the festival proper in the Comedy Tent, arriving just in time to catch the back end of Elis James and the entirety of Alan Davies, who is side-splittingly fantastic. His distinctive facial features change chameleon-like from sad spaniel to moon-beamed gurner and back in an instant as he shares the perils of middle-aged manhood.
And so to music...
Femi Kuti and the Positive Force - a fantastic display of Afrobeat on the Main Stage from yet another musical scion of the late, great Fela Kuti. His energetic dancing troupe kicks ass too, considerable quantities of it, clad in blue spandex and pointed for the most part in the general direction of an adoring audience.
King Creosote - an excellent set in the BBC Radio 6 Tent from the legendary Scottish singer/songwriter Kenny Anderson. Mrs electrofried gives it the thumbs up.
Public Service Broadcasting - we stay on to catch one of the highlights of the festival. I take up position in the mosh-pit only to have Ruby Wax (yes, THE Ruby Wax who is speaking later in one of the other tents) push past me to the front. The music is sublime and when PSB strike up the opening notes of 'Go!', accompanied by the spoken-word archives from the Apollo 11 moon-landing the crowd goes wild. J. Wildgoose, Esq and Wrigglesworth - we salute you!
Caribou - we catch the tail end of their set on the Main Stage. Mrs electrofried is unimpressed by their Neu-like motorik beats so I'm sent in search of a nice cup of PG Tips. This gives me the opportunity to strike up a conversation with the lady running the Crepe Stall who introduces me to her short-order cook. Apparently he plays Rugby League for England. I don't know much about his sporting prowess but he makes a mean brew.
Alt-J - a huge disappointment. They look lost on the Main Stage and in desperate need of a comfy blanket and a bulk order of pacifiers. We leave early on in their set to make our way across to the Film Tent for ...
The White Mink Electro-Swing Club - I thoroughly enjoyed their club evening last year and they prove equally as good this year. Regrettably a long day is starting to catch up so we depart after the first act to make our way back across the twinkling-lit fields in search of Veronica the van and our bed for the night.
Saturday 8 August 2015
Latitude 2015 - our journey begins
once more our trusty charabanc, Veronica, is loaded to the gills as we depart in search of sun, Sanatogen, loud music and implausibly-priced cider. Yes, we're off to Latitude 2015!
Dear mrs electrofried rides shotgun up-front whilst our youngest daughter teenygoth snuggles up comfortably in the back of the camper-van with her fiancee, young Foxy. A gruelling cross-country run, guided by a sat-nav that has seemingly hit the festival hooch somewhat prematurely sees us pass an enigmatic AA traffic road-sign that reads, 'Bermuda Triangle'. Fittingly, it points nowhere.
We arrive on site and by-pass the border guards, smuggling in the customary illicit jar of Waitrose's finest marmalade despite the long-standing 'no-glass' embargo. The inflatable awning goes up amazingly smoothly once we work out we've packed it inside out. No such problems with the first hit of cheap and frothy supermarket lager. We've arrived!
The evening passes pleasantly enough. A welcome trip to the Film Tent for a viewing of 'Yonderland', a hit Sky sci-fi comedy we've not encountered before. It proves of sterner stuff than the somewhat pretentious opera caterwauled beneath a canopy of trees in the Woodland Arena. Which sets us up nicely for Steak House Live, featuring a bewildering company of bull dykes and transgendereds who with razor-sharp humour draw us in to their own peculiar and deeply poignant world.
We sleep well...
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