Festival

Three days in a field with the people you love, a line-up you have studied and the moment the lights come up on the main stage.

Mornings start late, with a coffee from a van and a breakfast that might be chips. You wander through stalls, find a workshop or a talk, and stumble on a band at a small stage who become your new favourite. Afternoons are the sun, a cold drink, a crowd and dancing. Evenings are the headliners, the late tents, the glitter and the songs everyone sings at once. You sleep briefly in a tent and wake up hoarse. Coming back, you have a new in-joke, a wristband you will not cut off and a playlist for the next year.

You plan the music in detail. A list of bands, a clash finder, a meeting point, a plan for when the phone dies. You know when the gates open and where the water points are.

You pack a bag you can carry all day. Wellies and sunglasses, because it will rain and it will be hot. A waterproof, a hat, a portable charger, wet wipes, a head torch and a bum bag that holds everything important. Glitter, a few outfits that are slightly mad, a jumper for the night. Snacks for the tent. You know the rules on what you can bring, and you have a camping chair that folds into nothing. The tent goes up first, and it goes up fast.

A car full. Your festival crew are people who know the words, who are up for staying late and who will come and find you if you get lost. Some love the same bands. Some just love the vibe.

You are great at bringing new people into a group, so you will probably end the weekend with three new friends from the next tent. The person who will not work is the one who complains about the mud, wants a hotel or goes home on day two. You want people who understand that a festival is a commitment: to the music, to each other, and to the toilets, which are going to be grim and you all accept that.

A silent retreat. A cottage with no signal and no neighbours. A week of quiet walks and early nights.

You would also struggle with a holiday where the evenings end at ten and the most exciting thing is a museum. A beach resort without music or a crowd would feel empty to you. You need energy, people and something happening to feel alive. That is not to say you never rest, but your rest comes after the big moment, not instead of it. A holiday with no peak, no crowd, and no song that everyone knows feels like a weekend at home with worse coffee.

Pick one festival you have never been to, with a line-up that mixes bands you love and bands you have never heard of. The discoveries are half the joy.

Plan your weekend with one must-see per day and leave the rest loose. Go to at least one small stage and one workshop. Eat properly once a day. Bring earplugs, a decent sleeping mat and a bit of extra money for the stall you did not know you needed. Then look after your crew: water, sun cream, a meeting point, a check-in at midnight. The best festivals are not just about the music. They are about the people you share it with, and you are the reason they had a good time.