One sunny afternoon in July, a Wednesday I believe, my friend Celia sent me a text asking if I wanted to work at a festival with her that weekend. This was a teeny tiny new festival by the name of Tropical Pressure about to start up in our own dear Cornwall and we were going to get £25 a day and free access to the festival all weekend for the pleasure. Well, even in spite of the late notice, how could I say no?
So a few weeks ago, a friend of Kirsty’s (Phil) came to visit. We had previously decided that this would be an excellent opportunity to visit Granada, a city we’d be told many times was very beautiful and well worth the visit. As such, Kirsty, Phil, Lucy and myself squidged ourselves into a teeny fiat panda and headed out of Écija, after of course stopping at the delightful ice cream shop on the way for sustenance.
So this year, I had the spectacular fortune of going to not one but TWO WOMAD festivals
(World of Music Art and Dance for those of you uneducated in this most wonderful festival). The first attendance was most unexpected and in Spain of all places, where I had just moved,
and the second was, of course, at our dear old Charlton Park in England.