Diaries of a Festival Virgin / Bramham Park / Leeds
By Dewi Powell
Just a quick post because interrupting James’ phone conversation with his girlfriend, Tina, is far more entertaining than what I’ve actually got to write.
I’ve landed in Doncaster and despite it seeming like a different country, I didn’t need my passport to get in. I started the day in the worst mood ever, I was tired and my bags were HEAVY and doing their Harry Potter Death Eater impression well as they sucked the life and energy out of me. So I’m not looking forward to queuing tomorrow!
The journey from Cardiff Central to Doncaster station via Manchester and Leeds was okay, but didn’t start well. There was a Scottish child, who we shall refer to as ‘Devil’ that literally gave me a headache. She talked so much crap it was unreal and her voice sounded like a boy with a blocked nose, a bit like my namesake Dewi from Malcolm In The Middle (I must stress that I pronounce my name differently). But I got my revenge, I won’t tell you what it was, I’ll leave it to your imagination.
In Manchester I was told by an old lady not to put my bags by hers, I resisted the urge to K.O her, but this isn’t the place to vent my right wing opinions on the elderly.
But I’ll leave it at that as I’m just about to head to the air bed before getting up and spending the morning explaining how to pronounce my name to several different Yorkshire-men and lugging around the weight equivalent to a baby elephant in my back pack.
Las Bramham Park, baby!