Come Sunday, the weaker willed among us hung up our party shoes and trudged their way home. They left behind a committed party fellowship wiping mud from their wellies, shaking cagouls dry and trying once again to find a rainproof form of glitter application. Despite the weather throwing all it had at us, once again, the gardeners showed that it would take more than that to stop our Sunday Funday.
Groups smothered their soggiest friend with dry jumpers and bunged bin bags over each other’s heads. Leftover pizza boxes were pulled from bins, becoming a precious commodity, a clean and dry place to perch your bum. But we soldiered on; whilst there were still beats, there would be no quitters.
The paint fight drew a mighty crowd. Bags of powder paint were passed through the crowd. A countdown, then BOOM! Flumes of pastel smoke jettisoned from each person, arcing over everyone’s heads like a chaotic care bear stare. House of Pain ‘Jump Around’ saw everyone wildly bounce, faces thwacked with Jackson Pollock splatters.
A spitfire shot across the sky, an aerial display of twists and turns with stomach churning moments of complete freefall. The crowd gazed upwards with open mouths. A bang to our right then signaled the start of the big burn. Fireworks shot from the tugboat lake stage, as it began to smolder. Reflecting in the water as darkness drew in, yellow flames licked the mast and the boat turned to ash.
Caravan Palace are tonight’s headliner. The French six-piece rock on to the stage, dressed like an orchestra in white shits and black ties. This is the second time they have performed at Secret Garden Party, previously playing their idiosyncratic gypsy swing in 2012. Since, their sound has transformed, thundered with dubby basslines and zany high-energy riffs, while strobes cascade around them. They are begged back for an encore – showcasing their older classics.
Desperately wanting to eek every moment of giddy madness from our last night, we stumble up to the Lost Woods. Beneath the uplit tree canopy, people tried to boogie, but late night sound restrictions meant that the volume was unbearably low.
Secret Garden Party, we hope we did you proud. ‘Till next year...
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