Field Day

 I send emails to my friend Alex every so often and he thought that the latest one was particularly funny. Since I am very receptive to flattery, I thought hey, maybe I should put it on my blog? Yeah.

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I'm going to the Field Day festival on Saturday, if you thought EotR was trendy, Field Day makes it seem like a trainspotters appreciation meeting. Going with Ben and the London gang, it's going to be berserk. I would suggest that you come, but I fear that the mere thought of a hipster wearing a grateful dead t shirt with cut off sleeves and shorts made of organic hemp from Sudan (with a Uniqlo label), and a sparrows nest (with birds) carefully placed on the head, with a tilt which varies every minute depending on the fashion at the time, would make you vomit viscous bile - which, ironically, in itself would be considered 'cool' and so quickly adopted by the other festival goers. So the festival would quickly become overwhelmed with bile, which boat shoes are ill suited to resist. Presumably, the festival organisers would be aware of how fashion works, so would quickly take down any festival goer who deviates too much from the current fashion trend. Thus, you would be thrown out of the festival, which you didn't particularly want to go to anyway, so feeling frustrated and angry, you would walk to Epping Forest, where you would adopt a simpler way of life. After a few content months of living this way, you would happen upon a young maiden, washing her clothes by a stream. She would also be an exile, so you would talk and rejoice in your mutual ambivalence to modern youth culture. But one day, while chopping wood at your self made home, you'll hear a noise. You'll think 'Oh no, why now? WHY?!'. Your beloved will come rushing over, the wildflowers that she had been collecting spill over the ground, 'They're coming!' she whispers. She rushes inside. You look off in the distance, opening your mouth slightly to increase your hearing ability. You can only hear the birds and the leaves rustling in the wind. Wait. You hear a jingle, like a dozen bracelets on one arm rubbing against each other. You hear someone shout out 'Last one on drugs is a dickhead!'. It is followed by cheers. You can see them, and they have seen you. The leader says to his friends 'Oh wow, an authentic country cottage, let's set up an impromptu party. Iona, have you got the candles? Sideways Len, have you got the bunting? Let's get to work!'. Iona is about to arrange a candle decoration when THUMP, an arrow pieces her chest. She looks down at the wound. It has cleanly pieced her retro linen cardigan, which was on sale from Topshop. She pulls out the arrow, blood spurts from the wound. She falls and dies. Some of the others immediately rush over, 'let's make tie dye with her blood, it'll be so cool!' they say. THUMP THUMP THUMP. The three of them fall to the ground. You look round and see your beloved notching another arrow, you bow your head and utter 'My lady'. Your hand grips tightly on your axe. You go to work...

So begins the saga of Alex and hipstergedon.

To be continued...

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I'm going to Field Day on Saturday, it should be fun. Alex doesn't really like the whole hipster culture scene,. And tries to avoid them at all costs. I write 'all costs' but I guess that's hyperbole - if he saw a clique of them outside Tescos, and he was hungry, I'm sure he'd walk through them to get in. Or if a clique of them held his family hostage and demanded that he buy them the albums on Pitchfork's best album list, he'd probably attack and kill them, rather than run away. I don't really care about all that 'hipster' stuff, I guess I have characteristics of one anyway. Ironically, so is Alex in some ways. Though, I think the true meaning of the word is affectation. Like wearing t shirts with annoyingly loose collars. Or wearing glasses without any lenses or which lack even a modicum of visual corrective properties.