Secret Garden Party

Secret Garden Party, July 2008

It all began as one of those carrot and stick things. A smooth-talking PR man gives me a pair of passes to Cambridgeshire’s answer to Glastonbury in return for a few favourable (or otherwise) words and copious photo galleries. I agree.

Photo by Iain Parker

The Secret Garden Party is in its fifth year and in such a short space of time has managed to top the 'best little festivals' list, as well as being lauded by the Sunday broadsheets, including The Times and The Independent.

The acronyms…

Right, from here on, me, the Festival Virgin, will be known as FV. My partner (poor, long-suffering soul) will be known as Mr Grumpy. And the Secret Garden Party will be SGP. See? That makes things simpler already!

We arrive (Friday)

Yes, we arrive at the site a mere 20 miles or so from Cambridge, but… it appears that our car park is in another county. Possibly Bedfordshire. Being an FV, I have loaded my little hatchback to its limits and Mr Grumpy is not happy about carrying the entire contents of my house to the campsite. He is grumpy. 'Nuff said. 

Tents go up. FV 'guards' the coolbox by sitting on it, rather than joining in. I like to see men doing that macho thing with a mallet and a few tent pegs…

We party…

By the time we get to the SGP site, it's dusk, and music is booming from five or six different stages. I'm immediately hit by the fact that bigger festivals seem to be all about cramming in the big bands and their fans, but, SGP is very different. It’s not as much about the music as 'being there'.

Burning galleon by Andrew Thompson

The site - rolling hills and farmland – is more than large enough to swallow the capacity crowd of 7,000 festival revellers. And I have no idea how long it took to set up, but every corner holds a new thrill. Being here is like living out your fairytale fantasies.

Every tree is lit with white, green or purple lights. The walkways are festooned with twinkling fairy lights. There’s a lake. There’s a pirate ship in the middle of it. Swans are swimming in the brook oblivious to everything.

We wander across the bridges, through the woods and eventually stumble back to our tents, thinking, "We didn’t watch a single band – there were so many other distractions…" And we sleep.

The dawn chorus (Saturday)

I’m often woken by those blessed birds twittering away at 5am, but today it's a bunch of night-owls discussing life, the universe, and everything at 6.30am. They haven't been to bed yet.

You're gonna regret this...

They are very vocal. Mr Grumpy thinks they’re talking a load of you-know-what. But, as it's just not 'festival' to complain to them, we lie there complaining to each other and eventually fall asleep again.

Breakfast, anyone?

We brought food with us, but left our stove in the car (in Bedfordshire, if you recall). So, we decide to head for the organic pig-product tent for a scrumptious bacon, egg and sausage sandwich.

It's 10am. It's hot. There's a bit of a queue, but how long can that last? Let me tell you. 90 minutes. Yep. It's 90 minutes before we see our food. After a while, we simply think, 'we've been here this long, we can't possibly give up now…'

Let me entertain you…

The photographs in our galleries speak for themselves, but this year, the gods and the BBC weather forecasters shine down on the SGP and all is well with the world. Take a look at the galleries for a taster of what the Secret Garden Party is all about.

Saturday’s headliners, The Hoosiers, are as good as we expect them to be, and Grace Jones, the main headline act is, well, um, Grace Jones. Sorry, SGP organisers, but, she really didn’t pull in the punters. We leave after a couple of songs. The smaller stages are much more fun!

But, by far the biggest crowd of the entire weekend gathers at the Great Stage at 6pm for Morcheeba’s set. They may not have their original vocalist, and they’re still trying to teach their beautiful French singer some English phrases, but the sound is superb and they play to a packed stadium, followed by a riveting set from St Etienne, in the rain.

Yep, it rains. As a few festival-regulars say: "It wouldn’t be a festival without rain!"

My tent leaks

Well, FV and Mr Grumpy had a fabulous time at their very first SGP. And Mr Grumpy wasn’t grumpy too much of the time. FV's definitely going again next year… when she'll no longer be an FV!

But, I’m going to get a new tent, as, 'raindrops keep falling on my head' might be a lovely song, but it’s not good when the stuff keeps you awake by dripping onto your face while you're trying to sleep!

I'm still mourning the loss of my favourite sunglasses in a bizarre chemical toilet incident, but other than that, I'm left with warm, fuzzy memories of a weekend well-spent!

Tickets for 2009 are on sale now, so if you've never tried the SGP, why not make next year the first of many...