Sleeping on rocks

Normally I only write things here that are either about the quirks of life in Spain or about things in and around Culebrón. Self indulgence though; I just couldn't let this pass without a word.

Maggie and I bought a small tent and went 300 kilometres up the road to camp in a field full of rocks and other tents occupied by people who were half my age. We swilled ourselves under cold, communal showers, avoided (well I avoided) those plastic hut toilets that slowly sink into a pool of some oozing liquid and we complained bitterly about paying the prices for water, beer and sandwiches charged by the organisers.

In other words we went to one of the summer music festivals. Ours was at Benicassim. There were about 170,000 people there over the four days. I'm not sure what it's music mission is but the line-up seemed to boast ex celebs. (Leonard Cohen, Morrisey, New York Dolls etc) and those newer bands whose names pop up all over but who may or may not survive for long (The Ting Tings, Babyshambles, Calvin Harris etc). We probably saw about 20 bands in passing of the 100 or so acts who were on offer

Good fun in a masochistic sort of way. And those young people were all jolly pleasant. I was particularly impressed by the woman who thought I had nice hair.