Festivals, like Marmite, you either love them or hate them. My last festival, in July, was Latitude in Norfolk, which has been described as the “Waitrose of Festivals”. When I was tracking down tickets for the Isle of Wight’s Bestival, a friend, Laura, who lives on the island and is an experienced festival go-er, described it as “a more traditional festival – and magical”. I was intrigued.
Laura and I arrived late Friday evening, and were greeted by a spectacular sunset. It was warm and strangers smiled. From the top of the hill we looked down at a sea of colours, the landscape decorated with stars, balloons, flags and, of course, tents – so many tents. As we journeyed further into the festival the noises became familiar. The atmosphere hummed with happiness and solidarity. There is something special about thousands of people gathering together, in this case 12,000.
Get Britain's best politics newsletters
Register to get The Spectator's insight and opinion straight to your inbox. You can then read two free articles each week.
Already a subscriber? Log in
Comments
Join the debate for just £1 a month
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for £3.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just £1 a monthAlready a subscriber? Log in