Dancing on the grass

No drugs, no legal highs,
No glass of any kind.
No cans of alcohol or paint, no canisters.
No fireworks, flares nor Chinese lanterns,
No klaxons, air horns, nor other noisy items.
Nothing which may reasonably be considered for use
as a weapon.
No cycles, skateboards, scooters,
No roller blades.
No large umbrellas, no parasols of any kind.
No chairs of any sort, no stools,
No food, no drink, no refilled water bottles.
 
(And please do not climb the flag poles)
 

 
Today was my son’s birthday present to me – a day together at the Common People festival in an Oxford park (within walking distance of my own bed!). Since he is young, and is quite often a noisy item, we stashed our refilled water bottles, our apples and things that might unreasonably have been considered for use as a weapon in my bag (since I am old and grey and harmless and entry searches treat me kindly).
 
Such a good day! Son taught me how drum ‘n’ bass and hip-hop work, we lolled in the sun, paid a fortune for festival food and drink and are likely, he says, to appear in next year’s publicity about what a great inter-generational event it is. I was so involved in our conversation I didn’t even see the photographer.

We bumped into some of my friends and loads of his and I was reminded yet again what a warm and open generation his is. Son is a beatboxer, quite well connected in that small world, and after his mates have given him a hug and he's introduced me, their response is, 'Mother beatbox!'

I thought I might get cold when the sun went down (extra) but by that stage I was dancing on the grass to Public Enemy. Then to headliners, Primal Scream, whose light show was brilliant. Transfixed, I was. Definitely a sucker for the circuses bit of bread and circuses.
 
And afterwards, with some of his mates, we went to the Mad Hatter’s cocktail bar where you have to answer a riddle to get in and the cocktails are served in teapots.