90th

A marquee, decorated with treasures from the Bristol scrap store. On the stage, a cajun band tuning up. A hundred people mill between here and their tents or camper vans or bunk-rooms. Those who got here earlier are already in festive clothes and at the bar, set up in a red gazebo. The  trees encircling the site are becoming silhouettes now the sun has set and insects are cavorting in the dusk.

I have arrived with my duvet and sequins and toothbrush and other weekend needs on my back, by bike and train and foot and traffic-jammed-bus, then a hike up a hill that was much further and steeper than I expected. I am relieved to have found the place with 6% still on my phone despite increasingly frantic checking of the downloaded OS map and googlemaps.

This mini-festival is to celebrate the 60th and 30th birthdays of a father/daughter duo from a family we met in London thirty years ago when our respective firstborns were first born. The firstborns still know each other so my son is also on his way. The parents are musicians and artists, the daughter is an actor, and the field is humming with creativity. Tonight there will be dancing, drinking, a spoof gameshow that will have us doubled up with laughter, reunions for old friends who have travelled from Ireland, Spain, San Francisco and Cuba, and many new people to meet.