Wilderness is, in short, my favourite weekend of the year. Whimsical, wonderful, eclectic, always somehow sunny, it’s the real blueprint of a British summer weekend, and it’s always always a good time.
This year was our fourth year on the trot at the festival in Oxfordshire’s Cornbury Park, and it was as much as a good time as ever. The sun scorched all weekend long so we had afternoon naps on the grass in the sun and leaped in the lake as much to cool off as to swim away from our hangovers. By far our balmiest festival yet, our necks cooked as we watched Sunday Papers Live, we savoured frozen margaritas, and our tent was a little sauna by mid-afternoon. We spent more time this year enjoying the quirks of Wilderness, from hip hop karaoke with a 9-year-old child doing a flawless performance of Slim Shady, to the Wilderness choir, and the infamous 3-hour cricket match complete with streakers aplenty. I still can’t say we’ve dipped our toes in any of the wellness offerings of Wilderness (invigorating trail runs sound like a great idea but for four years running we’ve always been too hungover…) though I did spent as much time in my bikini in that lake as time allowed.
We ate WELL. Everything from baja fish tacos at Breddos, to Smokestak brisket buns (on repeat, good effort, Ed), classic festival pie and mash, and breakfast fried rice proudly cooked on our own little camping stove at the tent. All was washed down with copious amounts of rosé — we spent a lot of time at the Rioja tent after developing a real taste for their chilled rosado. It kept us in a very nice place, all weekend long.
Come evening, we danced away to Justice, boogied to Nile Rodgers, and later, headed down into the depths of the valley to party under the stars, among the trees, and well into the night to Groove Armada.
Wilderness, you were just as good a time as ever. We’ll see you next year.