exploremusic

FRIDAY AFTERNOON AND EVENING

In the panic to make the flight back in Toronto, I had forgotten to pack what my wife refers to as my “festival shorts”—knee-length shorts made of industrial grade fabric with more pockets than a pool hall. Going to a two-day festival without being so equipped was unacceptable so while Ivar slept off the remains of the sleeping pill (not to mention the fine Indian lunch we shared across from the hotel—in an un-air conditioned restaurant, naturally), I struck out to do a little shopping.

I walked up to Harrods in Knightsbridge. And, as is my custom, I got hopelessly lost in the hallways, galleries, nooks and crannies. No festival shorts, though.

Then it was across the street to Harvey Nichols. Same disorientation. Same result.

On the way back, I chanced upon a French Connection UK shop, which had exactly one (1) pair of festival shorts—for 40 quid. I bought them, returned to the hotel, lay down on the ridiculously narrow single bed (I measured it; it was 35 inches across), opened all the windows, plugged in my table fan and slipped into unconsciousness.

Several hours later, I awoke with a start and couldn’t remember where I was or how I got there. Then Ivar called.

“I called a couple of friends. They’re coming for dinner.”

Steph is a Toronto-born ex-pat working in the fashion industry. Julia is from the Black Forest in Germany, inked all over and has a permanent necklace style design implanted directly into her chest. “Surgical grade stainless steel,” she said proudly, “Perfectly safe with airport scanners, too.” Not surprisingly, she would turn out to be the more dangerous of the two.

Ivar invited Steph to the festival, but she begged off as she had to work. Julia, on the other hand, was completely keen—even though she was too young to know virtually all of the bands.

Back at the hotel, I couldn’t sleep because I was still on North American time. After working through some email, I became transfixed by a late night TV show where viewers could bet real money on spins of a roulette wheel. It sounds goofy, but it was strangely addictive.

Somewhere around 3, I passed out. The alarm was set for 7.

Part 6