This bijou little festival in a gorgeous corner of the country and bang next door to Standon Lordship, a remarkable 15th Century mansion, has been running a few years now. It’s a genial affair, the bands more often than not unknown but interesting, and the crowd eclectic. There’s a main stage and a smaller stage and stages no bigger than, or which are, tepees. A giant tent contains the sound systems and the die hards are still in there dancing whilst the dead and wounded are making their way to the food stands for breakfast.
For these punters there’s Japanese Food (by Paddy Field), toasties of various descriptions, fresh ground and brewed coffee stalls, a tea house, the inevitable stall selling humus and veggie burgers and the Breakfast Fryella, where what looks like giant paella pans are being used to cook that great British gift to the culinary world – the fry up. Here it’s dry-cure bacon, free range eggs, baked beans, mushrooms, potatoes, bread and tea. The reviving power of the British Breakfast is remarkable – people in dishevelled fancy dress wobble away clutching their box of grub and mug of tea and visibly come back to life as they eat it. Hangovers melt away as the food goes down and normal conversation becomes possible once more. Many are so cured of their ills that they head off to the bar for a pint.
My sparkly press wristband wasn’t just there to impress the kids, oh no, this gave me access to the production compound and to what I had really come to see – the catering for artistes, staff and all the rest. There was also hope of a drink there too, and once past security, a young African man who seemed cheerfully unconcerned about whether I had a pass or not, I was in the sacred area and I headed for the food tent. Here were tables, chairs and other signs of normality, plus nice girls doling out what looked to be respectable pasta dishes plus salads. Behind them were a team of tough looking chefs and a range of ovens and stoves straight out of any professional kitchen. And this is a professional operation for sure.
David’s career has taken in being Richard Branson’s personal chef to setting up and running restaurants in North London such as The One Legged Goose in Primrose Hill, Bar Ganza and The Goose in Hoxton. He has also worked in the schools of Camden and Islington presenting classes and workshops to many Primary schools in conjunction with the Healthy schools programme and the Primary Care Trust.
He battles with dietary requirements quite cheerfully, ‘one woman wouldn’t eat anything!’ he says wonderingly, ‘only seeds! Not even vinegar or a butternut squash, still we sorted her out. We’re here to feed people, that’s what we do and we can meet most requests.’
Still he knows things have got better over the years. ‘First ones I went to there was no food at all,’ he laughs. ‘A lot of spliffs and a lot of peace and love, but no food.’
He goes back to help clear down lunch and get the evening meal on the go. A wild-eyed bloke catches my arm as I leave, ‘blinding food here,’ he says vehemently, ‘lamb and chorizo last night, brilliant!’ As David says, you got to keep the people happy and that’s clearly what he does.