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#153 Jamie Oliver’s Big Feastival

July 4, 2011
by

Hands in the air for UNSALTED BUTTER! The crowd goes wild WHOOOO!

WOOH FESTIVAL TIME!

WOOH!

FES-TIV-AL!!!!

OMFG

Dunno about you, but me and Mrs Brown are meh-heh-heh-hental for festivals. We eat them up like ice cream. We smoke them like fags, if we smoked fags. (If we smoked fags, we’d smoke a lot of fags, I bet.) We’ve been to over* one festival this year alone. Can’t get enough of that crazy festival vibe!

London has broken out in mini-festivals like some sort of horrifying sun-related rash. There’s Lovebox and The Apple Cart and Vintage at the South Bank, and all sorts of pissy tiny ones too. Stub your toe, and by the time you’ve straightened up, a crowd with vuvuzelas will be celebrating Ouchfest around you.

Which is why we were out in force – IN FORCE – this weekend for this year’s hugest festival. That’s right, people: Jamie Oliver’s Big Feastival on Clapham Common.

Well, it’s definitely the biggest festival on Clapham Common, anyway. Alright, with the possible exception ofBen and Jerry’s Sundae in the Park soon. Okay, it was definitely the biggest festival on Clapham Common that day. (As long as British Gas’s Big Dip over the other side of the park wasn’t bigger; we didn’t see it.)

You know you are enjoying some EDGY SHIT when the stalls have BOOKS as prizes. FUCK YEAH.

Where to start? The Women’s Institute tent was offering lessons in lapdancing knitting. The booze tents would serve you all manner of cocktails, just like a real festival. I managed to score some pulled pork off a dodgy-looking vendor at the Barbecoa stand. It was good shit, let me tell you.

The site held everything you could want from a classic festival setup: singing schoolchildren, chocolate specially created to eat with wine, and of course, hordes of screaming toddlers too big for their MacLaren buggies. If only Jimi Hendrix had been here to see it [crosses self reverently]. He’d have shat.

We lived it up long, long into the mid-afternoon, until we we’d popped one too many ethically sourced olives and had to crash. We were going to stay for the headlining act The Charlatans, but we gave up when I realised that out of all their songs, The Only One I Know is the only one I know.

Rock and roll, ladies and gentlemen. Rock and fucking roll.

*only

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