OK, the title is not entirely fair. I did have fun at The Big Chill. However, I have some small issues with it this year. And I'm not alone. The backlash on the internet seems to support the feeling that a lot of the 'chill' is gone. So here's a litte walk through this year's festival....
Stage. Good size but no screens either side. Generally not a problem for the smaller acts because you can get close enough to see, but for the larger ones - not so much.
Food - less variety than years past, but still enough to keep you interested for a weekend. 
In fact, some of it looked really tasty. Crepe anyone?
Or a coffee in the large bedouin tent on the hill?
Bars - not as many as I would expect, given you can't take any of your own booze in. This one - an open air creation was fun though.
Of course, the entertainment was pretty good. You could catch a film, horizontally while they played the soundtrack to you (yep, that's the musicians to the left of the screen.)
And everyone likes these.. such fun!
And dodgems. Always a hoot to drink drive legally.
I said random, right? Well then. Random it is. A giant scottie dog. Sure.
And dance open air dance parties in the Enchanted Garden. Nice.
Glowing orbs playing atmospheric music. That's plenty of random right there.
I thought for a little while that this was the most random thing. I'm still not sure why this is here.
Not random enough? No? Shit, you're hard to please. How about a giant Ziggurat of Flavour? [you: What the fuck is that?] Glad you asked.
It's a pyramid installation filled with breathable fair trade fruit that you climb internally then exit via a slide. Yeah, alrighty. No drugs involved here then. 
Alright, I seem to be banging on about stuff that I didn't appreciate or understand. But the festival did have some merits. As you'll remember from the Glastonbury posts, I'm a big fan of the Leave No Trace ethos. And it's a message that you can't fail to notice here.
The festival is also set in the Malvern Hills, in the grounds of Eastnor Castle, which is pretty cool.
And if you get up early enough, the place is very chilled. This was breakfast on Friday morning before The Husband arrived. I've heard of getting up at sparrow's fart, but duck's trumps?
And of course, when it gets a bit much, you can grab a hammock and relax. Which I did. If for no other reason than for the photo. You're welcome.
In fact, I'll do anything for a photo. Here's the obligatory tent shot, with my festival hat.
The Husband arrived and made the festival much better. Not only did he praise me for my mad tent skillz, but he brought champagne. And pink champagne at that!
Right, so we were in a great mood for the festival and random stuff aside, we were having a great time. And then it kinda went down the proverbial long drop toilet. Incidentally, said toilets look like this:
They stink pretty bad, and you can see (if you look down, I try not to) about a metric tonne of human waste in all its technicolour glory. Suddenly those crepes don't seem as appetising. 
Like I said, 30 minutes went by. We walked. And walked. It pissed it down. Eventually our security guide (seen below on the right) found the lockers. We were going to be charged £15 a day to rent one. I say were because the lockers were no bigger than a Rubik's Cube and thus couldn't fit the offending lens. The security lady who led our march (who was actually pretty nice) phoned her supervisor to get advice. I figure she was pretty sick of the situation, especially since I pointed out every person we walked past that also had a removable lens. I maintain that I was just making chit chat and not being churlish about our predicament.
And so she let us go. And then we found the whole thing very funny. But we were still pissed that we were now wet through and had lost valuable festival time.The Husband is laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation below - the security guard is on her phone.
Right, so back to the festival. What else pissed me off, royally? Ah, the bubbles. The freaking bubbles people felt the need to blow everywhere. I'm not talking about these impressive large ones (below) I'm talking about the view obscuring massess of little ones when I'm watching an act.
For some reason the many youths randomly shouted 'Alan' at the top of their lungs across the campsite. At ALL HOURS of the night. Funny the first time. Fucking irritating by the 40th.
OK, so it wasn't all shit. So to end on a high note, here's what really rocked. Firstly, the cleaner state of the camping in general compared to Glastonbury. That was pleasing. There are still pockets of students fouling up the place because they need their mums to remind them not to live like a homeless person. But whatev.
And generally the music was alright. Sure, there's not as many well known bands as Glasto, but you can find pockets of good choons, such as at the Busker Stage.
And some of the random stuff was really fab. The Husband powered a living room for a short while until he worked out how pointless and tiring it really was.
And who doesn't love a lesbian wedding? They really did get married. 
Of course, you can always take part in the randomness yourself. That is, if you want to get naked with several thousand others, get painted head to toe in a vibrant colour and give your time to Spencer Tunick's latest art installation....
But mostly what I liked was the space. Ah, bliss.
My favourite parts of the entire festival though without a shadow of a doubt were twofold.
Alright, I seem to be banging on about stuff that I didn't appreciate or understand. But the festival did have some merits. As you'll remember from the Glastonbury posts, I'm a big fan of the Leave No Trace ethos. And it's a message that you can't fail to notice here.The festival is also set in the Malvern Hills, in the grounds of Eastnor Castle, which is pretty cool.
And if you get up early enough, the place is very chilled. This was breakfast on Friday morning before The Husband arrived. I've heard of getting up at sparrow's fart, but duck's trumps?
And of course, when it gets a bit much, you can grab a hammock and relax. Which I did. If for no other reason than for the photo. You're welcome.
In fact, I'll do anything for a photo. Here's the obligatory tent shot, with my festival hat.
The Husband arrived and made the festival much better. Not only did he praise me for my mad tent skillz, but he brought champagne. And pink champagne at that!Right, so we were in a great mood for the festival and random stuff aside, we were having a great time. And then it kinda went down the proverbial long drop toilet. Incidentally, said toilets look like this:
They stink pretty bad, and you can see (if you look down, I try not to) about a metric tonne of human waste in all its technicolour glory. Suddenly those crepes don't seem as appetising. But that wasn't the worst part of this event that has been taken over by the ever-commercially focussed Festival Republic. Hell no.
The single worst turn of fate The Big Chill has taken has been to employ the humourless and ironically least chilled people on the planet to act as security. I have had less issues getting through airport security.
Not only can you not take ANY liquid in (and this includes water which was confiscated from me) but you cannot take in cameras that have a removable lens. The conditions of entry state no recording equipment. Fine. No artist wants a shaky bootleg copy of their gig for sale and I appreciate that, but seriously, a camera is not allowed when every person on that freaking site has a camera on their phone? But yes, they adamantly refused us entry on account of my husband's rather large equipment. (snigger). We protested in earnest that we genuinely weren't professional. They held firm, saying the rules are that you can't take the equipment in for professional use (we're NOT professional you knob-ends!!) and that the line was drawn at removable lenses. We complained that we read the conditions and we abided by them. Nowhere did it say anything about removable lenses. They still refused on the authority of some faceless voice at the other end of a walkie talkie. We had nowhere safe to store the equipment so they said we would have to put it in a locker.
For the next 30 minutes, we were marched by security around the site in the rain to find the lockers. And just to be a childish twat about the whole situation, I took photos.
Like I said, 30 minutes went by. We walked. And walked. It pissed it down. Eventually our security guide (seen below on the right) found the lockers. We were going to be charged £15 a day to rent one. I say were because the lockers were no bigger than a Rubik's Cube and thus couldn't fit the offending lens. The security lady who led our march (who was actually pretty nice) phoned her supervisor to get advice. I figure she was pretty sick of the situation, especially since I pointed out every person we walked past that also had a removable lens. I maintain that I was just making chit chat and not being churlish about our predicament.And so she let us go. And then we found the whole thing very funny. But we were still pissed that we were now wet through and had lost valuable festival time.The Husband is laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation below - the security guard is on her phone.
Right, so back to the festival. What else pissed me off, royally? Ah, the bubbles. The freaking bubbles people felt the need to blow everywhere. I'm not talking about these impressive large ones (below) I'm talking about the view obscuring massess of little ones when I'm watching an act.
For some reason the many youths randomly shouted 'Alan' at the top of their lungs across the campsite. At ALL HOURS of the night. Funny the first time. Fucking irritating by the 40th.OK, so it wasn't all shit. So to end on a high note, here's what really rocked. Firstly, the cleaner state of the camping in general compared to Glastonbury. That was pleasing. There are still pockets of students fouling up the place because they need their mums to remind them not to live like a homeless person. But whatev.And generally the music was alright. Sure, there's not as many well known bands as Glasto, but you can find pockets of good choons, such as at the Busker Stage.
And some of the random stuff was really fab. The Husband powered a living room for a short while until he worked out how pointless and tiring it really was.
And who doesn't love a lesbian wedding? They really did get married. 
Of course, you can always take part in the randomness yourself. That is, if you want to get naked with several thousand others, get painted head to toe in a vibrant colour and give your time to Spencer Tunick's latest art installation....
But mostly what I liked was the space. Ah, bliss.
My favourite parts of the entire festival though without a shadow of a doubt were twofold. 1. Mr Scruff's Tent. Here you get the nicest cups of tea and hot chocolate and the yummiest cakes, bar none.
And the old-school DJ chucks out some banging tunes.
2. Cracking acts. By far the best bits were Magic Numbers in all their free flowing hair glory. These folk are ace.
And (I've saved the best to last) Paloma Faith. Best set of the weekend. I only got a few shots before those fucking bubble blowing wankers obscured my view though.
Here's hoping Big Chill returns to its former glory next year. Sadly, I'm not going to buy tickets until I'm convinced I won't get hassle on the gates for lenses or fesh water.
And the old-school DJ chucks out some banging tunes.
2. Cracking acts. By far the best bits were Magic Numbers in all their free flowing hair glory. These folk are ace. 
And (I've saved the best to last) Paloma Faith. Best set of the weekend. I only got a few shots before those fucking bubble blowing wankers obscured my view though.
Here's hoping Big Chill returns to its former glory next year. Sadly, I'm not going to buy tickets until I'm convinced I won't get hassle on the gates for lenses or fesh water.
