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Sunday 19th July saw us play Nottingham's Splendour Festival. It was to be less of the dirty-punk-toilet-rock vibe which we'd been used to recently going from DIY house party to house party, but more the deer-in-the-grass-family-fun charade.
News quickly spread that the festival had sold all of its 12,000 capacity and it would appear that in the coming hours Wollaton Park would be bursting its seems with 'Ska dads' and 'ex-groupie mums'. Our new 'getting organised for gigs attitude' payed off to the extent that there was no such rush at our 9 O'clock arrival, but we may have found ourselves playing one-bounce with the technical staff for some time.
The time came and it seemed that with every polystyrene cone full of water I drank my mind would be more and more in the realms of escapism. Vocal warm ups, sit-downs, stand-ups and plain jumping around, the compare speaks for what seems is hours. Heads up we're on and have never looked so ready, we walk on and do ourselves proud. The view of my shoes was as usual more than comforting whilst playing, but I catch glimpses of youths under umbrellas every time my head reaches for the microphone. 4000 onlookers become gradually more excited to be here, even though apparently it was raining.

A success, even Lawrence's critical exterior began to fade after the set.
Sean from Kid British is there to congratulate us and we wish them luck, without a doubt they were confident enough by now and cool as ever. As far as I'm concerned, the rest of the day is dedicated to having a good time and reminiscing on pre-gig stress with a smile on my face. Kid British are good fun, they play a 'haven't I heard this somewhere before' kind of set, which is probably because their single samples Our House by Madness. They rip up the stage and as the sun light peers on to the youngsters faces we get some audience interaction moments and shiny, happy faces.
At this point I haul at the catering vans my royalty and fame in the form of food vouchers and drink tokens, and meet some really nice complimentary Mothers speaking on behalf of their children about how much they are enjoying their day despite the patchy, unpredictable weather.
The clock strikes 4pm and I wonder where the last hour went... I suddenly turn into a small pasty child when realising there is 25 minutes until House of Brothers play. I head over to the familiarly bliss-full and dainty courtyard stage which we had played on last year.
HOB rock out to the luckiest of wandering folk trying to find the toilet amongst others. Their sets as glorious as it usually is and they were so kind to give us a shout out. As Pete gets his boogie on to songs about death, Joss stumbles into the courtyard wielding a bin liner full of half-mixed-cherry-ade-gin kind of drinks whilst speaking words that aren't actually real. That's a sign of how the day is going for him - very good.

Me and our two technical support guys for the day Tim and Matt, spend the rest of day chasing down people from bands and getting them to sign our newly name 'Splendour Football'. Fun Lovin' Criminals were as laid back as something that's very, very laid back and were more than happy to sign the ball when approached by the journalist recruited by us in our fear of talking to cool people. We watch half of their set and watch the crowd thicken and spread across the grass. The sun was setting and the weather had decided to pack it in, so everything was beginning to look incredible.
Rain might have kind of happened again, but its fine because Shane McGowan is being pushed up the stairs to the stage so all is definately well. He is a mess, like pirate-in-suit-burping-at-your-family-dinner-and-swearing-at-your-parents style and so does not deserve to sign the football. Nevertheless The Pogues are entertaining, in a comedy value to a few but none could deny the euphoric lets stop war and have an Irish jig vibe across bald people at the front with Fez's on.

Well I'm content after stealing a Fez from the merch stall and placing on top of my hood and I'm actually excited for birdseye endorsed Ska classics from every advert ever shown in the world. Thats an exaduration, but we skank side-stage to them and get told to calm down by a bouncer who probably thinks we're so in love with the band we're likely to climb on stage. In truth, we probably were at the time.
Backstage, we present our pitch of Football signing to the Sax guy from Madness, he appears calm. He steals the football and climbs into the VIP section which even my part-time royality can't get me in to. Being the grizzly bear I am, I crumble and beg our manager to get it back.
12,000 depart, leaving only plastic cups and burger napkins. What a day.

x

Robert