My initiation into the Wellington weekend life came in the form of Summerset 2011, a music festival featuring Dizzee Rascal, and a whole bunch of DJs I’ve never heard of. Phantom provided me with a free ticket, saving me like $80, so I was well keen to check it out. The tab took hold of my brain and I was transported at light-speed into the farthest reach of the solar system. Despite my lack of brain capacity, I did manage to make notes of the days highlights. Brace yourself.
Fluro chainsaws ravage my mind, as Lipton Ice Tea is thrust into my consciousness. A giant on stilts cracks whips with unnecessary conviction, while I avoid the ultra silent violent disco. I never learned how to wolf whistle because I was too busy laughing. Tab for lunch, goodbye rest of the weekend. The grass is in fact unicorn velvet and I’m knees deep. Dance architecture is explained in detail, while we watch the neon inferno. Colours swoop, and vibrations ripple constantly. Screaming “what” in everyones nostrils seems like a grand idea. Instead we staunch it out on a hill while my fingers squirm like desperate snakes. A reference within a reference, referencing yourself to death in a sea of reference.
My adventures lasted until 9am, when sleep finally took hold of me and carried me through to Monday. I may have missed Sunday out altogether, but Saturday sure made up for that technicality.
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