Post-T in the Park musings

So, another T has been and gone and I’ve got those sad, melancholic post-T blues that always come with the return to reality. This year’s festival was slightly more eventful than normal with phone calls from the police at 3am and Sunday morning stop-offs at the CID compound, but there was the usual mix of great music and great company.

For a teenage music fan living in Kinross, having a music festival land on your doorstep was pretty unbelievable. Now a thirty-something music fan, I still love T in the Park.

I know it can sometimes be dismissed as a festival for drunk neds, but T in the Park is so much better than this and doesn’t deserve this tag. Regardless of whether they’ve spent their £180 to watch music, or to get drunk and hang about the funfair, everyone is there to have a good time and that’s what it should be about, right? The camaraderie at T is something special. Where else could you have a random conversation with a stranger in the queue for the toilets? Or a passionate, in depth music discussion with someone you’ve only just met.

For me T is all about the music and hanging out with friends and family. Discovering new bands, going to see bands you wouldn’t otherwise go and see, crushing your way to the front for a band you love and have already seen a hundred times before. Comparing with your friends who you’ve seen, who was great, who was shite, what crazy punters you’ve encountered, who’s seen the drunkest spectator, the least appropriately dressed, the person who seemed most out of it. Putting suncream on in the morning then wading through muddy quagmires at night.

What can be wrong about 85,000 people standing in a field, having a good time and singing along to their favourite songs? Nothing brings people closer together better than an anthemic singalong.