Here we are again with a fresh twist on our annual Christmas Quiz. It's just a bit of fun - good luck!
– Read the story and use the clues to guess which festival you’re at.
– Each question is about a new festival.
– Click on the answer you think is correct and the video on the next page will let you know if you’re right.
– There are no prizes, this is just for fun
It’s a sunny Thursday afternoon and the end of the working day is slowly, crawling nearer. You’ve been clock-watching since lunch and your weekend plans are looking sparse.
Just as you glance up to see if the minute hand has moved an email drops into your inbox: ME AND YOU – FESTIVAL THIS WEEKEND, I’VE WON TICKETS!
“Nice one Dave, you lucky sod” taps your reply. With the invitation accepted you make your way over to your boss to declare, “I’m not feeling too well, it’s my head…and err…my, my, throat.” There’s no point wasting hard-earned leave days.
A few coughs seem to seal the deal and your boss says she completely understands; there must be something going round. With her blessing you leave work early saving that self-satisfied smirk until you’re past security.
Friday morning comes, you meet Dave at the coach station, hand him a six-pack as way of thanks and excitedly board the bus. It’s already filling up but you see two spare seats at the rear of the coach and you rush towards them.
As you sit down you realise you don’t even know where you’re heading and start to search the coach for clues. You peek between the seats in front; the girls are sharing headphones and setting up a playlist, starting with ‘Original Pirate Material’ by the Streets.
Dave is beside you with Clash Finder in lap, highlighting the bands he can’t (but ultimately will) miss. The biro circles Kool And The Gang.
Suddenly you’re forced to look up, the toilet door swings open and you’re not sure what hit you first, the smell of the bloke’s deposit – why not do that in the station mate? – or the door itself. “Typical, I would have put money on it being a Queens of The Stone Age fan,” you tell Dave, pointing at the culprit’s t-shirt.
After enduring nearly three hours on the coach, you despise yourself for running to claim the seats nearest the toilet. The bus pulls into the drop-off point and your feet are first on the festival turf to gasp for that hard-earned fresh air.
You navigate through ticket checks, bag searches and with your wristband tightly wrapped around your left wrist – the hand you don’t wipe your bum with – and you’re ready for action. Dave decides that he needs the toilet, strange considering you’ve sat next to one for the past few hours, and he leaves you to put up the tent.
As you wrestle with bent poles and flysheets you fear you’ll never be able to do this alone. So you decide to take a seat, open one of Dave’s beers you’d bought him and cast an ear towards the Main Stage. There’s some indie upstarts warming up the Friday crowd, you take a look at your lanyard and it tells you it’s Pippa Marias soundtracking your first swig.
On his return Dave seems a little miffed that you’ve not even managed to put the ground sheet in the correct place but he’s eager to get the tent up so you can explore the site. He guides you through the guide ropes, raises the pile of synthetics into a perfect dome and chastises your ignorance: “these poles are meant for our skis, we’ll need these to get to the Arctic Disco to see Fatboy Slim later on!”
‘Dave’s the fool’, you think, ‘I’ve packed a snowboard.’ But you decide to stay mute on the subject.
With Dave’s know-how your home for the weekend appears more accommodating than the one you share with your four filthy flatmates. You make the most of the space and arrange your objects for the weekend; your backpack is laid out in place of a pillow, your beers are kept cool under the sleeping bag and the individually wrapped cheese and onion pasties are in easy reach of the entrance.
Finally you open up your bag labelled: Fancy Dress and empty out the contents. They fall to the floor with an Almighty thud, the gold halo hitting a can of beer is responsible for most of the noise, it’s typical that neither the big bushy white beard or the white bedspread broke its fall.
You’re pretty happy with your costume, rustled together at the last minute and decide to boost your confidence further by sneaking a peek at Dave’s. You feel around and the costume appears to be scaly and dark green. “God Dave, what kind of monster have you packed?” you call out.
Dusk has passed and so has your sobriety. Who would have thought that a day of swigging brown liquid from a label-less bottle would leave your mind swimming and your view out-of-focus?
You take up the offer of a chip from a friend – though he considers himself a more of a passer-by – and your surroundings come into focus. You can’t work out who’s playing but you’re at the Garden Stage.
The wooze of the booze has passed you by now (that second handful of chips must have really helped) and you’re raring for the last throes of entertainment before you wander into the after hours wilderness.
You’re pleased because you’ve managed to catch not only the headliner but the gyrating hips of Jarvis Cocker too! Dave has magically re-appeared and he’s brought with him a bottle of Buckfast and finally the night seems to have fallen into place.
As Pulp warm-up the headliners you think you remember this one from the first time and sing-a-long whole heartedly as if you do. But in reality ‘Common People’ proves to be too lyrically challenging.
You’re slightly annoyed that your memory can’t recall all the lyrics and decide to take another swig of Buckfast to see if that helps, you definitely want to sing along when the headliners play ‘Best of You’.
The Buckfast went straight to your head but it’s done the trick. Dave’s got his arm round your shoulder, it feels natural and you’re marching towards the after hours area, as to who is leading who, it’s anyone’s guess.
There had been mumblings of the Silent Disco but considering your attempt to sing-a-long at the Main Stage the idea is quickly rubbished. Instead you guide one another down several blocks, to Bloc 9 and to what appears to be an 70’s New York disco: there are drag queens, moustaches and penis’s a-plenty on show.
The perfect way to end the night you feel as you and Dave haul one another onto the stage to help sing Diana Ross’s ‘Love Hangover’ to the inebriated crowd below.
And that’s it, the sun is slowly rising and welcoming in Monday morning, your tent pegs are feebly being pulled from the ground and your dirty clothes unloving-ly forced into your backpack.
You eventually make it to the coach, queue diligently (there’s little energy for anything else) and climb aboard. As you reach the top step you raise your weary head to seek out a seat you see that there’s two left…right next to the toilet.
Click for all the correct answers and to get your score asssessed.