CAPTIVE IN COVENTRY
Reports from behind the lines in the Coventry 'Green-Zone'
Day 1 - Wednesday
Day 2 - Thursday
Day 3 - Friday
Day 4 - Saturday
Day 5 - Sunday AM
Greetings from behind the lines.
THE SUNDAY FESTIVAL AUG 15:
THE CAMPSITE - PLUNGING INTO THE INTERIOR
After exploring the perimeter of the campsite
I decided to plunge into the interior to see
what was going on in the middle of the maelstrom.
And what was going on was more mud.
2 hapless dudes with a rental car out of
Montreal had skidded into the mud earlier this
morning. 3 times we got together to try and
push it out but this little car wasn't going
anywhere.
I helped out on the first try, getting splattered
with mud all over my pants. I was sure that with a
dozen people we could have done it, but a dozen
fellow Phishheads were not to be found. Even the
half dozen who did try and help didn't have
their hearts into it. And toking from the bong
in between attempts wasn't exactly the best way
to ensure timing and coordination of muscles.
The much vaunted Phishhead solidarity wasn't
in evidence here as the reluctant volunteers
lamely walked back to their tents and private
lives, leaving the 2 forlorn Montrealers
with no option but to wait for Ray's Auto to
show up tomorrow and get them out with machinery
and dollar bills. 6 more pair of Phishhead arms
and legs would have done it cheaper, and at a
better expense of cosmic karma.
The interior of the campsite was a tangle of
of cars, tents, tarps and human bodies. These
guys got in fairly early, settled down and
then started to get squeezed in as more
campers showed up. "Parking organization was
for shit" said the bearded guy. They wound up
circling their vehicles around their tent and
wound up with a cramped but liveable homestead.
Earlier in the week I mused about the 3 basic
Phishhead types we had encountered and ventured
that we would probably meet up with more later
on. I will tentatively open up a 4th category
here with this group below, label and caption it:
4. Trust Fund Brats
Perhaps I am being too harsh here. Maybe it was
their substance of choice, maybe it was the heat
and the mud and the smell, maybe it was my slightly
threatening T-shirt; but these people wanted nothing
to do with me. My standard question that I was posing
to everyone "What's the mood here?" elicited an
embarassing 3 seconds of silence, followed by a brief
"Just great" from someone as everyone continued to
stare straight ahead as if I wasn't even there.
But these frosty vibes were very short lived.
I moved on and immediately discovered the Peach
Lady. It was very hot, I had run out of water
and I needed some sustenance. I bought a peach
from her for a buck and with a smile she made
sure that I got the better one of the bunch.
My confidence in the basic goodness of Phishheads
was restored.
The Peach Lady
THE CAMPSITE - 'WE WANT RUNWAYS NOT MUD'