Shine on you crazy diamonds...
So, I’m photocopying my tits in a garden shed, while a member of the Freefall Collective swigs cognac and a smoking blonde tries to cram hers onto the glass beside me. Copy. Copy. Copy. Save this for my posterity.
The shed door opens. “Engaged!” we all shout as poster-size copies of my bare torso spew uncontrollably out of the lucky machine. A queue is forming outside. The shed door jostles and we all rearrange our clothing into a more dignified position. Outside, the sun shines on. No, this isn’t a fantasy. It’s very real. And yes, of course, I’m at The Secret Garden Party.
The hay bales outside are shaking with laughter as beats rain down like napalm from a man in tweed nodding smugly at the helm of a golden tank. The dancefloor is peopled with cats, dogs, myths and legends. All look absolutely drop-dead gorgeous and completely absurd. All are throwing their limbs around as if this were the last hour of their young lives. Every single person is smiling.
There is no festival on earth like The Secret Garden Party. No other festival is filled with the kind of hilarity and genuine self-expression that you see all around you, all day, everywhere you care to look. It's a delight to behold so much happiness per square foot of undulating field. You drink it in, marveling at the openness. It makes me realise that there are more people than I thought in this world who are like me and my friends – which is heartening to discover. And this four day “festival” which occurs only once a year is a place which, really, we never leave behind. Returning to a place that has started to feel like home, 6 years after I was first embraced by its magic, and I’m on top of the world. Not only have I witnessed the genesis of this incredible place, but my life has become entwined in and improved by what I have learnt here. We have all grown together. It has, in part, made me who I am. 
“It’s only Thursday,” people wail in disbelief as the sun rises on Friday morning and the crowds refuse to go to bed. The Ass-Trology tent is alive with bums shaking and people not wanting to go home. They're not yet open for business – they read your future in your bum cheeks – but they're ready for the onslaught, with surgical gloves, a yurt decked out with rugs, cold booze and wall-to-wall photocopies of asses. In a land where everything is possible, expect nudity.
There are loads more kids careering round the site this year, which is lovely and really adds to the friendly, family vibe and the sense of a festival maturing – meaning we all are a little older, but getting better all the time. And so is the Secret Garden Party. There are still the accusations of growth and expansion meaning commercialism and loss of intimacy, but I really don’t think this is the case. The festival’s expansion handles the numbers well. It is as intimate as I’ve known it to be and everyone agrees the site looks better than ever. Line-up wise they have some real gems: Caravan Palace on Saturday night, Mystery Jets, Belleruche, The Freefall Collective (hanging from a tree), Hybrid live.
There is more art than ever: tiny clay people crawl out of the lake and sprawl under a tree. There's art you can climb and recline in, a shrine you can get married in, a galleon you can lose it on, a Deep South haven filled with pre-war blues and hillbillies, a proper restaurant, hundreds of soundsystems, a forum for debate peopled with incredible guest speakers, an antique pagoda which has grown from small lake-side dancefloor to huge wooden pier, a gaff run by corrupted grannies, a feast of fools under the great tree. There is so much to do. It’s probably unwise to stay awake for four days – but it’s hard not to as this party is wall-to-wall action.
There's so much going on at all times that when you peruse, take a cruise downtown, you simply laugh the whole way. “Excuse me, would you like to act in a short scene from the Wizard of Oz beside the lake?” Of course! “Up for getting in the mud pit? Drinking six pints of slimfast and doing press-ups in a fat suit while a mock American Mr Motivator screams at your fat ass?” Damn right. Dance on a golden tank while the sun rises. Walk a tightrope while a 10 year-old tries to push you off. Roll down the hill in a barrel. Sing when you’re winning. Seize the day. It’s well known by now that the gardeners make the festival what it is – and this year more than any other, the crowds participate like the legends they are. A field of starship troopers, all game for a massive laugh.
“You are here for our entertainment,” shouts Timothy Sampson into a mic. Bearded Kitten are the people responsible for the impeccably sadistic Colli-silly-um. What began as a mere mudpit has become a colossal structure with multiple levels becoming a nightclub after dark. It’s one of the crazier places on site and the crowd in here feels electric, dangerous. As if they might begin to tear the place down at any moment. Watching the Production Manager batter the Site Manager with a foam club, suspended on bungees in massive fat baby suits while 'The Final Countdown' plays is one of the more surreal moments which I feel may recur during the acid flashbacks. Men in pants drag each other into the pit, drag their wives into the pit and tear each other’s boxers off. Absolutely insane.
The freedom that is encouraged, that is fluttering in the very air you breathe in this magical place has unearthed great things in everyone who comes here. And when you're in the garden you allow yourself to believe that everything is possible – because here, it is. Everywhere you look are people absolutely gripped by the joy of life. Exploding and fizzing, looking completely ridiculous, not caring. Actually dancing like no-one’s watching. The utterly fabulous outfits are many. It’s bewildering just how good some people can look when they are living in a field. This year though, the beautiful are outnumbered by the ridiculous. And that is a feather in the cap for this festival. No posers – just loads of people looking as insane as possible. Every scene is rife with the unreal.
People are being exactly who they want to be. They are throwing off the shackles of this modern life, showing their serious sides the door. Rejecting authority and professionalism in favour of silliness, fun and freedom. Many of us spend our lives pretending to be people who we are not. We wear serious clothes and have meetings where people nod sagely when we talk. We dream of the garden in the quieter moments, looking out the window while the chairman’s words pour over our heads. We live in a world where some people take us seriously, where some of our actions have big consequences. And then we get to go to a place where none of that has any relevance whatsoever because you can be yourself. Finally. Fill your lungs. Stand up a little straighter. Let the toddler inside rule. You Are Here. You Are FREE.
Lowri Clarke
Photos thanks to the incredible Dan J W Austin.
Want to read last year's review? It's here.
For goodness sake check out our Festivals Homepage right now.
Were you there? Do add your own memories in the comment box below.
Add an event
Frieze Art Fair to launch new section for young galleries in 2012
Frieze have today announced details for the 2012 edition, their tenth art fair in London. Taking place...