The civilised way to attend a festival . . .

“If we were camping out at such an event, I would be worrying about it already.”

IN A mad rush of blood to the head, the Penmans have bought tickets to a three-day festival this summer, en famille. Part (delayed) mid-life crisis, part appeasement for teenager deemed too young to start going to such shenanigans with friends, it throws up many issues to deal with before the event.

Thankfully, the major issue – toilet facilities – has been sorted, as when I say we are attending a festival, I mean “attending” in a very middle-aged middleclass fashion, ie staying in a rather lovely country house hotel some distance from the actual venue.

If we were camping out at such an event, I would be obviously worrying about the need to wee from approximately now, a couple of months before the festival. As it is, I can relax knowing that if needs be, I can drive back to the hotel at any point and not be forced to confront the reality of festival portaloos.

At the event itself, there will be plenty of comedians, theatre and film performances and poetry as well as all the shouty stuff so I have been assured I don’t have to find myself permanently in the midst of scary crowds listening to bands I’ve never heard of.

The other major issue which is still be worked out is of course style. The last time I attended a festival – in the olden days before they were quite so huge – I may have got away with cut-off denim shorts and wellies. Not now.

I shall be leaving that particular look to the youngest member of the group, while I try and blend into the background. Maybe some sort of tree camouflage outfit? Should I get it made specially?

Many well-meaning friends have said I should be worrying more about trench foot than sartorial considerations and have advised sturdy footwear (for the mud) and a lightweight rainproof jacket (for the English weather). But I feel I should get into the spirit of it. Maybe wellies with the camouflage outfit?

Then there’s the no dancing rule to contend with as parents. I think we’ll have to establish whether this rule – usually a blanket ban used to cover all events where there might be music and parents in a public space, therefore containing potential for maximum embarrassment – extends to bands the parents have specifically chosen to see.

I mean let’s face it, there are plenty of other ways of causing embarrassment – I shall of course be taking a stack of woolly cardies to hand out to any girls who look as if they’ll catch their death of cold. And Mr P can be relied upon to bemoan the bands of today not possessing the stamina of the bands of the prog rock era. Loudly.

I am also quite partial to shouting “Why are you here if you just want to look at your b****y phone all the time?” to random people in audiences, which I imagine may be frowned upon by the teenager.

Given all that extra potential for embarrassment, perhaps we might seek special permission to jig along self-consciously to one of our favourite bands.

Negotiations will be ongoing. Rock on.