#benecassim

Benicassim Festival, as a concept, was the game of numbers (among discovering I may be slightly psychopathic #readingthepsycopathtest).

This post will be a collection of things that went right (minimal) and the things that went wrong (basically the entire trip). Affectionately named among the group as the Worst Holiday Ever, we had things stolen, time stolen (via self imposed wrong turns and a wonderful airline service), money wasted and all the while to a rather lackluster soundtrack.

The highlights were limited to Tame Impala (amazing and the first time I'd seen them play), Kasabian, (who were incredible as always, now desperately want tickets to their London show later in the year) and Irish lad, Hozier on the last day who made me feel better about life and my general existence. The Libertines were good from a nostalgic perspective but have a bit more work to do to get the sound right.

Other than that, the line-up was pretty disappointing. It was like V-festival in a lot of ways but without the excuse of diapers or pre-pubescence. They changed some of the stage times without warning, there weren't many people so there was a constant feeling of woe for the bands and...Katy B. That's it. Katy B.

The crowd was a pretty fun group, minus the thieves; bastardos! (I learnt a lot of Spanish. Si)  and there was a ride called....um....Enrique Iglesius...?..Probably Booster) that was the most exciting part of the whole trip, that and the chicken place next door to our hotel, pollo dreams are made of this.

Now on to the summary of the fun-facts for all you data geeks out there-

Things we lost/were stolen:

1. iPhone 5s 2. iPhone 5c  3. Ray Bans (...fake, but rad) 4. EUR 50 5. Ourselves (repeatedly) 

Things we spent money on:

Things that were cancelled:

1. Train from Valencia to Benicassim (brilliant)  2. Plane from Valencia to London (cheers sleazy jet)

Time that was lost (mins):

So that was that, one massively delayed flight and an extremely lost cab driver with a sat-nav that I had to direct all the way home (then to his home, not in a slutty way) and you get the worst holiday ever.