Not too shoddy Helen Roddy

A twenty something very sweet girl walks past wearing a pink tshirt and shorts that are almost hotpants, the back of her tshirt reads 'Not too shoddy Helen Roddy'. True.

A mum of three stood by her tent mentions to her friend something about her new £4000 boob job. All us boys stop in us tracks eager to see the results and she is happy to obligue. Very friendly. We tip our hats to the skill of the surgeon like gents.

Our next door neighbours in the camp site are trying to boil a kettle with a small handful of grass, hay at best.

A 15 minute slice of Kendal Calling, a three day festival near Penrith. The above is furthur evidence that the best things at this kind of festival are not the bands but the people. About one third of which have some sort of fancy dress/face paint. This festival formula is unlikely to be followed that closely by us, but after 3 tins of IPA and some very good company I could swear that I was journeying a class A experience. So infectious is the atmosphere, so friendly are the revellers and so much to look at, and laugh at.

The usual roller coaster of emotions and fragile festival states of mind - all based upon the weather and levels of various stimulants.

On the whole a good vibes, good value weekend for the audience who are mostly under thirty and local we presume. £70 for the weekend, £5 to park. The Streets/The Zutons/Ash headline the main stage. I don't catch any band which I really like. I'm sure there were some. We spend half of Saturday sat in the camp site drinking tea, coffee, whisky and canada dry whilst chatting. My favourite period of the festival, make mental note.

Late Saturday night brings a slight public domestic between Kate and me. If you get up at 7.30am with a hangover and consume 10 tins of cheap lager over the next 10 hours by 11 pm you've had enough and your tent with self inflating mattress beckons.

But much food for thought on a jolly weekend in the lakes.