As freezing rain sweeps at a 45-degree angle across a dreary East End park, you know unmistakably where you are: London – midsummer - and the one-day festival season is open.

Yes. We had such high hopes for Field Day… Victoria Park. Early August. Loads of great bands. Cold beer. Blazing sun. Etc. Etc. But as we stood, soaked to the bloody skin, dejectedly pouring a rancid mix of rain water and Stella down our wet faces and watching a middle-aged Tim Burgess ‘DJing’ to a crowd of sodden teenagers, we couldn’t help but feel depressed.

There were those among us who were determined to have a good time. But dressed in the type of pathetic waterproofs that can only be described as see-through bin liners with holes (a few local chancers had struck gold by selling them outside), and determinedly dancing along in the rain, their ‘plucky British spirit’ only served to irritate the fuck out of us.

And though it wasn’t as appallingly organised as last year (more toilets, beer tents etc), you’d have to go a long way to call it anywhere near being in the vicinity of ‘fun’.
Despite this, the line-up was excellent. Noah And The Whale, Wild Beasts, Les Savy Fav (pictured) and Of Montreal all impressed and – despite some questionable PA systems – bitter, drunk revellers huddled beneath umbrellas and, with water running off their noses, tried their best to enjoy the show.

Before the summer, clever folk like me had speculated that the market for one-day festivals in London had become “saturated”. In the case of Field Day, we couldn’t have been more right.

Michael Wylie-Harris
Pic: Rachel Lipsitz