The rain started dramatically just as we were contemplating lunch, a quick scrabble to put everything into a bag, collect the picnic rugs and chairs and run.
"I hate falafel. I don't like that sauce. It's raining. I'm coooooold!" whined P with mud all over her second pair of jeans of the day and her hair matted in a 24 hour old dreadlocks. She looked a right festi-kid and I felt a tinge of pride.
"Just eat your falafel," I said through gritted teeth as the rain continued its downpour and the next band was setting up to play.
A festival weekend in May will always be a challenge - a weekend to round up his birthday, a three day family extravaganza of music, face painting, henna tattoo's, festival food and warm tins of beer. And once the rain had passed and the mojito's had kicked in I wouldn't want to be anywhere else.
Girls who watch boys
Bacon and bell tents
And the sun shone