Dress: £4.50, charity shop (similar here). Denim jacket: vintage Levi's, aunt's. Bag: vintage, from Claire's giveaway. Boots: Topshop (old). Flower garland: c/o Missguided.
Sunday is always the most relaxed day of the festival. We spent ours sat in the sun before the main stage and wandering around the stalls in the arena. I popped along to the Havens Hospices tent as they were the honoured charity this year. They were the charity shop where I took half of my belongings before moving house (and picked up this dress to make up for the extra space - more on that later). I then meandered along a couple of tents to find my friends in the shisha tent, only for my camera to be stolen by them to take artsy greyscale shots, ahem. Once my camera had been wrestled out of the others' hands and was returned to its normal settings, we had possibly the best pizza I've ever had by Pizza to the People, covered in chorizo and good stuff (my specs for a good meal, obviously) leaving us pretty full, and ready for whatever was going to be thrown at us that night. That evening we saw veteran Brownstock artist Beardyman (photographed below) threaten to eat our brains, and finished off with The Fratellis, who reminded my why I listened to their debut album constantly in year eleven - please tell me I wasn't the only one to have their own dance to flathead? The music may have been a bit of an odd mix, but that's the best thing about festivals!
Arguably the worst thing about festivals is the camping situation. However much I love being woken up by people falling into your tent, it doesn't make for the best changing room (although it does help being short enough to stand up inside). We tend to cheat a little and head to the local supermarket (and McDonald's...) to use their toilets in the morning, but there's nothing that's gonna stop my mane from turning a little wild. In true festival style, for the first and last time ever, I popped on a floral garland (I've nothing against them, I just find them a bit too cliché for my liking) and a dress short enough to have me thinking about laser hair removal costs, but you only go to festivals at least once every summer, so that makes it okay, right? Come the time the arena closed for the final time, we headed back to our circle of tents and sat with our neighbours (hi Neil!) for a good few hours singing everything but Wonderwall, before retiring for the last time. Striking camp is always a rather melancholy affair once you've got over your tent never actually fitting back into its bag, but now mine's stowed away in the garage, patiently awaiting next year's adventures.
I'd just like to end with a big thank you to the Browns for having me again at Brownstock this year, and providing me with a press pass (yes, there's an interview coming soon!) and a weekend of new nicknames and hearing chelsea dagger sung out of tune - I wouldn't have had it any other way!
Sunday is always the most relaxed day of the festival. We spent ours sat in the sun before the main stage and wandering around the stalls in the arena. I popped along to the Havens Hospices tent as they were the honoured charity this year. They were the charity shop where I took half of my belongings before moving house (and picked up this dress to make up for the extra space - more on that later). I then meandered along a couple of tents to find my friends in the shisha tent, only for my camera to be stolen by them to take artsy greyscale shots, ahem. Once my camera had been wrestled out of the others' hands and was returned to its normal settings, we had possibly the best pizza I've ever had by Pizza to the People, covered in chorizo and good stuff (my specs for a good meal, obviously) leaving us pretty full, and ready for whatever was going to be thrown at us that night. That evening we saw veteran Brownstock artist Beardyman (photographed below) threaten to eat our brains, and finished off with The Fratellis, who reminded my why I listened to their debut album constantly in year eleven - please tell me I wasn't the only one to have their own dance to flathead? The music may have been a bit of an odd mix, but that's the best thing about festivals!
Arguably the worst thing about festivals is the camping situation. However much I love being woken up by people falling into your tent, it doesn't make for the best changing room (although it does help being short enough to stand up inside). We tend to cheat a little and head to the local supermarket (and McDonald's...) to use their toilets in the morning, but there's nothing that's gonna stop my mane from turning a little wild. In true festival style, for the first and last time ever, I popped on a floral garland (I've nothing against them, I just find them a bit too cliché for my liking) and a dress short enough to have me thinking about laser hair removal costs, but you only go to festivals at least once every summer, so that makes it okay, right? Come the time the arena closed for the final time, we headed back to our circle of tents and sat with our neighbours (hi Neil!) for a good few hours singing everything but Wonderwall, before retiring for the last time. Striking camp is always a rather melancholy affair once you've got over your tent never actually fitting back into its bag, but now mine's stowed away in the garage, patiently awaiting next year's adventures.
I'd just like to end with a big thank you to the Browns for having me again at Brownstock this year, and providing me with a press pass (yes, there's an interview coming soon!) and a weekend of new nicknames and hearing chelsea dagger sung out of tune - I wouldn't have had it any other way!
This post contains a sponsored link. It paid for my cider over the course of this weekend, so that makes it relevant, right?
