It was a gloomy Saturday morning when Elspeth (1883 magazine) and I headed to meet Hayley (Shiny Shiny) and Saskia from Pringles at Liverpool Street station to begin our weekend at V Festival in celebration of Pringles' Party Tour and their new party speakers.
There are plenty of perks to heading to a festival with a brand and Pringles had gone all out. We arrived to our VIP camping area where the team had set up a Pringles camping village for us and a few competition winners - Pringles tents, mats, ponchos, caps - basically, everything we could have dreamed of and more for the weekend.
First thing was first, we cracked open a few ciders in our camp and tested out the speakers while we got to know each other a little better before heading off into the realms of pumped Essex biceps and hanging out butt cheeks - while these aren't exclusive to V festival, there seem to be more of these per square meter than anywhere I've ever ventured before.
Saturday afternoon saw us fangirl-ing over Tom Odell, downing jelly vodka shots (why) before having a singalong to The Wailers. Justin Timberlake was headlining Saturday night so we headed back to base for a hour or so to prepare ourselves. When you've waited over ten years to see your childhood crush, there's definite preparation to be done, trust me.
Justin brought sexy back - I wonder how many times that sentence has been used by now - and we sang along pretty much word for word #sorrynotsorry.
Like the old women we are, exasperated from the day and the excitement it brought with it, we rolled into our tents and passed out until the early hours of Sunday morning when I was woken by a bad back and what felt like all of the cider from the previous day hitting my bladder sll at once with full force, causing a bleary eyed stumble to the toilets, which smelt bad but, being VIP area toilets, were wonderfully clean.
Sunday saw us drink through our hangovers, get absolutely drenched and subsequently think it was a good idea to get matching transfer tattoos from the Coppafeel tent, again #sorrynotsorry - our motto for the weekend.
We freaked to Chic. Paulo Nutini was suitably sexy. The Killers left us on the brightside of the weekend, getting me all nostalgic of Reading 2008; except we did not retreat to the campsites to party, we jumped into a taxi back to London and I was safe and sound asleep beneath my sheets by 2am. Now that's my sort of festival.
Thanks to Pringle for a fantastic weekend!