This year’s Latitude was something of a civilised success on the whole, both from my point of view and from overhearing those who went, whether it’s the chatting of young waitresses in Walberswick cafes or the chatting of people on the Internet. The young have even given it a nickname. Just as Glastonbury is ‘Glasto’, Latitude is ‘Lat’. Not bad for a festival barely two years old.
The multicoloured sheep by the main bridge have also achieved a kind of instant icon status, a newly-forged tradition much like the Doctor Who Christmas Specials. Second time around, and it feels as if they’ve been there for decades. Latitude is now The Festival With The Coloured Sheep. On no account must the sheep go. It’d be like the ravens and the Tower of London.
My only complaints were really with my own lack of organisation and foresight: staying in Southwold meant I had to miss a lot of late-night acts. Being a performer on all four nights as well as a reviewer also called for a bit of schedule juggling, though I’m pleased that I came up with more than the minimum of the required writing, and was always on time for my DJ slots. I didn’t let anyone down.
However, I do slightly regret the occasions I drank too much and became a bit Kenneth Williams-y in public. Not funny and entertaining, but embarrassingly wracked with self-piteous wailings about why I am still not The King Of England. I apologise to all those around me at the time.
At one point I was lying on the grass (in full suit and tie) near the queue for the Southwold Shuttle Bus, utterly drunk, crying to myself, moaning that I wasn’t allowed to jump the queue (which I entirely agreed with, but I needed something to moan about) and muttering about, oh, how lonely and empty my life was, and how come most people preferred to watch The Arcade Fire than watch me DJ-ing with other people’s records (again, I entirely agree with them), and oh, why am I still not yet The King Of England?
Of course, this was all haughty, cod-diva showing off, even to myself, fuelled mostly by alcohol. I was enjoying every minute of it, though it wasn’t until some days later that I realised this.
A concerned girl came over to me during one of these ridiculous rants to the sky:
Concerned Girl: Are you… are you okay? Where are your friends?
Me: (triumphantly, arms aloft) They’re… all… on the internet!
The truth is I quite enjoy being lost in life: at least you know where you are.
Otherwise, I had a perfectly wonderful time. Last year I was a mere freeloading Guest Pass holder. This year, bona fide work, twice over, every day. My face was in the programme twice (The Beautiful & Damned DJ act appeared in two different tents), plus I was employed to blog for the official festival website. Next year, the front cover. Or if wet, The King Of England.
My haughty showbiz thanks to the tirelessly kind souls behind the Latitude scenes: Ms Tania H, Ms Sarah and Ms Rachel from the Cabaret Arena, Ms Jen from the Latitude website, Ms Tamsin and Mr Jason from the Film Arena, Ms Anthea and Mr Ben from the Press Tent. And all the ones whose names I’ve forgotten. God bless them all. (Applause, exit stage left.)
