Decades passed, but we golden oldies can still strut our stuff
There's a difference between being old and feeling old. I'm happy to admit the former and had suspicions of the latter until I went to the Punchestown Musical Festival at the weekend. A previous encounter with tents and Portaloos at Electric Picnic (yes, I know, what was I thinking), persuaded me that proper plumbing and tarmac was more in keeping with my needs.
The bands had a collective age of around 1,000 which was reassuring. Less so, the fact that I remember them all from first time round. We had stonkingly good bus-pass performances from Bonnie Tyler (66), Smokie (too many sums) and the utterly ageless Tom Jones (77 but who's counting). It was also the best-behaved, good-natured, nostalgic festival I've ever been at.
Prior warnings from the producers proved unnecessary (fireworks, gas canisters, nitrous oxide (?) and weapons were all banned), but guests could take in a camping chair, flask of tea and egg sandwiches, but envious looks were cast at those who remembered a tartan blanket and fetching all-in-one condom to wear for the rain.