Without doubt my best summer to date was spent at Reading Festival. We all know the standard festival uniform; Wellies, denim shorts (now high-waisted) and a Parka thanks to the inevitable British summer. I though, being a festival noob and all around pleb decided I was not going to wear my wellies but instead my leather boots with a 3 inch heel. By my usual standards, that's childs play. The weather was nice, I was in love with my boots, I was going to wear them and no one was going to stop me. But then something did stop me, not a person, a field. A dry dusty enormous field which became my best friend for 3 days. I have said that dancing all night has left me nearly crippled, that was nothing compared to the pain I felt after 14 hours stood in a field as even as Lindsey Lohan's tan.
Then I finally understood why wellies are the law at festivals, because you have to be super-human to cope in anything else. I'll be honest, part of me refused to wear them on principle. I don't have a mass of highlighted hair all swept over to one side, or spend a stupidly long time making my hair look like I've just got out of bed to pair with the pair of Hunters I bought to wear to the 'raves' in my friends field. So I was faced with a decision, try to maintain some moral crusade resulting in a life of orthopedic boots, or join the Hunter's brigade. If you can't beat 'em join 'em. And I did, in a borrowed paired of pink polka dot wellies. Rock.and.Roll.
If by some twist of fate -which is as likely as me being crowned Kim Kardashian look-a-like of the year- I manage to get to a festival this year, I hope to God it will be in a pair of these: