This is one hell of a confession. And I’ve never shared it with anyone. But I find something deeply spiritual in I Hope You Dance by Lee Ann Womack. As she sings “Give the heavens above more than just a passing glance”, I do a life audit. I think ‘Yep – went to daughter’s Harvest Festival last year’ etc. But, when she gets to that bit about choosing whether to sit it out or dance, I start to cry. Every time. I’m clearly not ‘dancing’ enough. Literally or Figuratively.
I get like that at Festivals. “Dance a bit more, old man”, I say to myself. The self-help books go through my head. According to The 22 Non-Negotiable Laws of Wellness, “each day is a miraculous gift, and our job is to untie the ribbons”. I’m a way off that. I’m so stressed that I’ll be watching telly and my hands inadvertently form themselves into fists – how the hell am I meant to untie the ribbons? At Feastival, Jamie’s shindig on Clapham Common, I gave it a go……
The event, which was raising money for the Jamie Oliver foundation, had a real sense of humour. Although I didn’t laugh at the queues for some of the food — the line for Kitty Travers’ ice cream concession for Zizzi could be seen from the moon, and the pop-ups were just too well attended. But it was sooooooooo much more fun than Taste, which has become as dull as ditchwater. According to those in the know, it will be back — and the music line-up will be even better. Perfect. As long as Jamie stays off the drums…….