Why on earth would anybody be upset about things like football when this summer we have the best festival season the UK has seen in ages! Since Glastonbury was off the menu this year, and in the interest of variety, I thought it would be a jolly good idea to try something new and exciting. Having already been to V Festival and habitually frequenting Glastonbury and Reading, the Isle of Wight Festival was the obvious next choice; unfortunately it probably wasn’t the best…

I don’t know about you but what I actually want out of a music festival is music: non-stop music. When there is something shit on one stage/tent/whatever I want to be able to bugger off to another one and watch someone else. This is something that the IoW festival doesn’t deliver since it only really has one stage that you would consider giving any attention, which is rather bloody annoying when some wanky band is playing (and to be fair there were a quite a few at IoW this year). More infuriatingly, there was very little else to do at the IoW when there is nothing on that takes your fancy, that is, apart from some death-trap fairground rides, which only really serve as screaming-child-juvenile-delinquent magnets.

On the occasions that I would happen upon a marvellous act on the main stage, I would have to fight my way past billions of mums, dads, children, grandparents, more children, aunties, children, babies and children; all of which really don’t understand basic gig etiquette: people move around; get over it, please! Any way, after getting 1000 "evils’ off ma and pa" and their charming offspring, you eventually get to the main stage, which to my dismay was invaded by no less than five camera men running around getting in the way. You expect filming of the day’s events, especially now the festival season is the new cool thing, but these crewmen were especially adept at positioning their crane-like contraptions so as to blot out the band onstage.

Furthermore, and this really got my goat, there was a gigantic Virgin Radio-sponsored bar, it looked palatial, it served bejewelled cocktails, it was probably air conditioned, and was exclusively for VIPs. Now, I’m not against VIP areas at all; where do you expect Mr. Rock Star to go and drink copious amounts of petrol and devour vast quantities of illicit consumables? However, the IoW VIP area housed distinctly ordinary looking “VIPs", so ordinary that they were actually just 'Ps'. So while these so-called "VIPs" got deluxe beverage action and shade a plenty, us everyday "Ps" drank luke-warm Pimms and scorched in the shadeless arena.

Unfortunately the IoW festival isn’t the secret Holy Grail of festivals that music fans think it is; in fact it basically serves as the Isle of Wight’s annual grand fête that so happens to have some good bands on. If you want a better idea of what the IoW festival is like, just think T4’s Beach Party thing for three days, and not on a beach. All I can say is that you wouldn’t get any of this nonsense at Reading: no graduated hierarchy of not very "VIPs"; no untrained families; you won’t have bazillions of cameramen swinging around the place, and best of all: there is tonnes of music, piles of it everywhere, more than you can shake a bucket of sticks at.

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