"It's drier than the Gobi down here still," remarked Mike cheerfully, a burly man wearing a fluorescent jacket. He poked the grass with the toe of his boot.
"But how long will it hold?' replied Ted, his companion, looking up at the low grey bank of clouds gathered ominously above the valley.
It was Ted's first festival on the farm. He'd been planning it since he was fifteen and had taken a year off work to manage the project. His parents had provided half the capital - the rest he'd borrowed from the bank.
Ted climbed the hill above the valley and looked down over the site worriedly. The earlier risers had already started to queue for tea and coffee, waiting with tent-matted hair and glum faces outside the mobile cafes. Fluttering the festival flags madly, the wind rushed through the tents, whipping canvas flaps back and forth and blasting paper cups off the tables. Shivering, the campers huddled closer to the breakfast vans, some jumping up and down to keep warm, some rubbing each other's arms.
"Power's out!" came the shout from Milly's Tea Shop as thunder rumbled down into the valley. The sky was dark. Ted watched as Mike ran across the site towards the generator. Others rushed about securing the gazebos and pulling plastic sheeting over the sound equipment.
The first drops of rain fell, pattering onto tent roofs and patterning the wooden tables with dark spots. groaning inwardly the breakfast vendors set up canopies and pulled cardboard boxes of cups and napkins under cover. The majority of the campers abandoned bacon rolls and hot tea in favour of shelter. A few pulled on their waterpoof jackets to brave it out.
The rain grew heavier. It spattered against plastic sheeting; ran in rivulets down ropes; and began to swell sagging corners of taupalain.
Ted wiped the drops of water from his watch. Another two hours before the music would start. he had checked the weather forecast religiously for the past month. It had looked so good! This was what he had feared. People so quickly got miserable in bad weather - especially at a small festival.
From where he was stabnding Ted could see that the site had pretty much cleared - not good for the Saturday. The vendors would be eyeing their tills and gritting their teeth.
Ted narrowed his eyes as a fork of lightening shot jaggedly down in the distance. Then came the thunder.
"Mike, come in Mike,' Ted shouted into his radio over the rumble of the thunder that followed. "Mike! Can you hear me? Get some music playing. MUSIC."
"We've got no performers till twelve," crackled back Mike's voice.
"Tell them their time slot's changed. Offer to pay them more. I don't care. Just get someone on stage!" Ted replied in frustration, wiping away the rain running into his eyes.
"Copy that!" came the reply.
For a while there was nothing. Just the wet flags fluttering and the site getting sodden, the valley mutely receiving the rain. Then, suddenly, there was the shir of the generator kicking bgack into life.
"Thank God!" muttered Ted to himself.
And next, from the main stage, the fuzzy sound of an amp connecting and the sharp squeal of feedback from the microphone. Ted began to take large strides down the hill, trying not to slip on the slick turf. He strained his eyes. Yes, there was someone there, up on the stage. Although Ted could see the figure's bright waterproof jacket he couldn't make out which performer it was.
Next he heard a cough, "Ahem!" before a flat voice came, rather apologetically, through the speakers. "Hello. Hello. One, two, three. Urrm. Hello Winterwell Festival. Are you having a good time?"
Oh God. It was Mike. Ted groaned. What the hell was he doing on stage?
"Right then. Here we go," came Mike's embarassed monotone. And then he began to sing "I'm singing in the rain, just singing in the..." and dance as he sang, hopping from foot to foot like a loonie in his neon jacket. "What a wonderful feeling, I'm..."
"Oh my God," Ted said aloud. "Oh my goodness." For a moment he felt like weeping.
"But how long will it hold?' replied Ted, his companion, looking up at the low grey bank of clouds gathered ominously above the valley.
It was Ted's first festival on the farm. He'd been planning it since he was fifteen and had taken a year off work to manage the project. His parents had provided half the capital - the rest he'd borrowed from the bank.
Ted climbed the hill above the valley and looked down over the site worriedly. The earlier risers had already started to queue for tea and coffee, waiting with tent-matted hair and glum faces outside the mobile cafes. Fluttering the festival flags madly, the wind rushed through the tents, whipping canvas flaps back and forth and blasting paper cups off the tables. Shivering, the campers huddled closer to the breakfast vans, some jumping up and down to keep warm, some rubbing each other's arms.
"Power's out!" came the shout from Milly's Tea Shop as thunder rumbled down into the valley. The sky was dark. Ted watched as Mike ran across the site towards the generator. Others rushed about securing the gazebos and pulling plastic sheeting over the sound equipment.
The first drops of rain fell, pattering onto tent roofs and patterning the wooden tables with dark spots. groaning inwardly the breakfast vendors set up canopies and pulled cardboard boxes of cups and napkins under cover. The majority of the campers abandoned bacon rolls and hot tea in favour of shelter. A few pulled on their waterpoof jackets to brave it out.
The rain grew heavier. It spattered against plastic sheeting; ran in rivulets down ropes; and began to swell sagging corners of taupalain.
Ted wiped the drops of water from his watch. Another two hours before the music would start. he had checked the weather forecast religiously for the past month. It had looked so good! This was what he had feared. People so quickly got miserable in bad weather - especially at a small festival.
From where he was stabnding Ted could see that the site had pretty much cleared - not good for the Saturday. The vendors would be eyeing their tills and gritting their teeth.
Ted narrowed his eyes as a fork of lightening shot jaggedly down in the distance. Then came the thunder.
"Mike, come in Mike,' Ted shouted into his radio over the rumble of the thunder that followed. "Mike! Can you hear me? Get some music playing. MUSIC."
"We've got no performers till twelve," crackled back Mike's voice.
"Tell them their time slot's changed. Offer to pay them more. I don't care. Just get someone on stage!" Ted replied in frustration, wiping away the rain running into his eyes.
"Copy that!" came the reply.
For a while there was nothing. Just the wet flags fluttering and the site getting sodden, the valley mutely receiving the rain. Then, suddenly, there was the shir of the generator kicking bgack into life.
"Thank God!" muttered Ted to himself.
And next, from the main stage, the fuzzy sound of an amp connecting and the sharp squeal of feedback from the microphone. Ted began to take large strides down the hill, trying not to slip on the slick turf. He strained his eyes. Yes, there was someone there, up on the stage. Although Ted could see the figure's bright waterproof jacket he couldn't make out which performer it was.
Next he heard a cough, "Ahem!" before a flat voice came, rather apologetically, through the speakers. "Hello. Hello. One, two, three. Urrm. Hello Winterwell Festival. Are you having a good time?"
Oh God. It was Mike. Ted groaned. What the hell was he doing on stage?
"Right then. Here we go," came Mike's embarassed monotone. And then he began to sing "I'm singing in the rain, just singing in the..." and dance as he sang, hopping from foot to foot like a loonie in his neon jacket. "What a wonderful feeling, I'm..."
"Oh my God," Ted said aloud. "Oh my goodness." For a moment he felt like weeping.
Mike waved as he hopped back and forth and sang, "Dancin' in the rain Dee-ah dee-ah dee-ah dee. Dee-ah dee-ah dee-ah dee. I'm happy again!"
Ted started to smile. After all the stress of the last year, not to mention the past month: the sleepless nights, the money worries (his parents' money!), the perfomers pulling out, the site, the weather... he finally relaxed. And laughed. Slapping his thigh he cracked up, doubling over and laughing uncontrollably on the wet hill above the deserted festival.
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