my meredith diary (part two)

The sky was a deepening blue as the sun sat low in the west on this the second day of the Meredith Music Festival, a three day event that attracts ten thousand people each year in a largely disused paddock somewhere between Geelong and Ballarat. This was the festival’s fifteenth incarnation and had apparently sold out in ten days, well before the band line-up was announced but as I have been repeatedly told by almost everyone: “no one comes to Meredith to see the bands.”

Skipping the Aussie rock troupe Airbourne I met the others back for dinner at base-camp, with me a yellow curry wrap, it small and overpriced, I poured myself another cup of my cask cab-sav while listening to a lively discussion about Airbourne's show. One of our campsters Richard described them as OZ-Rock rip-offs, over-hyped and totally unoriginal; he questioned not only the intelligence of the band but anyone in the crowd who stuck around enjoying themselves. I had to laugh but didn't say anything. Not that I disagreed but best to in these situations, at least when conversation turns to music, as I often come out sounding stupid, ill-informed etc.

I moved off and joined another conversation. “You can tell which part he works out on..." Glen laughed, "do you thing he’s had surgical implants?” he asked, gesturing to one of the boys in a neighbouring encampment. “His arse is pretty big,” I agreed only fully comfortable with discussing things of a sexual nature if I can make fun of it. The man we were ogling was wearing just a pair of tight white footy shorts, with longish tawny hair and moustache, his body tanned and musculated. You had to wonder whether he was aware that he looked like a 70’s porn-star (I thought he was probably was). And there (*subtle tilt of the head to indicate direction) was his arse… pert and taut and enormous, inflated semi-circular cheeks and with his friends surrounding him, largely shirtless, athletic bogans, one wearing a lifesavers skull-cap; what a mouthful. They were drinking their beers and laughing and we were there watching them as expertly and slyly as possible. Nevertheless, differing sexualities aside these men were probably engaged much the similar conversation themselves.

Having finished dinner Dan and Andrew finally got about setting up their tent. Dan who’d arrived late on Friday night slept in his car, and after doing his very best to catch up with drinking and all other manner of things he ended up vomiting out one of his car doors. I was kicking around the dust and grass while waiting for some movement out of the camp, when I found a finch, flat and lifeless on the ground. Using a shovel from Dan’s car I proceeded to dig a shallow grave and had made several attempts before I was able to lift the bird into the earth. I am always lost for words at funerals but wished her a long and lasting sleep; imagined the ground empty of caravans and tents, bogans and me, just the yellow grass sweeping in the wind with the deep breath blue sky above.

The tent now standing by itself, pegs (and now bird) in the ground, Darren suggested we go on a sunset ride on the Meredith Eye, a 18 metre ferris wheel just east of the Pink Flamingo. A fine idea, I thought to waste some time until Sons and Daughters came on. So I decided to join them. Cam walked over to me as we were leaving and handed me a ticket to the ferris wheel, a small rectangle slip that said admit one. Apparently they had a spare from last night. Thanking him I placed it in my wallet; he’d just saved me three bucks.