Monday, December 17, 2012

Eldorado, Camping Music Festival Bliss

 A riveting game of "sticks and scats" whilst we waited for a bus to ferry us in, cheered up the middle Bowerbird playing with rabbit poo.


 I made the 11 year old promise that she would dance with me at the next Folk Rhythm and Life festival, in two years time. All three kids had a good boogie with their mum this year, but I'm not sure what a teenager will think of my Elaine style dancing. She may not be convinced of the "dance like no one's watching" maxim. Not that I'm alone, Eldorado is a place I feel positively straight laced. So good to find that inner hippy.


 I held back from the awesome Dallas Frasca jumping castle crowd surfing.

Good friends, good food, good music and camping in divine surrounds. The only downside to such a relaxing holiday is that I can't be bothered getting organised for Christmas, or doing much of anything for that matter, even feeling too lazy to blog. I'm way too chilled, but what a beautiful start to summer. 

The hottest week of December did leave me slightly on edge whilst we were away, when we got home I dropped everything and ran to water the garden, only a few corn seedling casualties, but I feel way behind on the gardening front - I still have cucumber and zuchinni seeds to plant. ahhh.

A couple of videos to get you into the summer groove. Sal Kimber was my festival favourite. A huge thankyou to all the volunteers that make this beautiful festival the highlight of my summer.

Mia Dyson
Lee Rosser and Tim O'Conner - Honey Coated @ FRL 2012

On our way home we picked up a new furry addition, but more on him later.

1 comment:

  1. Got to love a good festival and this one was no exception by the look. Happy summer days. I can't get much into the Christmas mood much either. But I have baked a lot of Christmas cakes to help me get there


In the spring, at the end of the day, you should smell like dirt.
Margaret Atwood

“She turned to the sunlight
And shook her yellow head,
And whispered to her neighbour:
"Winter is dead.”
― A.A. Milne, When We Were Very Young