The Independent Republic of Meredith

Meredith came and went.

What a festival, what a weekend, what a lady…

So, as Clara and I were going up in a convoy together with Tex and whole bunch of other people (some 25 or so), we had a pretty early start to look forward to. “Meet us at the BP station in Little River at 5am”.

Oh, sure, no worries.

Hence, no running on Wednesday, as we had to get food and booze and squeeze in Sharon Jones & the Dap Kings and maybe even some sleep to! Fair enough, this was Wednesday night, but still, Thursday was kinda busy as it was, trying to get as much sleep as possible and packing up the car and so on.

So, Thursday night we were packed up and ready to rock n’ roll. Clara went off to bed; I had some last minute stuff to do. ‘Oh don’t worry, I’ll wake you up” was the last thing I said as Clara trundled off to bed.

At 3.55am Clara knocks on my door, asking politely is maybe I should get up, as we needed to be out the door in about ten minutes. Seems I managed to completely miss three alarms. What an achievement.

Anywho, we set off eventually, in a pretty packed car, driving along towards Geelong and Little River. Managed to get a little bit lost, but made it eventually. Some five or so minutes after we got there, Tex’ car rolls in to the parking lot, next to a gazillion others, packed to the brim with camping gear and beer cans. The guy at the petrol station had a busy night.

After a quick pit stop waiting for some more people, we were off again. Clara and I took some bags in the car as the boys in the backseat were pretty stuffed in, next to Tex’ camping bed and tents and four slabs of beer.

About 40 odd minutes of driving later, Tex pulls over, black smoke spewing out of the exhaust. No one has a fucking clue what to do, several cars drive past, honking and waving. We’re off to a good start.

We manage to divide some of the more important stuff between the cars present, and drive off to meet the rest of the crew in Meredith town. The guys left behind come later, either by bus or by some friendlies that pick them up on the way.

About 8 km from the front gate (that doesn’t open until 9am) we stop. It’s 7.30. Time to open the first beer of the day, ‘cos we sure ain’t moving anytime soon. At a snail pace, we finally make it through to the campgrounds, where SJ has already picked put a great spot and started putting tents down.

We’re right in Hong Kong, on the corner of A Shady Lane and A Long and Winding Road. Right next to the rent-a-tents at the Rochester, in fact. Great spot.

So, after a few hours, all the tents are up, the marquee is in place, everyone has arrived. It’s about 10am and time for a beer.

Clara and I decide to go for a wander around the site, together with the Mad Kiwi Tex picked up on the bus over. As we’ve already picked out the bands we’re interested in seeing, and they don’t start until later, there’s not much else to do but return to camp, make sangria, drink beer and talk shit. It’s rather excellent.

I wander off in the afternoon, as I’m heading down to the Pink Flamingo to meet a mate of mine. The rest of the crew split between checking out the Puta Madre Brothers and having naps.

Several Pink Flamingos, some food, and a ride on the Ferris wheel later, we’re back at camp. The day passes pretty much like that, walking between the stage and our campsite, until around 9pm-ish when we all head down to check out Cloud Control, and later Reverend Horton Heat. Tex decides it’s time for a Meredith tradition and buys Clara and I a pink flamingo. I like traditions.

Back at camp, listening to Little Red, drinking some more beer and talking crap with Keung. Clara goes to bed; Keung and I have a laugh at the crappy hip-hop act that has overdosed on what sounds like hooligan horns. Finally, at 2am I drop off to bed too, only to wake up 5 hours later, at 7am, dying to pee and freezing to death.

Saturday is therefore off to a great start. Coming back form the (rather excellent) loos, I go hunt for some food and end up with a quesadilla from the Psybus, the only place open 24 hours. Sitting on a couch in front of the stage, I watch the word and the cleaners go by for a while, before returning to the car for a (hopefully warmer) sleep.

Clara wakes me up a few hours later, and we eventually stumble in to the marquee to find everyone else. After a few hours of faffing around (buying the compulsory t-shirt among other things), we pack up the esky, grab some chairs and head won to the red tree to watch C.W. Stoneking’s excellent set. All the good songs form Jungle Blues are being trodded out, and I’m loving it. Tex tells us about the cocktail party, as Girls starts playing, so we go back to the campsite to drop our stuff off, and head over to bush camp to find the elusive party we’ve heard so much about.

Turns out to be a Baywatch theme this year. This year, it turns out, is also being the last time the cocktail party will be out on, due to various reasons, mainly liquor-related. Bummer.

The party is excellent, beach balls are flying wildly through the air, a Hasselhoff piñata filled with various adult toys and flavours is being savagely bashed, and the cocktails are flowing freely. There is also an engineering student with a massive beer bong walking around, to some of the guys’ delight. We brought the beer, he brought the bong.

After a few hours, we wander back up to the Ranga tree, bypassing the Hare Krishna food tent. Back at camp, the beers are flowing again, and I go have a quick nap, in order to keep going all night. (Somewhere here, during the day, Clara also manages to lose her phone in the most excellent manner. Taking it out of her back pocket in order not to drop it in the compost loo, she quickly proceeds to drop it. In to the compost loo).

Early evening comes around, and with that, a quick stop at the Pink Flamingo for more drinks and a listen to the brilliant Combo La Revelacion, and later on the much looked forward to sunset set – the pretty awesome Neil Finn takes the stage and a massive sing-along starts up. He is really fucking brilliant, the way he mixes old favourites with newer stuff, and even brings a lucky punter up on stage to play the guitar with him for one song, and finishes off with a track, bringing Warren Ellis from Dirty Three up on stage. Clara and I, now armed with a bottle of tinto de verano, manage to find ST at the Pink Flamingo, so we get ourselves some beverages and follower her down to the front of the stage, just in time for Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings.

As it gets a bit too crowded, we soon wander back up again, where you can actually see something. About 5 minutes later, the rain starts. It’s falling sideways, as it is combined with a pretty nasty wind. I’m soaked in about 5 minutes flat, and Clara huddles on the ground in her bright yellow poncho. As Sharon finishes her set, which was very much the same as Wednesdays one, but shorter, we go back to camp for some dry clothes and to secure our flimsy tents.

Back at the stage, as the rain stops, just in time for Dirty Three to start up. At the same time, the glow stick wars start. Someone to the left of the stage is throwing handful after handful of glow sticks into the audience, who happily pass them on. The air is soon full of these multicoloured lights that look like demented grasshoppers they way they get thrown around.

Serious chills setting in, it being rather late, we go down to the Psybus for a cup of tea and run in to another friend. One who seems to have had a lot of chemical help to feel as good as she does. Nice one.

The sky show starts as we wait for our hot drinks, and so does Pantha du Prince. Neither of us being super fans of German electronica, we make it back to camp, where Clara decides to sleep in the car, as her tent is about to blow away.

I get the warm doona, and crawl into my tent and die.

Sunday morning comes around, as it does. Clara and I make it down for breakfast, after having spent some time packing up the tents and the car. I manage to get my hands on some of the last veggie burgers, which we quickly devour, sitting on a couch somewhere up the slope, as the Dead Salesmen Duo are playing. A guy walks up to us, asking if he can join. We say yes, of course. It turns out it is his couch.

We slowly walk back to camp, listening to the excellent set from Those Darlins, as we pack up the last pieces of junk, and help others fight their way through their tents. We find one of our mates, and decide its time to go eat again, as Hypnotic Brass Ensemble are jamming, and we want to find a good spot for the upcoming Gift.

After some cold noodles, and as the music draws to an end, we manage to find a suitable tree to climb, and thus get a semi-decent view of all the nudity lined up at the other end of the stage. The Gift is on. After a few hilariously commentated heats, and the discovery of a middle-aged man calmly walking around wearing nothing but a t-shirt and a pair of runners, we make our way back up to camp, say good-bye to everyone, pack ourselves into the car and slowly slowly drive back towards civilization.

It was only three days, but it felt like a lifetime. I understand now why so many people feel so at home at Meredith, and why you never really want to leave once you get there. I don’t know about you all, but I’m definitely back next year.