91. Blur

Hyde Park

20 June 2015

The day began, as all festival days should, at least for those who do not do festivals, not in a field with warm lager but under the civilised cover of Gaucho’s patio umbrellas with a couple of steaks and a bottle of something entirely inappropriate for noon.

Such was the quality of the lunch and our commitment to leisurely hedonism that we entirely missed the first act, Drenge. No regrets there, I’d seen them previously at Rough Trade East and found them about as engaging as a sixth form art project. We did arrive just in time to catch the tail end of Metronomy, which meant the wristbands were on, the wine was in a bucket, and the day was already leaning heavily towards excellent.

Installed on some frankly ludicrous wicker sofas in the VIP section, situated at a very respectable distance from the unwashed masses, we sipped chilled white wine and watched The Horrors, perched on padded sofas, sizzling in the afternoon sun. Their set drifted by pleasantly enough, though if I’m honest, our main focus was the which food truck we would source dinner from.

Of course, we were here for Blur. The sun dipped. The stage lights twinkled. The front-of-stage wristband got us into a special corral near the action where everyone tried to look like they weren’t that excited. A few of the newer tracks from The Magic Whip came first, polished, well-mannered affairs that prompted polite head-bobbing and the occasional thoughtful chin-stroke. But when the nineties hits began, when “Girls & Boys” strutted into view and “Parklife” came roaring through, with Phil Daniels reprising his role by appearing on stage, the place properly lit up.

The band were clearly enjoying themselves, which always helps. Damon was grinning, Graham was noodling, and Alex James was looking less cheesy than usual. And us? We were having a bloody great time, tipsy, well-fed, and just the right side of euphoric. It was Blur in the park, and life, for that moment, was very, very good.