One unexpected joy at Lowlands was the Oxfam area, selling good food and warm feelings to one’s fellow man. It seemed to cater for those Lowlanders who had not only seen and done their twenties, but the T-shirt was getting a little bit faded too. It was noticeable that those in their 20s and below seemed happiest satisfying their hunger with deep-fried minced horse intestines, those in their 30s and beyond seemed to prefer food not swept off the slaughterhouse floor. (Actually, I’m doing an injustice to the other food stalls at Lowlands, some are pretty damn good for festival food, although you could still get deep-fried minced horse intestines, I’m sure.)
One thing the Oxfam people did was the Oxfam breakfast bag. It was basically a morning food parcel for a small price. It was then I realised what was going on. Somehow, someone had convinced Oxfam with all these tents and people looking the worse for wear that this really was a refugee camp.