Which side of me will win?

Metalcamp 2011: Does a beer shit in the woods?

We find beer, which is to say we find Nina, who has beer. Not just beer, but reasonably cold beer, presumably not long out of her parents’ fridge. Now that we have beer, our next objective is to locate Nick from Canada, who I haven’t seen, or smelled, for over two years.

Nina last saw him a few hours ago, at which time he was very drunk. No surprise there. She takes us to his most likely whereabouts. He’s not there. She takes us to his second most likely whereabouts. He’s not there either. Third most likely? Nope. We can’t find him anywhere, which is weird because usually when you’re within about half a mile of Nick you can hear him.

Our search takes us to parts of the Metalcamp site that I didn’t even know existed. There’s a lot more woodland than I realised and some really sweet camping spots in there if you arrive early and don’t mind sleeping on uneven ground. It’s so quiet on the wooded riverbanks, you’d never know you were at a metal festival.

So quiet, in fact, that there’s no way Nick is anywhere around here, and eventually we run out of places to look and give up looking for him altogether. Instead we arrange to meet up with Peter again. It’s hours before we finally meet up though. Seriously, if you like doing things in a hurry, don’t go to Metalcamp. Don’t even go to Slovenia. It’s not in any kind of rush, ever.

The main reason we fail to meet up with Peter for some time is that we end up talking to a drunk Italian guy called Arno for fucking ages. At first he just asks us the time, but about an hour later we’ve heard a significant chunk of his life story. He’s very pissed and so goes on and on about all kinds of stuff, but he does seem to be a decent guy. He’s talking to us to kill time before he goes and speaks to some girl he really likes at midnight. Despite being repeatedly asked, he never specificies why he has to wait ‘til midnight to speak to her. She’s presumably Cinderalla or something. Only she’s a metal version of Cinderella, probably called Sin-derella, that gets spruced up by magic at the stroke of midnight.

Eventually we break free of Arno’s relentless but immensely likable grasp and reach the arena entrance, where we’re supposed to be meeting Peter. But Peter’s not there. He’s somehow got even more distracted on the way than we were. When he finally shows his excuse for being so late is, if I remember rightly, “girls”. That whisky hasn’t worn off yet.

He says he has some beer back at his tent and invites us to come and share it, and so begins yet another thing that happens very, very slowly. We walk a little way up the track then take a right into a little patch of woodland. We sort of pass through a group of girls sitting outside tents then Peter stops in the middle of them. He pauses, looking from side to side with a look of concentration and confusion on the back of his head (I can’t see his face, but I can read the back of his head like a book). Everyone’s gone very quiet.

“Are you sure this is where you live?” I enquire, resulting in an eruption of laughter from everyone present. We bid our farewells to the girls whose camp we just invaded and go back the way we came. It was very funny, honest. But you probably had to be there.

We then walk up and down the track for what feels like about another hour before Peter finally gives in and phones someone else to ask them where his tent is. He finds it, there is beer in it. Everyone loves a happy ending.


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