Spending the weekend in the heart of a secret valley in the gorgeous Gloucestershire countryside doesn’t exactly sound like hard work, so I was more than happy to head along to the Winterwell Festival last Friday afternoon. Armed with my Fortnum’s hamper and a holdall full of festival chic, my guest and I set off along the M4 in the June sunshine. On arrival, a guitar-playing troubadour led us to our quarters for the weekend: a super-luxe tipi.
I’ve never been one to gloat, but heading into our 14ft tipi – complete with Moroccan lanterns, hand woven rugs and open fire – whilst other festival goers struggled with rickety tent poles and blow away gazebos, gave me that uneasy sense of satisfaction, even more so when the heavens opened and the rain began… Smug, Moi?
After unpacking and mourning the fact that I had forgotten to bring a torch and matches (spot the city girl) we took a trip down aptly named ‘buns of steel hill’, in search of five star festival fayre. We were rewarded with a bespoke ‘Pieminister’ pie, complete with herb mash and the finest flaking pastry this side of Glastonbury.
Onto the music… Some people might be put off by the lack of big names in the Winterwell line-up, but this is actually part of the festival’s genius! Instead of rushing around from stage to stage, fighting for space, you can amble along at your own pace listening out for something that is quite literally music to your ears, park up with your Pimms and take in the tunes.
The best sounds of the festival were belting out from the ‘Rockin Sizzle Suite’, a mish mash of Rockabilly and Motown with some hip-hop thrown in for good measure. Presiding over the evening was Gospel DJ Count Sizzle, giving the stage over to acts including the Still House Orchestra, who raised the tent with their fiery Johnny Cash and June Carter medley, and the bizarrely named Severed Limb, a contemporary Skiffle band sporting vintage tee’s, lashings of Brylcream and plenty of awkward charm.
Day Two: after a delightfully hot (that’s right hot) shower, and the sun doing just what a sun should be doing, we spent the morning lounging harem style on silk covered beds, feasting on Victoria Sponge in the vintage tea rooms. Winterwell’s airy charm is not as elusive as one might imagine. This year, the festival was taken over by the weird and wonderful world of Roald Dahl. Along with Golden Ticket Treasure Hunts and Twit’s Spaghetti Eating Competitions, the valley was alive with Oompa Loompa’s, Wonka Bars and even a Giant Peach or two – all in a bid to impress the quirky eye of the Fancy Dress intermediary. I was no exception to the costumed mayhem, but sadly, the indefinite appearance of a Glass Elevator spoiled my chance to take the golden ticket, and the unassuming shower curtain with flashing lights was the soon-to-be celebrity.
Returning to our tipi that night we arrived to find that our lanterns and fire had been lit and a rather lovely bottle of chilled Sauvignon Blanc had been delivered to our door – ‘glamping’ at its finest. As we sipped our wine and toasted marshmallows on the fire, Iberic chill-out sounds washed over the late night dancers and floated up the hill to the campsite – the perfect festival lullaby.
For more information on Winterwell, please visit www.winterwell.co.uk.
To book your accommodation in a luxury tipi, please visit www.bathbristoltipihire.co.uk
