I had a blast at the Garden Party yesterday. Weather beautiful, venue beautiful, vibe beautiful, people beautiful. Spent the day going up to people with tattoos asking could I photograph them. Most were really happy to show them off. A few declined for copyright reasons – they were jealously guarding their designs, wanting to ensure they remained unique. A couple of times I met with suspicion – I had no tattoos myself, so why was I so interested? One bitchy guy seemed a little snide about my motives. As if wanting to go up to fit folk and photograph them was somewhat dubious, or that eroticism has no place in the displaying of decorated human skin in a summer festival. But I couldn’t think of a better thing to do, and I’m delighted with the results.
Most reacted to my requests with beaming good humour, and my interactions with some of the luvved up guys were priceless examples of how MDMA is the saviour of the modern heterosexual male. I learned (again, but I keep on forgetting) how I’m seen by other people as being unmistakeably gay. One cute man came up and was bemused and enthralled with me – truly marvelling at how comfortable I was being “so gay” and then revealing shyly, his heart racing in tremulous pleasure, how nervous he was talking to me. Later on, the fittest man in the festival, a 6’4″ muscled smooth handsome tank of a man and his friends stopped me as I was walking past them and with great good humour asked me to commiserate with their friend. Could I reassure him that he would one day find a man, that he wasn’t so bad looking? I could indeed, I said. Manly handshakes all around, and an undercurrent of mischievous flirtation beaming from the lot of them towards me.
I loved watching the Irish at play. We sure know how to party. The Pet Shop Boys were in great form, although there was a more laid back approach all around to their set compared to the ecstatic experience of their first Irish gig at the 2006 Electric Picnic. But “laid back” was just what I needed.