The Spirit Is Willing, But The Flesh Is Spongy & Bruised: Surviving Splendour Day Three

The new muscles I've discovered in my legs, particularly around the calf region, suggest many rollerblading sessions on the trot, but then an a-ha moment (the one where muddy gumboots are sighted) confirms all.

So it's already been reported in the news that basketballer Liz Cambage prioritised her Splendour bender over training camp (and has hence been ruled out of the Opals' Rio Olympic qualifying series), but surely her training thanks to dancing in knee-high mud and scaling the ridiculously steep Amphitheatre hill up to the other VIP Bar should be taken into consideration? It's actually (Wellington) boot camp! Cambage was witnessed traversing the site like a boss, so surely some consideration for someone who chooses music over life, please? 

Sunday is officially Go Hard Or Go Home territory so it's pleasing to see an early turnout when I trek in around midday. The sun is blinding, but it's still Splendour In The Mud - this weekend's most overused phrase (as is consistent with every other year). WhaddayaMEAN there's a cloak room near the entrance? I've been carrying around a bulky jacket in a bag for the last two days! 

During The Delta Riggs, a Super Mario Brother-onesied gent staggers about offering out high fives (it would be rude not to) while modelling some suspicious stains on the back of his costume. Where's my hand sanitiser? This would be some festivalgoers' fourth day without a shower and you really don't wanna get too close to anyone's pits. Some knickers have undoubtedly also been turned inside out out of pure desperation 'cause all other pairs are wet/mingin' so picking up/shagging in tents just isn't an option Day Three: bros before 'hos and chicks before dicks it is, then. 

Forget the Underwear As Outerwear trend, SITG 2015 heralds in the Underwear As Entire Outfit.  Even Florence Welsh got in on the action last night to close Florence & The Machine's headline Amphitheatre set when she whipped off her frock and ran around in her undies in a seemingly spontaneous free-spirit display. Bras, undies and gumboots (and muddy legs) are all the rage. A dude hilariously describes his location to a friend from inside Mix-Up tent: "I'm standing in a pile of mud." Haha, no shit, Sherlock! 

One ace thing about Splendour In The Grass is the specific nature of the different stages: Mix-Up's for dancing and taking on-shoulders selfies, Amphitheatre is best for that community feel (and to wipe out numerous times trying to find a decent position and GW McLennan has a habit of attracting diverse musical offerings that tend toward the heritage-listed. Thanks to current hipster attire channelling the pioneer look, those workin' in the Amish village this year don't even stand out when sculling beers doing their breaks. 

Sorry to brag (you need a Gold bar wristband to get back here), but the sidestage bleachers make for stunning Amphitheatre band viewing out of the direct sunlight. You get to see the crowd reacting to moments and make mental notes of what to avoid down the track when they look stoopid. Mainly, fucking up song lyrics/mouthing what you think you can get away with as lyrics is the most common faux pas. Then there's also the fascinating insight one gets into the setting up process in between bands when watching trolleys of already-set-up backlines being wheeled in and out as well as a mandatory game of 'spot the butt crack'. The only bad thing is the amount of time one must queue in order to secure a posi up there (sometimes an entire set must be sacrificed for the privilege). From this pukka vantage point, Wolf Alice, Last Dinosaurs and Blur are enjoyed. Like a boss.

Is that Cambacage we see partying in the Gold Bar, post-Blur? Good girl. 

After squeezing in yet another Byron Bay donut and perhaps even another pie, it's squelch, squelch, squelch, it's off to the car once more. Squelch, squelch, squelch. Then time to sit in the car for a while, waiting in bumper-to-bumper traffic to leave the site. Memories of Mark Ronson's ode to Amy Winehouse thanks to the use of her original Valerie vocals on Friday night, Welch's close-enough-to nudie run to close out her Saturday night set and (of course) Song 2 live ("WOO-hoo!") compete happily for prominence in our internal jukeboxes and that's it for another year. 

Next year, however, can there please be more seated areas? It's always gonna rain and our tooshes need rests.