Off we go to the Big Tent Festival. Turned out to be a little more of an epic journey than originally anticipated... I blame the organisers for not making it abudantly clear that the free bus to the festival on Falkland Estate was from St Andrews Station in St Andrews, rather than St Andrews Bus Station, in Edinburgh. Seriously an easy mistake for us to make, n'est pas?
To bring you up to speed: Stu and I have been a tad short on money since the epic booking of our Australia trip, so no summer festivals for us, but we couldn't resist traipsing off to a little folk shindig in Fife to see the Scottish hippies in their natural habitat.
The lush surrounds of Falkland Estate. picking our way through the pretty town, following the signs to the Big Tent.
Ahhh, not so hidden. We found you!
The ultimate reward for our epic journey - which involved a 30 minute power walk into town, followed by confused wanderings around St Andrews Bus Station, St Andrews Square and (so embarrassed about this one) the Tourist Information Centre. When we finally realised the magical free bus to Falkland wasn't going to be overly helpful to us since it wasn't going to take us across the Firth of Forth to Fife, we got us on a train to Ladybank, and just over an hour later, onto a bus to Falkland. 4 hours after leaving the house, we were there. The friendly, folky ticket stampers were on hand to provide the weary traveller with strawberries (completely worth it, scottish strawberries are unbelievably good).
Turns out our friend Meredith got a last minute gig at the Festival, came in handy when there was a sudden downpour and she was able to get us into the staff tent.
Vegetarians look away now. It simply wouldn't be a Scotch event without a hog roast.
A hog - less fleshy, more wicker-y.
Brazil Brazil were campy fun. The boys had their abs on full display and the ladies shook their booties like nobody's business.
The coolest kids on the block.
These two were a force to be reckoned with - couldn't work out whether they were fighting or dancing, let's call it fancing.
Deep inside the canvassy bosom of The Big Yurt, Mongolian cousin of The Big Tent.
I love how Stu's expression seems to imply that this is totally normal behaviour.
