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How My First UK Festival Followed the Classic Five Steps of Grief

01/07/2013 12:23 BST | Updated 26/08/2013 10:12 BST

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Despite the false promise of "a day of sunshine fuelled electronic sounds in central Shoreditch," FOUND Festival ravers' spirits refused to be dampened by London's schizo-storms. In fact, my first festival foray of the summer pretty faithfully followed Kubler-Ross' famous 5 steps of grief:

STEP 1. Denial (mostly of the rain): "I feel fine!"

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You're thrilled its finally the weekend, so you can party-hearty with your best buds to your favorite DJ or celebrate a hen-do--like these saucy sailor girls. Young, carefree, you've made it past security and are propelled forward by I-dont-care prefestival buzz.

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So what if its raining? Unable to curb your enthusiasm, you give a whole new meaning to the song, "Dancing With Myself."

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STEP 2. Anger/Fear: " It's not fair!" "How can this happen to me?" '"Who is to blame?"

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Chaos reigns as swarming punters swiftly transform the stage areas, bars, and port-a-loos into battlegrounds. Random strangers approach you and demand to flip through the lineup booklet--that you paid 5 extra quid for--hanging innocuously around your neck. No, they can't be bothered to get their own, this will only take a second.

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Wait, you've never heard of the Wildkats? You are asked why are you even here, since you obviously know nothing about house music.

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Annoyed, you decide to quell your anger with a beer. When you finally get to the front of the bar queue---cash only. Damn.

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STEP 3. Bargaining: "Its okay because..."

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People-watching is inevitably as much a part of the festival experience as applauding a bass-thumpin' DJ set, so who wants to be outdone by a dude with a Verne-inspired pirate ship tat, a hipster dressed as a watermelon, or a gaggle of girls in crotch-riding cut-offs?

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You console yourself with the thought that at least you're not as cool-less as the dude with the "I heart house" head-shave.

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STEP 4. Depression: "Everything sucks."

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Every time you dry up, it starts raining again, wearing your resolve down to a nub. Why didn't you book that flight to Ibiza instead? You're tired, cold, hungry and beginning to wonder if you've made a horrible mistake.

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Although you're clearly miserable, there are still a hardy few whose dance moves refuse to be defeated by a musical lull or lack of fellow participation: they're not afraid to make total asses of themselves.

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Bless them.

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STEP 5. Acceptance: "Its going to be alright."

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Rejuvenated by the unwavering support of your friends and alcohol, you rally. You rejoin the bacchanalian frenzy of abandon around you, feeling a rush of insane happiness and no longer questioning why, accepting and loving all specimens of humanity no matter how strange or sinister.

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Unmistakable, the sweet stench of weed pervades the raucous fog of the crowd. Things are getting messy but definitely more interesting.

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Biology's imperative kicks in as everyone starts squeezing body parts, swapping saliva, and getting down and dirty caveman-style--except you.

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But no worries, there's always the afterparty...

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Or, if you couldn't be bothered to read the above, let Homer Simpson break it down for you in 23 seconds: