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!"
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.
So what if its raining? Unable to curb your enthusiasm, you give a whole new meaning to the song, "Dancing With Myself."
STEP 2. Anger/Fear: " It's not fair!" "How can this happen to me?" '"Who is to blame?"
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.
Wait, you've never heard of the Wildkats? You are asked why are you even here, since you obviously know nothing about house music.
Annoyed, you decide to quell your anger with a beer. When you finally get to the front of the bar queue---cash only. Damn.
STEP 3. Bargaining: "Its okay because..."
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?
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.
STEP 4. Depression: "Everything sucks."
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.
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.
Bless them.
STEP 5. Acceptance: "Its going to be alright."
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.
Unmistakable, the sweet stench of weed pervades the raucous fog of the crowd. Things are getting messy but definitely more interesting.
Biology's imperative kicks in as everyone starts squeezing body parts, swapping saliva, and getting down and dirty caveman-style--except you.
But no worries, there's always the afterparty...
Or, if you couldn't be bothered to read the above, let Homer Simpson break it down for you in 23 seconds: