Simply thrilled honey

At the Belle & Sebastian gig, I'm standing in my usual place about four rows from the front, to the right of the stage, when I wonder why security guards at festivals are so miserable looking. Is it part of the hard image they need to maintain or are they genuinely hating every minute of it? They're standing there in the best seats of the house, facing the wrong way.

There's an annoying girl with a gravelly voice shouting for 'another sunny day' after every number. I'm hoping everyone who can hear her is thinking the same thing as me. Great song. Don't play it. There's also the problem of people trying to force themselves to the front late on. Where exactly do they think they're going to stand? This aside it's a fantastic gig. Originally I thought i'd see the last 30 minutes further back, but i'm mesmerised, rooted to the spot. They don't play 'another sunny day'. I swear towards the end one of the security guards cracks and is smiling.

This isn't just any gig, this is Bowlie 2 at Butlins in Minehead. OK, so the outdoor swimming pool and overhead mono rail depicted in the 70's Butlins postcard I buy, isn't here to transport us to gigs but with everything else: the football, the music, the book readings, the scrabble, saturday night drinking, everything is fantastic. Our chalet, No. 31 Flamingo Grove, is small and homely. With no fridges people are keeping their milk on the windowsill or on the doorstep.

We walk amongst the winter cardigans, brown rimmed spectacles and messy hair, between the chalet and the giant white dome that houses the main stage, arcade, Irish pub, shops, bars and the ballroom where other bands are playing. Plus there's Reds and the Crazy Horse housing events. People are friendly, some people we meet up with once, such as the three drinkers we meet by the bar on Saturday night for the Franz gig, who've been drinking since 11am. Others are seemingly everywhere we turn, such as the Franz guitarist.

On Saturday I play football. We get through the first two rounds, which is pretty good for a thrown together team. There are a couple of fantastic players on our team, neither of whom are me. The matches are ten minutes and after the first I feel like my lungs are going to burst through my chest. A good lie down and I'm ready for match two. We're waiting around to play again, but it gets postponed to the Sunday. I never turn up for the Sunday match, until too late. Sorry team Noleen. Did we/you win?

Saturday afternoon we're at the front against the barrier for Edwyn Collins, backed by Teenage Fanclub, playing the songs of Orange Juice. Sound perfect? It was even better than that, it was just so magical. The Vaselines were amazing too, the foul mouth banter of Francis a bonus. Made me wish I'd joined her yoga class.

I could have stayed there all week, made some time to use the pool and speed down those water shoots. But Monday morning and everyone's leaving, the bands too. We return to real life, the annoying sunny day girl's voice has dimmed, become something to mimic, the pushing and the December cold forgotten, with the music as wonderful as ever, shining bright in the memory like sky lanterns illuminating the night sky.