From somewhere in the further reaches of time comes the legend of the pixie ring. A cautionary tale that warns the listener of the dangers of stepping inside a circle of flowers whilst wandering through bewitched woodland. Because by doing so, mortals will be rendered invisible and forced to dance themselves straight into madness, as a punishment from the fairies they disturb. A tall tale of some very mischievous tiny folk, for sure, but something to bear in mind, as Forest Live begins its annual enchanting assailment of English woodland.Because every Summer, the Forestry Commission organises a series of concerts across seven forests in the UK, encouraging us to dance beneath the treetops.
Lucky for us east coasters, one of those is in our very own Thetford Forest.
Buried amongst the trees at High Lodge, a little bit of festival magic springs up in a clearing that has existed longer than the whispered wrong doings of mythical fae. A stage and big screens are assembled, food and beverage vendors roll up in their wagons and folk from all around stroll in with their camping chairs and picnic baskets to take part in an evening of live music, as the skies darken, and the smell of street food fills the air.
And if you’re camping adverse, like me, Forest Live events are out here giving you the best of both worlds. Live music in the great outdoors but with the promise of returning home to your own bed at the end of it all. Your gateway gig, if you will. Maybe you’ll get the bug for bigger events, maybe this is exactly the right amount of float for your boat.
This year’s headliners included; Sting, Tom Jones, Anne-Marie, Sophie Ellis-Bextor, and Paloma Faith, the latter of which I had the pleasure of attending on 27 June. My only complaint is that 27 June was a Thursday and what us millennials will forever call a ‘school night’. The irony of which is that I could sit through a math lesson with a hangover now but sadly I’m in my thirties and have a job with adult responsibilities. However, I was blessed with an upgraded ticket which allowed me entry to the VIP section at Paloma’s pre-Glastonbury session, so it was worth staying up past my bedtime.
Now… I have never been a VIP anywhere. So, to say I was excited at the prospect is an understatement. VIP entry comes with its own parking area so from the get-go, it felt very much like, “Hello, VIPs coming through, thank you please!” We were further removed from the general population as we made our way towards the arena area, following the VIP signage. We were identified upon entry as VIPs by wristbands, that only fuelled my inflated sense of self-importance.
From there, we were ushered through to The Glade; an area nestled away behind the main stage, strictly for VIPS, that possessed its own food vendors, bar and toilets. Bedecked in brightly coloured rag bunting and sporting amble picnic table seating, The Glade feels appropriately private for Very Important People. And as it turns out, VIPs are not expected to wait in a four-deep endlessly shifting bar queue that has the variable satisfaction rating of a Crystal Maze task. Still, £9 a pint. But The Glade isn’t a portal to a deflated economy or 1978, and the price did include a reusable cup charge so there’s no real complaints there.
The toilets proudly proclaimed that they were ‘luxury’ and they did not disappoint. Inside were individual stalls situated across from a bank of proper sinks, in lieu of the usual empty hand sanitiser unit nailed to the back of a portaloo door. There were also probably as many stalls for the limited VIP section, as there were in the main arena area for everyone else. So, no waiting. Now, at my age, that’s luxury.
Inside the arena, the VIP area continued inside of a fenced off zone. I had a brief notion that this must be how it feels to be a member of the royal family. Not top tier but certainly the mid-range. Someone in the top 30 in line to the throne. I did manage to refrain from waving or calling anyone a pauper though… Barely.
The vibe was pretty chilled out, with many people choosing to sit away from the stage on a mixture of picnic chairs and blankets. We chose to get as close as physically possible to Paloma by ploughing our way to the front of the stage. This played out beautifully because I think Paloma and I even made eye contact at one point. And this will now supersede my previous go-to celebrity story about the time I saw John Barrowman in Cardiff and picked up the receipt he left behind in Starbucks. Despite her personal issues with the excessive use of fans on stage, the show was obviously brilliant. The woman is a power-house vocalist.
As the sun sank below the tree line, the lights came on in the wooded expanse around the stage, throwing shades of purple and green high into the branches. People swayed, the weather held itself together and the fruit cider went down quicker than a Tory candidate on 4 July. For the finale, we held our phone torches aloft whilst Paloma serenaded us that only love can hurt like this. As evenings go, I’ve rarely had better.
To seal the deal, Forestry England uses money from ticket sales to plant 7 million trees in England each year, to protect wildlife and their habitats. So even if you had no intention of promoting a positive carbon footprint, you’re doing it anyway. Fuel for some serious virtue signaling and an opportunity to bask in the warmth of smugness.
Join the hype and keep an eye out for next year’s headliners at www.forestlive.com.
Just be mindful of those pesky pixie rings. We’re aiming for mellow memories not eternal madness.