September 2026. End of the Road. Dorset.
Four days on Cranborne Chase, 1% of my whole year, and again the time flies by, a “festival marking the passing of time“, as James sagely noted last year.
I’m here to discover new music, eat too much, and make withering comments about heritage acts (Pulp, Oasis, Sophis Ellis-Bextor) to my sons, who know better than to argue about the merits of bands playing their ’90s hits in 2026.
But I seem to have a fair amount of End of the Road traditions myself, so who’s the hypocrite ?
I must find a peacock, even if it takes till 18:51 on the final evening,
I must take a photo of the gardens at night.
I must watch something brilliant that none of you will appreciate,
and ØXN‘s mesmerising Irish drone brought a moment of father/son bonding as we agreed this was the best thing we’d seen live since Lankum’s “Go Dig My Grave” 2 years earlier.
We celebrate with a plate of Tibetan curry and momos, one of many great meals that weekend.
I decide I must spot someone in a Boring Brown Beer T-shirt (Courage last year, Otter this) to confirm this new obssession amongst the youth,
though in truth Gen Z is all heading for the Craft Beer bar. Once again it’s virtually sold out by Sunday lunchtime, till local Dark Revolution restock with some more grapefruit IPA which works a lot better than the cask in the heat.
Finally I must, must, catch up with Newbury Tim of combustible Ullage fame.
Tim is very shy so I’ve captured him from the back at the secret Modern Woman set on the piano stage (20 minutes rehearsal for a 15 minute set, but it’s secret).
Tim, who is a very nice man, has brought me a can of Love Lane’s Red IPA to enjoy during ØXN,
and a copy of the new whole Berkshire CAMRA magazine, which is SO good it will get its own blog post.
And that was pretty much it, finishing with an hour of Anna von Hauswolff’s earsplitting techno prog in the expanded Big Top, which has lost its famous hanging elephant.
The real elephant in the room was my own aches and pains, whether from standing on my feet for 12 hours a day, too much driving, or simply approaching middle age.
But as I made a final walk around the camp fire as Sunday became Monday, I knew it would take more than aches and pains to keep me away next year*.
*Actually, it will take the worst ticketing system in the history of mankind on Tuesday morning.
retiredmartin 