I had a facial in the middle of a field and I have to say, without any exaggeration or unnecessary embellishment, that it was one of the best facials I have ever had in my life. Perhaps it was partly due to the fact that I was at a festival with my kids (we’ll come back to that, I must have been mad) and the opportunity to lie still with my eyes closed was absolute heaven all on its own, but I think that mostly it was down to the highly proficient hands of my skilful Weleda facialist.
You may be wondering why on earth I would be at a festival with my kids: I asked myself the very same question approximately three minutes after arriving in the car park. As one child (Ted, two) screamed because we’d brought the wrong socks with us and the other (Angelica, four) repeatedly asked to see her new sleeping bag, like some sort of possessed battery-operated talking doll, the adults manhandled various large and heavy packages from the boot of the car onto the world’s smallest trolley. People on social media always seem to make “festivals with kids” look fun. I’ve decided that they are either superhuman and find the whole thing easy or they’re completely and utterly mad and thrive on chaos, sweaty tents and dragging their small children around in glorified wheelbarrows. I suppose I just don’t see the point in festivals if each and every benefit of said festival is entirely obliterated by the presence of your children, who need constant ...