dustbunniesproject

Richard from Isochronous getting ready for take off.

Ten thousand people did the lemming-like trek to the Johannesburg Botanical Gardens this weekend to take part in Jozi’s first Ramfest - a colourful sauna of mud, music, buckets of sunshine, low-slung skinny jeans and chip & dip.

The organizers apparently didn’t expect such a large amount of people, which led to – gasp! shock! horror! – the booze getting on the short side late afternoonish. The stories I can tell you about the psychotic last-minute scrambles to the beer tent will have you waking up in a cold sweat… You went in looking for a beer, and came out bruised and battered, carrying rum and Fanta mixes, hailed as heroes by your friends. So a lot of us sauntered home sober… But no less happy. And with little bits of new knowledge to help make the next party even better.

So, Oprah-style, this is what I know for sure…

If your butt’s the bony type that can’t even summon up a decent plumber’s crack, stay away from skinny jeans. Especially if it rides halfway down your hips, showing off your boxers. It’s not sexy. It does make me want to force-feed you chip & dip, though. And pat you on the head and go, “there there”. And another thing – cutting off said skinny jeans just above the knee to create very tight denim shorts? You look like a twat.

Vice magazine is boring. That doesn’t stop you from paging through it, though. Kind of like ogling a trainsmash.

When in doubt, smuggle in booze.

I’m not the only person who’s dumb enough to spend moolah on spur-of-the-moment Hello Kitty button buys.

Wet wipes will save your life.

Mohawks: keeping it real.

Boo! are legends and will remain so until all eternity. Chris Chameleon is the only straight guy alive that can pull off pink tights and a black g-string. It was awesome to see them on stage again, for the first time in years. And if you have to turn to me and ask, “Why are the crowd booing them?” you need to get out more…

Even an awesome band like Die Heuwels Fantasties can get totally buggered by crap sound. Honestly, what was that about? Luckily, The Narrow made a point of upping the sound… I’m blaming them for the neck brace I’ll have to wear for the next few weeks.

There’s always that one guy sporting headgear hilariously illustrating the core idea of the festival. Not that ribbony ram horns and cotton-wool ears look quite as intimidating as the goats on the posters… At least it wasn’t blue bulls-related.

Jack Parow is what Die Antwoord is trying to be. He’s funnier, too.

Vegans eat chip & dip too. But it takes some debating on the sauces available first…

Trying to up your streetcred by going all pseudo-punk? Don’t let the soles of your brand-new Doc Martins give you away…

Getting older means you have no problems elbowing out some space to dance in. Take that emo kid… Respect your elders!

If you don’t look after your towel, it will desert you. Or pick up two random tween Goths.

There’s always a Golden Couple: young, tanned and beautiful (except for a zit and razor nick here and there). They spend hours drawing on each other with black marker. These drawing sessions are fascinating, until they finally finish and you find the end result to be a clumsily scrawled word across Golden Guy’s chest: “delicious”. Round about now you start vomiting.

A part of me (the part that wakes up with an aching neck and knees after monki punking myself into delirious oblivion) wonders if I shouldn’t just pack it in and leave festival going to the kids who can pull off smartie-coloured gumboots, short-shorts and ripped fishnet tights with nary a hint of self-consciousness. But, luckily, my inner child always wins. I suspect I’ll be the grey-haired granny dozing under a thorn tree at the likes of OppiKoppi one day. Probably selling some kind of contraband. Most likely Hello Kitty buttons…