If there’s one thing Instagram feels as though it was designed for, it’s festivals. My somewhat cynical theory behind this is that festivals tend to be a pseudo-nostalgic experience for most people — especially the young. They’re a way of temporarily appropriating a hedonism that’s really the property of a different era and projecting it onto our lives. It means we can pretend to ourselves that if we’d been born earlier, we all totally would have been hippies, no question. This explains the flower garlands perching on every other teenage festivalgoer’s head. The morning before I went to the Isle…

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I really do hate to squeal, but I just can’t keep a secret like this to myself. I went to the Isle of Wight Festival last weekend, and I did it the grown-up way (by ‘glamping’ — more to come on that soon). I was determined for the whole trip to be the relaxed break I really needed, and so before I took to the high seas, a civilised lunch was in order. I’m a northerner through and through, but Hampshire is by far my favourite southern county and I spent several happy summers in the New Forest when I…

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They say you should never meet your heroes… which is unlikely to happen if your heroes are mostly dead, as mine are. It hasn’t stopped me trying, though. By sheer coincidence, I pass each day on my way to work a run-down house adorned with a blue plaque signifying that Mary Wollstonecraft – probably the hero I admire most of all my dead heroes — once lived there. Obviously Southwark today is far different to Wollstonecraft’s Southwark, but it feels special to me that this woman’s history is entwined with my life, even if it’s in a small, insignificant kind…

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