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Screw Your Lame Friends: Here's How to do a Festival by Yourself

No standing next to flags for two hours until everyone congregates, no 20-minute toilet stops, no taking Grant to the first aid tent because he got MDMA in his eyes. This is the road to paradise.

This article originally appeared on Noisey UK.

We’ve all got lame friends. The reason most of us don’t realize it is because we are in the habit of calling our lame friends our “best friends”. You know the ones I mean. Of course, you do; you’re on a big Whatsapp group together. It’s called “The Banter Market” and the photo is an Ainsley Harriott meme. Every month, someone on there tries to make plans for everyone to do something together: “Let’s go Sonar!”, “Has everyone signed up for Glastonbury tickets?”, “There are cheap flights to some festival in Latvia. Anyone been to Latvia?”, “How do you reckon we sort packet out in Latvia?” and “Can’t you buy three beers, a pack of cigarettes, some crisps, and still have change from a tenner in Latvia?” The responses will gush in. Everyone wants to come to Latvia! Who wouldn’t want to go to Latvia with the lads?

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But weeks will pass. Responses will dry up like bark in a Saharan desert. Enthusiasm wanes. There you are, the elected mug, patiently asking whether you should book two small Air BNBs or one big one, as the digital equivalent to tumbleweed drifts over your cracked phone screen. “Sorry pal, I actually have a thing that Saturday now, don't think i can make it anymore” is followed by “Me too, busy with work, beers soon though?” is followed by “Boys, you seen this video of some kid discovering his long lost biological father whilst wandering around on Pokemon Go? ”.

You see, nothing of substance will ever happen with you and your lame friends. Because they are busy, because they are disorganised, because they are skint, because they are non-committal, because they’ve used all their holiday, because they are at a wedding that weekend, because their pay day is middle of the month instead of the end, because they only leave the house when they are single and horny. When you do actually meet up, you will all go to the same three pubs until you eventually drift out of contact, and into social mediocrity, and eventually towards the sweet and lonely smooch of death.

But what do you need your friends for anyway? Why can’t you just go to music festivals by yourself? What’s stopping you? Imagine it: no buying ten drink rounds, no standing next to flags for two hours until everyone congregates, no 20 minute toilet stops, no endless missed calls, no sweaty nights sharing double beds or tents, no taking Grant to the first aid tent because he got MDMA in his eyes, no hassle. Just you, responsible for only yourself, wandering around places where dreams are made of, with your eyes more open than a tree frog.

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I am here to tell you that you can absolutely do music festivals alone, without any company at all, and to prove this, I went to Edge of the Lake festival in Switzerland on my tod for four days. So, here is how it’s done.

STEP 1: BEFORE YOU EVEN GET ON THE PLANE, NO MATTER WHAT TIME IT IS IN THE MORNING, GET ABSOLUTELY SMASHED ON CHEAP BEERS IN THE AIRPORT

Hungover? Don't care. Comedown? Write a poem about it, sissy. Tired because you've just woken up and it's literally 6.34 AM? So what! This is the one time that it is genuinely socially acceptable to drink pints in full view of everyone before midday. You’re gonna meet a lot of new people this weekend and you know what helps numb the crippling anxiety of meeting new people? Beer. So, grab one and take a seat. When you go on holiday by yourself, there are no rules except the ones you make for yourself.

STEP 2: GET YOUR BEARINGS

The number one imperative rule when arriving in a new environment, festival, or country by yourself is: "How do I get back to where I sleep tonight?" Because that was usually your mate Scott's job wasn't it? Reliable old Scott, with his ability to drink 12 beers but still remain silent, resolute, and practical in getting everyone home. It’s weird that he barely talks but has somehow maintained a position in your group of friends isn’t it? Anyway, he’s not here. So, scout the local transport, have a butchers at a map, and, gosh, I dunno, perhaps even do a reccy of the site once or twice so when you've gone completely sauvage (French for "wild") your legs can still muscle memory their way back to your tent, dorm or tipi. Luckily for me, this festival consisted of only one stage and a big fuck off lake, so even when I had gotten myself "stockbetrunken" (German for "ripped to the tits") I still managed to auto-pilot my way home.

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STEP 3: MAKE FRIENDS WITH THE LOCALS

I’m ashamed to say that beyond what I’ve mentioned previously, my knowledge of other languages extends no further than the JME lyrics: "J'mapelle Jamie, je suis hench, j'habite Meridian, je weight bench." But the good thing about being British is that, although everyone else hates you, they're also dead keen to try out their English, using you as a sparring dummy. I met so many friendly people: an excitable little fella called Yuri, a taxi driver whose windscreen wipers were permanently on because of an electrical fault, and these two: a poop-shade deep sea diver and a six foot inflatable Princess Jasmine. When you’ve got holiday friends like these, who needs real friends?

Plus, if you can find a guy with tired eyes, sleeve tattoos and dreadlocks but with half the side of his head shaved off, he'll probably be able to sort you some local drugs. Usually cheap speed masquerading as expensive coke, but, hey, are you too good for cheap speed masquerading as expensive coke now? No. No matter how brave you are feeling, cheap speed masquerading as expensive coke is how you break down cultural barriers and really start communicating.

STEP 4: SEE THE SIGHTS

So you've explored the festival, made friends with the locals, and gotten trollied a few times, and now you're knackered. Not tired like you would be standing around waiting for every single one of your friends to individually take a piss one after the other, but you are feeling a tad bushed, pooped, and less than 100 percent. The wicked thing about festivaling abroad alone is that you can go and do whatever the hell you like without having to justify it to a larger group, like when I decided to take a rogue left turn through a small forest and ended up at this jetty above.

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Whether you are in the amber tinted streets of Barcelona, the vast pastures of Pilton, the beautifully brutal architecture of Berlin, or the swooping mountain ranges of Switzerland, there is a lot of natural joy and wonder to be had on your tod, doing one of the only things that is literally impossible to fuck up: the act of looking at nature with your eyes.

STEP 5: TAKE PART IN ACTIVITIES

Some aspects of going to a music festival by yourself are unavoidable, like: you will inevitably spend large amounts of time with your own thoughts. Yes, people may take pity on you and invite you into their group, but you don't want pity do you? No, you want to prove to yourself and to the world that you can go it alone and still compete against the overwhelming odds that being alone inherently stacks against you. Enter: activities—God’s way of breaking the ice. At Edge of the Lake there were many games of volleyball, bowls, and paddling boats on offer, so if I ever felt too lonely, I just joined in with whatever was going on around me. Yes, I was bad at it all and looked like a twat, but the locals warmed to my sense of failure.

STEP 6: GET UP BEFORE NOON AND ACTUALLY GO SEE MUSIC

I’ve always wondered what happens at the 12 noon sets at festivals, that take place while 90 percent of the attendees are either passed out or still going in their tents, or furiously arguing over their programmes until eventually deciding to just get food and decide later. It’s a whole new world seeing this side of a festival; like walking home from a night out at 6 AM and remembering that milkmen exist and birds sing. As it goes, it turns out nobody really turns up for the first set of the day, but that doesn’t mean the DJ wasn’t killing it. I showed my approval by standing and clapping.

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STEP 7, THE HOLIEST OF ALL OF THE STEPS: HAVE FUN!

Look: you don’t want to mug yourself off. With no one else in the way, no shit mate trying to drag you to see Kasabian or taking up space in the room when you’re trying to have sloppy, drunken sex with a stranger, the only person you can blame when it all goes tits up is yourself. So what do you do? Make sure it doesn’t go tits up. Throw caution to wind, explore, love and really live. You know that thing called life? Grab it by the balls, fondle it for a little while, and get used to owning it.

So, listen. Now you have this handy guide you are pretty much ready to take on the most hardcore festivals in any distant climb with little to no fuss. In this decaying age of mediocrity, this is proof that all you need for enjoyment is yourself, a varying blend of narcotics, some hella picturesque views, and really friendly Europeans. So go get 'em champ, and as they say in Italian, ciao bella!

You can find Tom Usher on Twitter