Lost in Poshstock: a report from The Wilderness Festival

I AM standing in a field in Oxfordshire watching Jonathan Ross, wearing a Peruvian rucksack, deciding whether to lunch on Boscastle lobster or grilled plaice with samphire. Clearly, this is no ordinary field. It’s on a rolling Cotswolds estate owned by Lord Rotherwick and his wife, Lady R, last seen carousing in a tented nightclub called The Hustle.

Welcome to The Wilderness, Britain’s most misleadingly named festival. Down the road from Chipping Norton, the wilderness is a suburban encampment of perfectly pitched yurts, some with power-points to charge iPhones so the #festivalfun never stops. There are garden mint mojitos and mindfulness meditations, Ottolenghi banquets and GF pulled-pork buns. On Day One, I overheard someone complaining the kedgeree was ‘a bit dry’.

There are three main things to remember about the Wilderness Festival, also known as “Poshstock” for its high Hunter welly count.

1) The Wilderness is a family friendly festival. This means – unlike Glastonbury, say – there is a nanny service on site. More hands-on parents cart their children around in Little House on the Prairie-style wagons, which have names like Elvis, Betsy and Star. As dusk falls, the wagons convert to beds, crammed with blankets and pillows, so the parents can get ‘on it’. I watched as a toddler poured a can of cider down his Dad’s neck.

2) There is a dress-code. To blend in with the crowd, you must wear gold leggings, sequins, and/or shaggy shaman coats and headdresses crowned with animal horns. The only person not dressed as an extra from Game of Thrones was Kit Harington, aka John Snow, who rebelled and came in ‘normcore’. So, too, did David Cameron, who channelled his inner hippy in a navy polo shirt while chuffing a Marlboro Light.

3) There are tunes, sure – and some of them may have been used on a car ad. But The Wilderness is not a music festival. A girl with glitter on her face explained: ‘It’s about the scene.’ This means the Wilderness cricket match and sightings of Benedict Cumberbatch in the Veuve Clicquot tent rub alongside debates such as: “Wilderness Utopias – Can We Imagine a Fairer Future?” Best ask Dave C – he’s in the backstage VIP area drinking rose.

Over my three days in those fields, I tried to get lost in The Wilderness. But the spirits of Sipsmith Gin kept guiding me back to the sign saying ‘Bienvenido to Tequila Town’, which was next to the Lavazza coffee bar and its two Smeg fridges, and down from the stall selling artworks made from flipflops reclaimed from Kenyan beaches. In the end, I gave in, and sat under a tree watching the full moon rising over Lord Rotherwick’s manor, as the scent of herbal cigarettes seasoned the night air. The Cotswolds are so… calming.