Its K-A

My motto is you have to be in it to win it and I like to think it pays off. I was lucky enough to win one of 2000 tickets to Kano's album launch party(suddenly I don't feel like a winner anymore).

Regardless of the sea of black youths gassing the air with their stank fried chicken butts and smoking sneaky ganja weed and cigarettes. The evening was an enjoyable one

Firstly came...The Thirst-da urban yout dem LOOOOOVVVEEDDD dem...



...Stryder,spiderman...



...bad boi BARRY spitting some harsh bars like a...Lamar- check him on his BEBO...(yes they still make people like him)...




***Lip chap Break***






...then K-A the original bushbaby man...



...and some nice collabo's with members of the Grime family... skepell the Ed hardy fool...love ya Skepty...



...Wiley looked like someone tried to give him a Chelsea Grin-ouch...




...JME appeared at the end surprisingly without the dutty du-rag he loves so dearly...




...and last but no means least, my new found obssession MC GHETTO who was being a bit of a girl with all the wardrobe changes but had the most ENERGY!!!



...home time-the end.

Thee Secret Jardin-2008

It appears to be amazingly hard to re adjust my mind whilst it slips into a shrivelling rabbit hole; maybe it’s going to take a few more days for me to vacate this cocoon of insanity. Whilst I did not trip due to undisclosed substances my senses were put through a physcadelic montage of obscure characters, costumes and interactive art installations. It really is an immense sight to view somebody spending 30mins passionately picking up there arms and placing each limb inside a truck tyre to then be pushed down a hill with an algae mutated lake being the final destination. My own kicks certainly come much easier. Accurately titled ‘Suicide Races’, people had spent time, previous to this, making disastrous vehicles to partially carry them down the race course whilst a collection of nurses who resembled a mix between the clangalers and M.I.A, were on hand to pump water into the contenders so that they ‘ did not die’. Hugely entertaining, after an hour of ooooING and aaahING as if I were at a guy fawkes display I did in fact realise that my presence there was doing nothing more than aid my confusion and proceeded toward the bar. I lost track of the ‘main’ bar and ended up head in hand at an eco worshiping all man encompassing organic natural produce bar. What the... well I ended up being persuaded to have a shot of liquidised tree bark which apparently would ‘keep me buzzing for hours’ after a laugh and a sarcastic conversation I did one of their famous shots and left with the after taste of a sexual product of a goat mixed with sand.



Nothing like any other festival I have ever been too, during my hippy-esk upbringing I was a resident of Womad most years, and I can safely say that this is a finer mutation. Glastonbury is yet to be purveyed but the intimacy of Secret Garden is certainly a huge bonus to its perfectly obscure vibe and isolated brilliance. With a population of 5,000 slightly of-centred beings I felt right at home after ‘misplacing’ my friends. I found myself waking up in a haystack and calmly strolling down to the ‘Valley of the Antic’ stage, pitching up my rag and having the emotionally vibrating lyrics and voice of Peggy Sue and Pirates sooth my beaten body. Probably the only set of the entire 4 days I saw, where the whole audience were lying down as supposed to power testing every ligament in an energy fuelled dance off, with the goal of realising ‘does my body still work today?’

Still without the group I arrived with I made friends with a few zebras and undertook a mission from the ‘Ministry of Correspondence’ whereby I had to pin clothing pegs on unsuspecting members of the public, I won some fake money and continued to wander, befriended dead male brides and such. From the hours of 6pm-1am I found my new religion. Dubstep. I spotted my friends dancing in a circle near to centre stage with dedicated looks of bliss and vacant eyes I could see the music enhancing them as I had felt through every minute. What really made me truly realise that this festival was heaven was that I did not feel compelled to run up in despair, clutch them and scream ‘where have you been!!’ I just danced over through the crowd, put my hands in the air and brought them down to the electronic beats, cracked a smile and continued to enjoy myself in their presence.


The attention to detail and landscaping was really truly enchanting. Banana bundles were placed in the tree tops, every square metre of the garden was adorned in mind arousing lighting. I think I literally floated around this festival, my mind seemed constantly lifted and my soul free from all restraints.


Returning to good ole Londinium minus two shoes and with plus four 4 dreadlocks I think I digested all that this festival had to offer, and if there’s still more then maybe you can browse the photos and spot the man dressed as a snail from mars cross bread with a pirate on acid that I did not spot.

Good Job Mum and Dad for my naming me fairy.