It begins

And so, our own little festival is formed. It belongs to no one, and yet everyone.
Roles naturally form where people's skills lie and with seemingly little effort, a haven of wonder and merriment is born. By sundown we have an adorned site crawling with gorgeous groups of friends and new companions created out of nowhere. Chuffling jumpers occupy the rusty and wonky, but highly functioning trampoline leaping high up into the trees + catching glimpses of the other clusters of spinning happy people. They'll see a fire, with a handsome surround of chattering folk, some of them competently preparing the evening meal that will stretch to everyone's mouths. They'll see Mike + Dufus already playing hippos in the lake, emerging with costumes of reeds to splatter on warm loungers idly sipping homemade beer on the bank in the last of the sun. They'll see the monster sound system being set up and soon hear bass-y beats from the Balkan isles, with an uneven dance floor already hosting eager jivers side stepping about or spinning in hoops. They'll see a swarm of axers hacking in to wooden victims fallen from trees, striving to keep the raging heat pummelling deep into the night. They'll see smoke gently bellowing from both yurts where there might be a few nappers generating charge for the long night of adventure that was to come. Then, when they can't jump no more, or remember that there's a tankard full of nettle beer calling out to them back at base, they'll take their last leap and go about a thrilling evening of bumping + grinding, grinning + spinning around with a feast of best mates.