“Do you think I should buy some wellies?” asks my friend, calling me from nearby Huntingdon train station, about an hour after I arrive at Secret Garden Party.

I can’t recall ever being asked a question to which I was able to answer so confidently and emphatically. The thing is, after just an hour, I had already written off my favourite pair of jeans to the mud, and as the weekend progressed, further items of clothing succumbed to the conditions.

Once you made the conscious decision to ignore the ubiquitous mud, though, you really started to have a lot of fun. Of all the festivals I’ve been to, this was certainly the one that was least focussed solely on the music – not necessarily a negative by any stretch, just that the event as a whole appeared far more about the experience and the vibe than it was about who was actually on the bill.

Having said that, the music on offer was still excellent – from Scroobius Pip in a late-night tent on the Friday (which included a slightly baffling public marriage proposal, the details of which were almost impossible to make out from where we were standing), to the thoroughly impressive Tim Minchin in the blazing sunlight on the Saturday lunchtime, or to a sense-tingling Orbital, who were accompanied by a spectacular firework display – the line-up provided a little of everything. 

But the fact that tickets to SGP had sold out even before the headliners were announced gives some indication as to the motivation for people attend: because the weekend itself, without any of the billed music, would still probably be one of the best parties you’ve ever been to. As long as you don’t mind spending your parties immersed in gallons of wet and sloppy mud.

This year marked the tenth anniversary of the originally invite-only event. If you weren’t aware of that fact before you arrived, the giant ‘10’ sculpture that greeted you as you emerged from the rather strict security frisk on entry wouldl have given you a clue. Actually, while we're on the subject of arrival, it's worth pointing out that camping space was remarkably easy to come by – we had our tent pitched in a surprisingly spacious area, and – unlike many festivals – that space wasn’t ever filled up by other tents as the days progressed. Anyway, back to the 10^th anniversary, and Sunday’s birthday party was a sight to behold, if only for the large-scale paint fight that was probably the only possible way to make the muddy weekend any more messy.

There were pockets of fun everywhere you found yourself. The site itself is actually a lot bigger than you initially think, stretching across a large valley in Cambridgeshire, and the smaller hills within the site (particularly the hill right in front of the main stage) were made all the more fun by the mud. I lost count on the first night of the number of people I saw fall flat on their face. More often than not, in elaborate costumes; on more than one occasion, completely naked.

A little more on the actual music though, and there was almost complete silence at points as Lianne La Havas powered her way through an impressive set. Jake Bugg drew a decent crowd for his increasingly popular brand of simple yet effective acoustic cross-genre songwriting, while Alabama Shakes were probably the most hyped band by featival goers before their appearance – and they duly delivered a thoroughly enjoyable half-hour or so of their immediately recognisable, gritty sound.

The highlight though was surely the techno-cum-fireworks Orbital experience, which epitomised what the weekend was all about: engaging music, visual spectacles wherever you turn, and an unrivalled sense of community and fun. 

Oh, and mud. Did I mention the mud?

Review by Dave Cribb

Photo: Tim Minchin by Richard johnson  Photo's: Paint Fight and Fireworks Danny North