Eight signs you are too old to be going to music festivals.

The sweat was literally running down into my arse crack.

It was eleventy billion degrees (okay, it was at least 38) and I was pressed up against what appeared to be a sweaty, bearded zygote. This was the moment that I realised I was too old for music festivals.

To be fair, my previous job revolved around musicians and attending these kind of festivals in laneways but really, it wasn’t mandatory. It was something, up until not so long ago, I genuinely enjoyed and willingly signed up for. See, I’ve been a festival goer, a live concert connoisseur you could say, since I could legally gain access.

Keep reading: “The thought of being out past midnight makes me want to vomit.”

Suddenly and without warning however, it was as if the culmination of the heat, a full bladder, a seemingly never ending line to the dirty portaloo, a dull headache from the shitty canned beer and the sight of so many fucking ironic hipsters, tipped me over the edge. I just wanted to be home already. On my couch and binge watching TV. Yes, that’s right, I’d turned into this guy:

In that moment, there seemed to be far too many reasons I was simply, too old for this shit

Such as:


Okay, let’s assume you’re attending one of those 2-4 day kind of festivals that has the words ‘dayz’ or ‘roots’ in the title.

You’ve already dropped the budget of a small African nation JUST to walk in the gate. Then let’s discuss the camping tariff and the added amount you have to factor in to consume alcohol. Add it all up and I swear to you it’d be almost cheaper to buy the albums of every one of the bands playing and listen to them as you fly away on a European escape. $10 beers people. Ten dollars! Which you can’t even get pissed on because they get hot before you’ve even had your 3rd sip. I am too old to be able to justify dropping this kind of coinage on what is often just a mediocre experience.



Yeah, so I’m not really one to take drugs. For starters, I’ve always maintained that I’d be the person who tries them for the first time and ends up in a vegetative state for the rest of their lives but EVEN if I did, I’d now just feel like a sad loser among all those young kids. That or the sniffer dogs would get me at the gate.


Yeah, so I’ve camped before, lots of times. And when I was in my late teens and early twenties it was fun. A novelty even. Now though my idea of fun is not sleeping five metres away from a vomit patch and/or sleeping on a mattress of mud.


Sure, I get it, I’m here to see a band and if I want to be able to see them properly, I’ll have no choice but to get within close proximity to others. But last week, when I actually swallowed some stranger’s sweat that he’d flicked from his BEARD, I admitted to myself that I was done with the front row. No matter how cool the band.



I was lucky enough to see Nirvana. It was 1992 and I was definitely not legally allowed to be in there and that was what made it so freaking awesome. I’ve seen too many legendary bands to mention or count but now, now I struggle to recognize even a handful of the names in the lineups. Even if I do know them, the best ones don’t come on until really late and I’m just too tired to wait that long. I mean, even when I was young, I barely made it to the end of any of these festivals because I was never good at pacing myself but now, at the tender age of 40, a solid 10 hour day of drinking in the hot sun and eating $25 pizza slices has me ready to pack it in by sundown.



My tolerance for dickheads is at an all time low. Maybe because back then I was one of the dickheads but guys spitting beer at each other or girls yelling loudly and “play” wrestling in a circle while everyone around them smokes cones just annoys the bejesus out of me.



Lining up for the toilet? Nope.
Lining up for tickets for alcohol so you can then line up again for said alcohol? Nope.
Lining up for overpriced/watered down vodka sodas? Nope.
Lining up for an hour just to get a train home? Nope.


This just gives me a headache.

This is not to say I’m done with live music. Hell no, I’ve still got years left in me to go see good bands perform. My days of sweaty mosh pits and festival lineups however, are well and truly done. I’ll leave that to the younger kids, as I should have a little while ago.

When did you realise that you’ve suddenly outgrown something that you once found fun?