Secret Garden Party is a bit like Neverland – it is for people who spit in the face of adulthood and lubricate their rebirth to a childlike state by getting doped up, dressing like lunatic perverts and pretending life is fun. So it’s more MJ Neverland than JM Barrie Neverland.

This vista is the kind of mirage that entices you into the spirit world in some weird Japanese animation. Many (us included) tried to swim out to the castle, and sure enough it does exist – as does a substantial amount of bog weed, duck shit and, by Friday afternoon, beer cans.

The theme to this year’s festival was Eden and Babylon – one for each side of the lake. Unusual, often terrifying, pieces of artwork with no apparent connection to the theme were scattered throughout the festival, such as the proliferation of doors leading nowhere and small deformed badgers. The two sides were connected by a network of bridges and forests. It all looked a bit like Florence Welch’s bedroom.

Hello morons! Did you get lost in Cambridgeshire on your Christmas pub crawl? They seemed stunned by the masses of hippies, spandex and lion hats. To be fair, I too was stunned by the pandemic of lion hats. Being an individual is hard.

Fucking frog jockey.

This is security. As you can see, they are paying pretty much no attention to anything, including that mad hatter chump. Apparently hundreds of people jumped the wall surrounding the festival site. The organisers finally figured out it was because they had put large sections of the outer wall up back-to-front, with the support stairs on the outside, allowing people to literally walk over the wall. That’s the sort of festival organisation I admire. They make those people who blinded those ravers look like narcs.

Other than the infectious positivity, the best thing about the multicoloured ball pool is that everyone forgets to empty their pockets beforehand, making it a giant lucky dip. We found a bag of weed, a wrap of ketamine, £12.78, a prosthetic elf ear, half a pair of sunglasses, a sock, two old condoms and a vial full of mysterious yellow liquid.

These 23 festival-goers – a couple in full-body spandex onesies – broke the Secret Garden Party record for most people in the mud wrestling pit at one time.

The crowd cheered for muddy tits. Everyone went home happy, but I’m not sure if there was a winner.

It wasn’t really about the music, but this is the Correspondents. They are a band and they performed.

Jarvis Cocker headlined on the Friday night and was kind of drab. He got pissed off at a stage invasion and got the security to clear the stage. Who’s Jackson now, Cocker?!

These guys played suspended from trees like gypsy Ewoks.

On the Saturday night, in an act of Bacchanal destruction, they set fire to a floating tower amidst a flurry of fireworks, candle lanterns and fire dancers. I felt that setting fire to the lot of it was a suitable end to my week.

CAMERON KING

Photos by Chloe Penney