On return from his holiday in Morocco, Jon was keen to catch up on the news on the event of the year so far, slightly perturbed by having chosen 'sunshine' over fun and frolics.....
'Hmmm,...S.N.O.G fest 2? where would you begin,..?' 
'Wednesday, the art exhibition' John quizzed enthusiastically 
'with over 60 stunningly colourful works, from 15 locally based artists, sculptors, ceramicists and photographers.?' 'nah jon' roger replied nonchalantly
'Thursday then, and the film night?' He delved 
'admitedly a slightly disturbing selection with some troubling scenes, though an excellent movie non the less, but no jon, that's not it.' Still non plus'd
'Ok, Friday, the Salsa night?' Becoming slightly confused
'what with live music from 'La Samille' ten musicians (flute, fiddle, 3 percussionists, 3 guitarists(including Sion Gwennallt) and Oscar on his pipes and latin vocals), Hebffinia Dj Jim (Iago Iagonovitch) spinning his stuff til the (not too) early hours, with some of the most impressive dancing i've ever seen round these parts. An amazing night' 
'No Roj?' A hint of, wish i'd been there with me djembe, in his voice and eyes 
'No jon.' Roj consoled
'Well I heard about The Saturday Afternoon Acoustic stage gettin rained off and so the focus became the Headline acts (Turnstone, Infinity Chimps, Hooper, & the Caution Horses) in the long barn whilst the S.P.A.C.E crew covered the back room with open mic antics from numerous solo and group acts, I heard it was a mega night despite the Ceilidh being a bit of a non starter.' 
'Well, the Ceilidh was allright jon, but the bands were amazing, all local, and s.p.a.c.e did do a sterling job including covering for the closure of the outside acoustic stage.'
'Well Roj, Sunday was the last event, not the first.......'

Monday morning, walking around the complex, out the gates and into the wastelands, past the hardy, few remaining campers, mumbles of voices, picking my way through the now boggy marsh and round to the battle trenches where many an oil fuelled warrior had fought hardily with the inch thick grassy guys, victor in their war path and conqueror only to the open road, leaving only mud 'n' tram tracks in their wake where once seed had been sowed.

Round the corner and past the door, where so many brave had sought entry, and what for, the films, the art, the music, the food, the drink, the drink, the companionship in times of adversity when confronted and presented with such diversity, or the calm of the rain once the chaos has ceased, or merely subsided into the lul called peace.
Cars crookedly un-squeezed from their once awkward predicament, randomly dotted in the distance, abandoned, neglected, faith swopped for enebriament.
The futility of conflict, the lack of respect for life, or the awakening and realisation that we all share this strife.
Past 'me mates' van, they'd been there for days, 'just callin in to see how things 'r' goin' they'd said in a daze. Days ago, 5.... 1,2,3,4,5 days ago, if i'd thought what i'd done would result in this debris, now the battles been won.

And back to the burly gates, past the makeshift office where pathetically hid all the art, though the last thing arranged was the first at the start.
Which came first? The art or the artist?
And so on past the cafe, a workshop before, the 'Backdrop' acoustic stage rained off on the Saturday, but that only delayed the inevitability of this war, past the kitchen (don't wanna go in there, just yet) and into the big hall, the main thoroughfare. Hmmmm, movies, latin beats, ceilidh, Dj's, digital projections, huge iflatables, and what was upstairs? Oh yeah, Gwilym's amazing chill out space and Em 'n' kim's indian wares.

The long Hall, the long haul past the bogs and into the fray, this room had seen the most extreme of changes in amongst the melee, from art exhibition to live band room, and that was in one day.

And so to the entrance and big thanx to all those who'd stood and resisted, bravely and sternly as the onslaught had persisted.
But what's this to my right, another room i'd not seen before, oh yeah that was my room last night, with all the people still asleep on the floor, only a passing faze and maybe it's last use as a function extension before becoming a gallery space.
But last night for me, this room was my retreat, the embodiment of what I see, an explosion incomplete. 

I can't explain what this has done to us, this experience called war, that once again begs the question 'what is all the fighting for?'
Whilst the energy is in us to express and create, what can be the downfall of one man, can make another man great. 
But if the battles ensued are to build and not destroy, then encourage such a culture of expression and joy, relief as demons are set free in the night, as the dancers dance the dance and the show offs play with their toys. But let them, help them, give them the space and the chance, after all don't all of us just want to sing and dance.

by R edon: 8th May 2003