Back home, unpacked,
clothes in the wash,
me in the wash,
kit stowed away,
crashed out upon the sofa.
After five days
outside beneath
the big blue sky,
inside feels strange,
confined, cut off, unnatural.
And yet I know
I’ll soon adjust,
quickly revert,
freedom exchanged
for familiar shackles.
Back from Greenbelt, it’s lovely to be with family again, but being inside feels odd.
(25.08.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
The annual question
Is there enough gas to cook?
This year? A gamble.
I’m off to Greenbelt on Thursday, my annual festival retreat. Getting some of the kit together today I was faced with the usual question.
(19.08.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
The present sound of rain thrumming transports me.
A boy, I lie inside my sleeping bag.
I am content, surrounded by the gentle
rhythm, a surrogate for my mother’s heart.
Although away, I am at home, encircled
by my father’s strong and reaching branches.
Exhausted by a day’s exertions, I close
my eyes, and smiling, drift back to the present.
It’s the time of year when the hankering to be under canvas always returns, and the sound of rain brings back happy memories.
(01.08.25)
© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Frederick Shaw on Unsplash
Last night was the night
that the storm came to town
shouting, ‘I’ll huff and I’ll puff,
and I’ll blow your tent down!’
But we weren’t deterred
by the threats that she made
we gathered here regardless
ignored her tirade.
So she huffed, and she puffed,
with all of her might,
she blew at the tent,
through all of the night,
it wibbled and wobbled
like one of mum’s jellies,
it lost all its structure
like a middle aged belly,
but every single time
that she thought she had won
it would pop right back up
to the place it’d begun!
Storm Lilian visited Greenbelt last night, with 40mph winds. The star this morning is a slow one as the site is made safe – much festival kit was not put up beforehand just in case. It’s not going to put use off though!
(23.08.24)
© Ben Quant 2024
The tent is up, pegged square and neat,
the sun for now my companion.
I am relieved, there’s nothing worse
than setting up when it is raining.
The wind is twitchy. Like a restless
child, it can’t sit still, but worries
at the tent. I worry too.
Somewhere that butterfly has flapped
its wings and storms conspire.
The canvas flexes but holds for now,
an intake of breath before.
Inside it sounds a little like
the sea washing at the shore.
I close my eyes content and rest
awhile in hopeful anticipation.
I’ve arrived for my annual pilgrimage to Greenbelt Festival. We’re promised the whole array of English weather! Although I’m a little worried about high winds, I’m really looking forward to what’s in store.
(22.08.24)
© Ben Quant 2024
The clicking of bones:
a warm up stretch,
accompanied by
a yawn.
The sound of zips:
first fumbling with
the sleeping bags,
then doors,
inner and outer,
up and down,
a campsite’s rowdy
percussion.
Urgent feet
then crashing doors –
seems someone desperately
rushing.
It sounds as if
the whole world’s playing
just metres from
your pitch.
You check your watch
it must be late
but no it’s barely
six.
What is this madness?
With bleary eyes
you peer out but
to find,
there’s no one up
and all is still
but one child on the
horizon.
This morning wasn’t at all like this, although there a number of bird calls overnight. The familiar sound of zips, however, triggered many early morning campsite memories…
(13.08.24)
© Ben Quant 2024
For five days in Scotland my true love packed for me….
Five bat-ter-ries
Four khaki t-shirts
Three pairs of socks
Two walking boots
And a can of insect repellent
Almost all set for five days under canvas near Blairgowrie… (Batteries for the lantern!)
(09.08.24)
Getting out the tents
Straightening out the poles
Counting out the pegs
Shaking out the folds
Cutting out the excess
Clearing out my soul
A lighter verse today – an antidote to the news – the canvas is beckoning! Preparing for a break in Scotland and then my annual pilgrimage, Greenbelt Festival.
(05.08.24)
© Ben Quant 2024
Ode for the Day 