I was just one of the 12,500 people at Meredith Music Festival who were trying to make lasting memories. I left with more memories than there were people. Conversing with strangers across toilet cubicles, screaming the lyrics to Angel Olsen, making jokes with a guy who was clearly fried off his face, feeling empowered by Peaches’ sexualised bravado, sharing a joint on an early, hungover Sunday morning, losing pouches and finding them like a Meredith miracle, losing friends and finding them like a Meredith miracle, watching my boyfriend and crowds of others give the boot to Badbadnotgood’s crisp, groovy performance, lying on the grass and overlooking peaceful Inspo Point, regretting not bringing sunscreen, waving goodbye to the dusty, empty campgrounds while driving out the gate—this was my Meredith.
How was yours?
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