I Went to Reading Festival Sober & I Noticed EVERYTHING!

I didn’t miss drinking once at Reading Festival. What I wasn’t prepared for was experiencing three days of crowds, chaos, rain and parenting without alcohol numbing any of it

I’ve been to Reading Festival four times. The first two were in my twenties. The most recent was this weekend with my husband and two kids, aged 11 and 14.

We live a 10–30 minute drive away, depending on traffic, so last year we went for one day, largely to see Chappell Roan. We had such a great time that this year we decided to do the whole festival.

And I have thoughts.

This was the second festival I’ve been to sober, but the first time I’ve done every single day. And one thing’s for certain: I did not want to drink or miss drinking at all. But being completely sober brought other challenges. For me, at least.

First of all, I noticed EVERYTHING.

What should I wear? What time should we leave? What are people wearing (or not wearing)? What are people doing? Where am I standing? Am I hungry? Thirsty? Do I need the toilet? Do I need to sit down? Is that person on their own OK? Is that person being sick OK? Where should we be for the next act? Where should we stand? Do we need our waterproofs? Is this getting too busy for me? When should we leave? And, mainly: are the kids OK? My brain was BUSY.

One of the hardest things for me was seeing young girls drunk or passed out. It happened three times. One was with friends and getting medical attention. Another was on her own and getting medical attention. Both were fairly early in the afternoon. The third made me cry.

We were leaving at about 10.30pm, walking past the edge of the campsite, when a group of lads ran towards a security guard carrying a girl who had passed out. They put her down on the ground. I really hope she was OK.

Earlier in the day, I’d also seen a man stagger out of a dance tent and fall over a girl who was sitting on the ground with a group of people, well out of the way. I checked she was OK - she was - and then checked him. He said he was...

I also stood next to people openly talking about taking ketamine. While I was standing with my 14-year-old. Yikes. We quickly moved along.

Reading Festival is traditionally somewhere teenagers go after finishing their GCSEs, so I knew spirits would be high. But I wasn’t prepared for how shocked and saddened I would feel by some of what I saw. I even felt guilty for bringing my own kids along to a festival which, let’s face it, isn’t exactly designed with children in mind.

But then something interesting happened.

During Florence + The Machine’s set, I needed the toilet and was starting to feel uncomfortable with where we were standing. I went off, got myself a hot drink and watched from the side. Then it started to drizzle. Which turned into rain. Which turned into TORRENTIAL rain.

My husband had my waterproof in the rucksack, so I dashed into a nearby tented stage and ended up chatting to two men who had both been volunteering with Oxfam. Somehow, I ended up telling them that I was sober and that I now help other women get sober. “That’s what he needs,” the older of the two said, pointing at his rather well-refreshed mate. And I found myself wondering afterwards whether there was a reason I’d ended up standing there.

Yes, I’d left my family. Yes, I’d missed Florence performing Dog Days. Yes, I was hiding from biblical rain because my waterproof was somewhere else entirely. But maybe, just maybe, I sowed a tiny seed in someone’s mind. That being sober can actually be pretty cool. That you can still go to festivals. You can still see the bands you love. You can still have fun. And you might actually be happier for it.

So, will I go to another festival?

Immediately afterwards, I genuinely wasn’t sure. Maybe once I understand my anxiety and hormones a little better, I’ll feel differently. Because here’s the other side of the weekend: the kids LOVED it. They didn’t complain once. Hearing my 11-year-old describe it as the “best three days of my life” made my heart sing.

And if we manage to get Glastonbury tickets next year to celebrate my 50th, I’m clearly going to have to work on my fitness because I cannot be feeling that knackered by 10pm!

And then came the post-festival blues

On Monday, I was exhausted and teary.

Looking back, I think I’d had three days of sensory overload without alcohol numbing any of it: the noise, the crowds, the people, the unpredictability, the constant decisions. I like routine! Alcohol used to make me believe I was relaxed. Actually, I think it just made me less aware. And less present.

Initially, I felt like maybe festivals weren’t for me anymore. But one thing sobriety does is force you to figure out what you actually need rather than automatically reaching for a drink to change how you feel.

So instead I’ve started wondering: how could I make the experience better next time?

Because I don’t want to stop going to festivals. I don’t want to stop seeing live music. And I definitely don’t want anxiety to start making my world smaller.

But it’s clear that, without alcohol, I do bloody worry a bit too much!

By Tuesday morning, I’d already started to feel more like myself. I was still tired and wanted more sleep, but I knew another good night’s sleep would probably make a huge difference.

Had I been drinking, it would have taken me AT LEAST a week to start feeling properly human again. Yes, I didn’t eat particularly well - although the festival food was surprisingly good. I didn’t drink enough water. And I definitely didn’t get enough sleep. But those things are easily remedied.

I hadn’t poisoned myself for three days. I didn’t have hangxiety. I wasn’t trying to piece together conversations or wondering what I’d said or done. I wasn’t dealing with a hangover while trying to look after two children at a festival. I was just really tired. And I’ll take that. Because even with the crowds, the anxiety, the rain, the sensory overload and the aching feet, I got to experience the whole thing. I was there.

Being sober is one of the greatest gifts you can give yourself.

No matter where you are or what you’re doing, you will never, ever regret not drinking.