Lee Suckling: Do you have festival fatigue?

Revelers at Laneways Festival at Silo Park, Auckland. Photo / Sarah Ivey

We're at the tail end of the music festival season, and I know a lot of you must be pretty tired.

Festivals are fantastic when you're young. You can dance all day in the sun, and are more than happy to share in a tent with eight other people. You're A-OK with public urination (maybe you've even learned how to use a Shewee). You don't mind the sound of rustling nylon as your neighbours get hot and heavy. Hot chips from a pottle are an acceptable meal choice, and sneaking in your own alcohol is something you take pride in.

I intentionally missed all of the summer festivals this year, but not because I wasn't die-hard about any of the acts. In truth, after ten years of bruised legs and ruined shoes, I have festival fatigue. To me, festivals are the summer equivalent of skiing: a great idea that you enjoy for the first three hours, but come 2pm you just want to go home. Yes, I missed out on the fabulous Instagram account Man Buns Of Laneway, which saw topknot wearers getting papped at 2015's Laneway festivals. But that was a small price to pay for the preservation of my hearing.

Once you get to your late 20s, festival fatigue becomes chronic for many reasons, not least of which is the persistently high attendance costs. $150 here, $300 there; it's a serious knock to the bank account, and that's excluding the exorbitant fees on the day for food and drink. There's also the logistical costs. Getting to remote locales like Wanaka don't come cheap, especially because, like school holidays, airlines all know when demand for certain places will be up.

When the day arrives at your festival of choice, you often realise the two acts you really wanted to see are playing simultaneously, on opposite stages. You choose one, but in a 35-minute flash, the set you've been waiting for is over and you're in a mosh pit you can't get out of.

The crowds, too, become tiresome at festivals. Wise was playwright Jean-Paul Sartre when he wrote, "hell is other people", for it's the sweat, blood, and tears of others that begin to disgust seasoned fest-heads that don't have access to VIP areas. Let's not even talk about the urine-throwers (it happens).

On the note of people, there's the pseudo-fashionistas of festivals that become somewhat bothersome as you age. They get younger every year, and think they're rocking a Kate Moss/Bosworth/Hudson look by dressing like a Coachella hippie in Diane von Furstenberg. Girls, we know your outfit is online-bought from Urban Outfitters, and we know you're only doing it in hope of getting snapped by a street style blogger.

One of the theoretically great things about festivals is running into people you know. You catch up, you laugh, you have a great time. But then you realise you've lost the friends you actually came with. Then you're left unsure if the cell network has overloaded and they're getting your texts. All the while, you got so caught up you actually miss one of the bands you wanted to see.

I have to go back to VIP areas and a common bugbear with them. They are impossible to blag your way into, even when you're with someone with a shiny gold lanyard. If you do actually get in, you realise it's just B-listers and PR hacks drinking free booze and lounging awkwardly on beanbags. Outside, the real, paying, actual music fans are putting up with muddy, filthy conditions and 45-minute lines for the loo.

Security is a big downer at festivals, too. I know they're only doing their job, but the egos of guards are tiresome and somehow, intentionally or not, people still seem to get their drugs in. Then we all have to deal with the teeth-grinders (psychedelic Woodstock free lovers these guys definitely ain't).

When you finally leave a festival, there's the ear-ringing, sunburn, hangover, comedown, lost phones, broken heels, soiled clothes and emotional trauma to deal with. Multiply that across an entire summer and various festival outings, and it's no wonder festivals become so fatiguing.

I'm not going to say I'll never go to another Laneway, Big Day Out, or Glastonbury. I probably will. Until my festival fatigue is over, I'm pretty happy listening to Belle and Sebastian on my iPod.