But first, the tent. We get here by way of an upgrade. Welcome to Splore! Let us guide you to the Glamping Village. Here are your armbands. Here is your car park. Drive right up. Here is your concierge who will carry your luggage to the paddock that resembles a small suburb on another planet - identical cream-coloured, bell-shaped tents laid out in neat rows. We are residence No. 60, aisle No. 1.
From the outside: swathes of canvas skirt out over the grass on a corner site with uninterrupted views across the hills and the Firth of Thames. Inside: an inner-sprung queen-size bed made with fresh white cotton sheets, puffy pillows, earbuds, an eye mask, bathroom towels, carpet, tables, lighting and guest toiletries, bedside tables, a place to hang clothes.
I am not tall but I, too, have felt the misery of stooping while camping. In this tent, you could form a human pyramid with The Lakers. It's impressive both in its scale and its minimalist interior. There is even a doormat – you can just make it out in the left-hand corner of the photo.
The grass is a bit dry but what do I care? I don't have to drive pegs into the hard earth with whatever is at hand that vaguely resembles a hammer. Besides, it takes a village to raise a glamping tent. A small but dedicated glampland army sets them up, days ahead of the festival.
It would rain off and on that weekend - but not enough to dampen your outfit for the last party of 2020.
The lounge and bar in the glamping village at Splore. Photo / Ainsley Duyvestyn-Smith
I'm wearing my mother's black dress from the 70s - long, halter neck - and a shawl I picked up years ago at an op shop. He is wearing a Ladi6 singlet and a blue jacket, bare feet. There are others among the 8000 who will dress up as: stormtroopers, Princess Leia, Julius Caesar - and fruit. There are brides and grooms, sequinned swimsuits and tutus, fairies and things so strange and bizarre they defy description. Later on that night, I find an abandoned blond wig on the ground in a pop-up bar and wear it for the rest of the night.
Stormtroopers with Princess Leia. Photo / Ainsley Duyvestyn-Smith
To prepare yourself for the evening, find your way to the powder room - right by the showers and the luxury flushing loos. There are festival-goers who may not shower for days but you will not be one of them. Inside the powder room the surfaces inside are covered in a thin film of glitter. There are cotton buds and hairdryers. Women and men, hippies and conventionalists, teenagers and children, fruit-loops and freaks, sit here and put themselves together before heading down the path.
Troy Kingi, Che Fu, JessB, Mark Slave and The Illustrious Blacks would have them dancing. Rapper and spoken word poet Kate Tempest would leave them mesmerised and in tears. "I have discovered something beautiful here," she said. She spoke for everyone there.
At the end of that first night, around 1am in glampland, we sit outside in our deck chairs, in the corner site and watch the laser lights dance above and on the water. The music of the spheres is in sync but, if we could read the stars, we would know differently. Below, the party of 8000, for the last party of 2020, is just getting started. And we are all blissfully unaware of what is to come. We will go to the very edges of ourselves. But for now, we are dancing.
Wildernest Glamping: As well as festivals and mobile glamping, Wildernest and the Hunting Lodge have collaborated to provide an exclusive dining experience with a twist. For more information go to wildernest.co.nz or thehuntinglodgeglamping.co.nz
