The wakeboarding wasn't much cop, and the "festival" was like a travelling fayre.
We eventually found out that Supergrass weren't due to be on until 11pm (this was on sunday). As the missus was feelin ga bit under the weather, and as there wasn't much to hang around for, we left.
My wife's boss is mad keen on it, to the extent that he's never in the shop and spends all his time out on this lake wakeboarding with his mates. He occasionally hires out the club as a treat for the staff, and I went along a couple of times.
They haven't got boats, but a system of overhead cables that they pull themselves around on, and go round and round the lake. They've got a couple of ramps out there as well.
Being a beginner, I wasn't allowed to go on a wakeboard, but had to go on water skis instead. Also, being fifteen stone I couldn't get my fat arse up off the water, and if I could, I got jerked forward full-length for thirty yards until I regained the presence of mind to let go. (Tip: remember to close your mouth, no matter how much you're taken by surprise.)
And then you have to swim after your water skis, which have floated off in opposite directions, and then try to get back to shore without getting decapitated by some damned fool on a wakeboard.
Do all the guys who do wakeboarding still look like Burt Reynolds crossed with David Wilkie? Seeing men like that getting pulled along by boats was the summer equivalent of cyclo-cross on Grandstand when other sports were thin on the ground.