I can't decide my favourite part...that we listened to Cut Copy and watched How I Met Your Mother while doing so, that the vodka was fairy floss flavoured and fluorescent pink, or that my Mum and Dad sat back and watched the whole thing happen without batting an eyelid - except at around 11am, when they suggested we cut the vodka with a bottle of champagne.
Although that's mostly it.
After Midnight Juggernauts, we considered swimming across Kippax Lake to get to the Jagermeister Tent, but ended up walking instead. The lake looked pretty dirty. And wide. Plus there were a myriad of signs posted around it promising that anyone who so much as looked at the water would be escorted off the premesis. Immediately. I don't know if there's a word for 'the opposite of disco fabulous', but I'm pretty sure getting kicked out of Parklife BEFORE the Jager Tent would be a perfect definition. Anyway, Casa de Jagermeister was everything you'd expect it to be and more. And by 'more', I mean this:
Pardon my poor photography skills, but is that a Jagermeister tattoo?
Yes it is.
After Jager, before dinner and just around the time the sun went down came the highlight of my life - aka Missy Elliot - where we were groped by/lifted onto the shoulders of the three random dudes in front of us, and then watched as Miss E and her glow-band wearing backup dancers made a musical tribute to Michael Jackson and that chick from TLC who died in a plane crash. At this point we were onto our 6th consecutive hour of dancing and were being fuelled by little more than German alcohol and Red Bull, and we didn't even care. If there is a stronger natural stimulant than Missy Elliot wearing a sequined Michael Jackson t-shirt, it's not one I know about.
About an hour and a half later, we decided to finish the night off with Groove Armada. I'm a bit tired and this post is turning out to be kind of epic, so I'm not going to go on and on about it - except to say that I woke up at 10am on Monday morning, and my ears were still ringing. And there were lasers. And it rained. As we were dancing. To Groove Armada. With lasers. In the rain.
It was in that moment I discovered a profound truth; a penis is not necessary to achieve an orgasm. Twice.
After that, we were - to put it eloquently - pretty much fucked. And so, in the perfect ending to the perfect day, we packed up our sunglasses and what little money we had left, had one last drink, and caught the train back to St Leonards while reading a free copy of FHM we'd picked up. It was strangely insightful.
Until next year, that's about it. Parklife Sydney, October 3rd. Greatest day of 2010.
(Until The Navy Man comes back).