When we think about quality food, we often imagine provincial farmer’s markets and home-grown vegetables. When I think about quality festivals, the same applies. If I can find it, I want the organic festival, not the chain supermarket. It is so satisfying to find those hidden gems, offering variety, excellent music, local food, and enough space to spread out your picnic blanket without the nettled remarks of the standing, who whisper in a deliberately audible fashion about the audacity of your use of space, taking up a whole square meter, a mile close to the stage.

This year, when pondering where to spend my festivacation, I wanted to take a break from the super-festivals, in support of the smaller, more rustic festivals. I refused to sign up for the cattle-shed experience, and I refused to buy into the Battery Festival. I wanted to support the free range festivals, and help them grow into something strong, hoping that one day they would provide the best cream of the crop…or cows.

This in mind, I wandered away from the battery festivals I had grown accustomed to in search of pastures new, where the grass truly is greener on the udder side of the fence. Analogies aside, I wanted to go back to the roots of great festivals. When I’m there, I don’t want to pencil into my timetable toilet breaks and bar stops. In fact, I don’t want a timetable at all. The whole point of a festival is to relax, have fun, and do whatever you want to do for a few days, (with respect for the land and your fellow merry-makers, that is.)

More specifically, I went in search of a festival with a stage I could see without any hassle (or cracked ribs, or limited lung capacity). I envisioned hay bales to sit on whilst enjoying refreshing local cider in the glorious summer heat, and frivolous festival merriment amid buttercups. Perhaps I’ve watched too many Magners adverts, but I was determined to find this dreamland.

Well, to all you cynics, I’m pleased to report that, by Jove, I found it! In fact, I found a few: One of which, nestled in the New Forest and proudly representing everything festivalness, went by the name of Festibelly. The three-year-old festival may be relatively new, but I felt a strong tradition already brewing, and if its local cider is anything to go by, (which sold out within hours), it will be very popular indeed.

This little festival is setting an example to its greedy, older and bigger siblings, by standing for everything that festivals once held dear, and then some: Local stalls, (supporting the local economy); great music, (supporting great acts, whilst educating our ears); great atmosphere; fair prices; diverse crowd; easy-going vibe; a sea of buttercups, and, oh yeah, the likes of Rob da Bank, The Big Pink and Johnny Flynn. (Not forgetting, of course, Farmageddon, resident band and…er, owner of the field!)

Johnny Flynn and the Sussex Wit lulled the masses with his anecdotal lyrics, and ridiculous talent with too many instruments to count. (I gave up after the violin, trumpet, resonator guitar, mandolin, and banjo had graced the stage.) Flynn’s rich baritone notes and humility ring with the gravity of a man well beyond his years, the likes of whom John Lee Hooker and Mississippi John Hurt might have jammed with. Add to that the apt accompaniment of sister Lily’s harmonic lilts, and the occasional punctuation of comic commentary from James Mathe on the keys, and a thoroughly enjoyable ensemble ensued.

Tek-One had the crowd almost to their knees with their powers of se-dub-tion, whilst Rob da Bank…well, it’s Rob da Bank. People were dancing. A lot. The entire field was thoroughly entertained throughout the night, long after the final notes of The Big Pink had reverberated around the site to fade into the wind and the buttercups.

Festibelly has more character and charm than an Irish jig, accented by its diverse line-up, the Live Art Competition; Acoustic Tent, featuring comedy and poetry, reasonable prices, and a capacity committed to 2,000 people.

The big festivals seem to have bargained with the advertisers and lost their soul, and for the price of the cattle experience at one of the corporate cop-outs, I could enjoy six Festibellies! (A far more economic and soul-satisfying way to spend the summer.) So, watch this space, because, with its free-range spirit and penchant for fun, Festibelly is shaping up to become one of Britain’s well-respected festival traditions in the coming years.