Review: Did Bongo bongo the bongo?

Last night I’m pretty sure I was Bongo’d, judging by the violent hangover that feels like I have been tossed like a caber (or the suitably African equivalent). As a medical student, the idea of writing anything longer than an abbreviation makes me want to punch the nearest child, so when asked to include a review along with photographs of Bongo Ball I had to keep myself away from schools due to the strong compulsion to drop kick under 5s into orbit.

Having graduated in June, I’ve been missing the St Andrews “student experience” and unlike an alarming proportion of alumni I didn’t propose to my girlfriend on the last day of exams. As a result I have little to sustain me on cold dark nights in Dundee which I mostly spend crying into my Will and Kate commemorative pillow. Friday night was an excellent excuse to spend an evening in the Kingdom of Fife. It was my 5^th Bongo Ball, a record shared by only a handful of others including your highly esteemed leader, Freddie Fforde, and rampant socialite, Travis Long.

Crail Airfield is a curious choice of venue. It hasn’t been used as an airbase since it was decommissioned in the 1950s after which it was used as a Russian language school until 1960. Up until fairly recently it was used as a pig farm, the officer’s mess was a pig sty. If you spend a day exploring the buildings with Fife Wargames you may be lucky enough to find tools for artificial insemination or an empty can of pig pheromone. On Friday night, there was not a randy sow in sight in the abandoned theatre though there were a few balloons, and a projector beaming images from the Jungle Book (India?) and Madagascar was a cockle-warming sight.

On the subject of warm cockles, it was bloody freezing. Apparently it’s winter; Christmas is round the corner and earlier that evening there had even been a sprinkling of snow. The bonfire raged away but many revellers chose not to warm themselves by it, deciding the 10 meter dash towards it wasn’t worth the risk, especially not without huskies and a sled. I do have some minor criticism, however, after cutting some serious shapes and singing my wee heart out (I know ALL the words to Otto Know’s “Million Voices”) I do like a good-sit down but the only seats at the venue were outside. It was like picnicking in a winter-clad Pripyat. 

Britain is officially back on the rise after it’s double dip recession and whilst we await a third dip we’re celebrating in style, it seems. Drinks tokens were dished out on the bus and there were free burgers! Can’t argue with that.

The Zambula band were back this year doing their thing, their unique hypnotic sound and dazzling outfits were certainly a highlight. The DJs were spot on but no magnificent returns from the likes of DJ BJ (anyone remember BJ?) or Dan Mathews (Dan, did you graduate?).

The thing about Bongo is that it’s different. All too often event organisers throw around words like “luxurious”, “extravagant”,  and “lavish”. The social folk at St Andrews seem to be drawn to these words like moths to a flame and regard champagne receptions to be as welcoming as a warm bath, a bacon roll, or a hug from Mary Berry. Truth is, whilst I love a cupful of carbonated white wine and all the associated opulence, I’ve usually been pre-gaming since noon so I’d rather discard and trample my plastic glass as I’m dying for a piss. Bongo doesn’t offer a champage reception, it doesn’t offer much in the way of luxury at all, and up until my third Bongo ball there was porn plastered on the ceiling. What it does offer is an unapologetically fun night out where wearing pyjamas is encouraged and if you’re asking to see the tasting notes on a bottle of Bacardi you’re in the wrong place. The Bongo crowd is nuts and really rather pleasant. Bongo has been supporting the Xavier Project since it was founded in 2008. The Bongo team are to be commended on not losing sight of what it’s all about and they encourage anyone who resold their ticket at a profit to donate the difference to the cause.

Being Bongo’d, like the May Dip, Raisin, and the pier walk, is an experience every St Andrews student should have at least once. I’d happily make it a 6^th time.

images  © ben goulter