I tried camping for the first time at Download Festival 2026 - it was a nightmare

I'd seen the line up and was particularly excited to catch some of my inner teenager's favourites, including Linkin Park, The Pretty Reckless, Hollywood Undead and Black Veil Brides.

So when I was offered a press wristband and guest camping for the entire event at Donington Park (June 10-14), I thought: why not? It seemed like the perfect opportunity to experience it all.

The free camping option a cheaper option than staying in the nearest hotel, which was approaching £1,000 for the duration of the festival by the time I received my welcome information. Daily train journeys and taxi fares would have quickly added up too.

I ordered the camping essentials and set off.

The CrossCountry train from Birmingham New Street to Derby took just half an hour, and from there I planned to take a taxi straight to the festival. Simple enough - until we joined the queue of thousands of other campers doing exactly the same thing.

What should have been a short journey turned into a two-hour crawl to Black Gate, where I needed to collect my press accreditation. During that time, the weather cycled through sunshine, torrential rain and back again several times. Despite that, I was still feeling excited when I finally stepped out of the car.

That enthusiasm took its first knock almost immediately

When I asked two members of staff where I needed to go, they pointed me in completely different directions. Whether they genuinely didn't know or were simply having a laugh at my expense, I couldn't tell, but it felt incredibly disorganised and I was beginning to lose patience.

After following one set of directions, a steward stopped me and informed me I actually needed to go the opposite way - up a very steep hill.

As a short woman carrying enough camping gear to survive several days outdoors, the climb was no easy feat. It probably looked hilarious to anyone watching. Thankfully, the rain had paused for a moment; I didn't need the weather making things any harder.

Once I finally collected my wristband and cleared the bag search, I was in.

Walking through the bustling Black Camp towards the guest camping area, I was relieved to find it relatively quiet. That meant I could pick a decent spot to pitch my tent without too much trouble.

Everyone seemed to be in great spirits, which boosted my confidence that I was going to have a good weekend. I managed to get my tent up surprisingly easily and, just in time, as the rain returned shortly afterwards. Feeling reassured that my tent was definitely waterproof, I spent a little while relaxing inside before heading out to explore once the shower passed.

As I wandered through the campsite, I could hear people singing songs from my youth, making nerdy references and laughing with friends. The entertainment areas offered plenty to keep people busy before the main acts took to the stage: a magician performing on one stage, a rock school session in another tent, axe throwing, fairground rides, endless food stalls and even a pub.

I watched some of the entertainment, grabbed photographs for my day-one coverage and wrote my first story from the festival. Everything seemed to be going well, so I decided it was time to get some food.

I've written before about taking a GLP-1 medication and metformin for PCOS, which means my appetite isn't always what it once was. There were plenty of food options that looked fantastic, but actually eating them proved more difficult.

I settled on a burger and fries. Unfortunately, I only managed one bite of the burger before deciding I didn't like it and a handful of fries before throwing the rest away. £15 down the drain, immediately.

Before long, the rain returned.

As the evening wore on, temperatures dropped, and this was the point where I began questioning my life choices.

I knew it would be noisy - it's a music festival situated near an airport, after all - but the cold bothered me far more than the sound.

I pulled my joggers and hoodie back on over my pyjamas and cocooned myself inside my sleeping bag. Even then, I couldn't stop shivering. My nose felt like ice.

To make matters worse, the rain came back heavier than before and stayed for hours.

I know that treating my insulin resistance has left me with less natural insulation than I once had, and eating fewer calories doesn't exactly help me stay warm, but this was miserable.

The real nightmare, however, arrived the following morning.

The rain was no longer coming and going. It was relentless and my tent had reached its limit.

A pool of water had formed around my feet, the bottom of my sleeping bag was soaked and almost everything inside the tent felt damp. Water was dripping through the zip and parts of the roof.

I was stressed.

For a while, I sat there questioning whether I should stick it out. But I was cold, wet and increasingly uncomfortable. The rain showed no sign of stopping, meaning there was little chance of drying anything out before another night and I was already developing a cough.

It simply wasn't worth it.

So I packed up my belongings and headed home.

I paid £60 for an Uber from Donington Park straight back to Great Barr out of pure desperation to get home as soon as possible and left before seeing a single headliner.

No band is worth getting ill for - at least not for me.

I've learned that I much prefer a gig where I can return to my own bed afterwards.

And perhaps I've also learned that comfort zones exist for a reason.