Foot sore and footloose

Last day at the festival is all about bump out.  I spend most of the day either taking things apart or getting ready to take things apart.  There are a couple of last minute dramas to contend with, one of which is pretty intense, ending with someone in tears which is horrible, and I’m certainly walking, talking and dealing with things as much as ever, but I do have time for a last breakfast in ACMI Lounge with most of the festival staff which is fun.  And  later I share a cheesecake with Chay-ya, the artist who created our scrabble boards in the upper plaza which have been a great success.  

I summon all the staff to the atrium for a group shot by Jim our photographer.  I’m not sure if we are all silly through fatigue or elation that the festival has been such a success.  Pretty sure evil Steve does some bunny ears, and Louise nearly falls asleep in the flower bed.  

A woman stops me in the atrium to compliment me (us) on how fantastic the festival has been.  Someone else comes by and says she’s had the best time ever at any MWF.  A long time punter tells me that she loved the deckchairs.  Mark Rubbo gives me the final hug for the festival and seems generally pleased with how it’s all gone.   

Chris Flynn gives me a hug to help me get through the day, and  Ralph from Jolimont Expresso shouts me a soup he made himself.  It’s delicious. He’s been trying to make me have lunch every day, but this is the first time I’ve had time for it.  Some days I’ve got home at 11pm and realised I haven’t eaten since breakfast.  It’s not good or sensible I know, but it’s so busy during festival time, you don’t realise you’ve gone all day without eating.  

Then its dealing with tradies – armies of men taking things apart and toting big trolleys full of equipment.  I haven’t lost a single bit of furniture, but we have lost the trolley for the marquee.   Everyone has their  bump out sheets and the box offices start to come down, the green room gets dismantled though all the festival equipment is left in the middle of Tjanabi, so I have to get people to come  back to take it to the Edge for loading up!  All the banners are gathered up throughout the venues, and all the documentation.  

I say bye to our wonderful FOH coordinator Zohar who has made such a difference to the festival this year.  The volunteers start leaving and then the last event finishes, and we all swoop into the venue taking everything down to the loading bay and Gen’s sturdy van which is doubling as our production vehicle. 

I think I’m holding it together, not forgetting anything, synchronising all pack downs and not getting too stressed. All the glasses bar one come back, and the jugs; the laptops are gathered up and all the unused volunteer and author bags returned.

Tom and the production team Gen and Will  make sure all the techie stuff arrives back at the temporary office at BMW Edge, and we make three trips in the van taking everything back to the office in Sturt Street. Jane is the driver for two of them and comes back to the office looking grey with fatigue.  

I can’t believe how much stuff we’ve gathered!  Everyone is so exhausted that we can barely speak.  We sit on the floor in the temporary office, sharing a meal of fries, and some wine and talk about something or other and wait for the festival club to end so we can finish bump out and go home.  I’m scared I’ll never be able to get back up from the floor, I feel about 80.  My feet and legs are painful from all the walking and those damn stairs up from the BMW Edge, and from the unyielding floor of Federation Square!  It’ll take more than a few sleeps for them to recover I know.  Jane says one of the volunteers had a pedometer to track her walking.  I don’t know that I want to know how much I’ve walked over the last 11 days.   

I make everyone give me their Fed Square security swipe cards and walkie talkies.  It’s really the end of the festival.

Nina and I do a final sweep to make sure we have everything and already its like we were never there, with the cleaners sweeping up the last of the tickets, and just the skeleton of the bookshop waiting for collection.

Festival club finishes, we all sweep in and pull everything out.  It’s done.  We’re out of there by 10.30pm. Louise disappears into the city to catch a tram.  I say, see you Monday and think probably there should be something more ceremonial given its the end of the festival, in each other’s pockets, ears and heads for ten days.

Gen gives me a ride home and I sink into my couch with exquisite relief.  It’s all over, it’s a great success, I can sleep in, my feet will recover and I can eat normal meals.  All I need do is find that missing trolley.  Tomorrow.

Helenka
Festival Manager