WE'VE all seen them, those images of people wading through in a sea of mud at a festival.

And how we’ve all laughed from the comfort of our own homes at the awful conditions.

I always wondered how those people who were caked in piles of wet soil always seemed to look so happy.

I say I always wondered — because now I know.

A group of pals and I were lucky enough to get tickets for this year's Kendal Calling festival.

This is one of the smaller festivals, with the stunning backdrop of Lowther Park, which as a Cumbrian born and bred, I can confirm is nowhere near Kendal and in fact much further north. I assume the organisers like their alliteration, even if geographically it's totally incorrect.

Being from Barrow-in-Furness, which in Cumbrian terms (we're used to driving huge distances to get anywhere up there) is only a hop, skip and a jump from the festival, I know many, many people who have been before — and who have all said how amazing it is.

I don't think it would be unfair to say this is a festival was definitely aimed at the slightly older music lover.

Headliners were Suede, Frank Turner, De La Soul, Athlete, with Example — thrown in for the kids I assume.

Held the first weekend in August, and based on the glorious weather we've been lucky enough to enjoy so far this summer, I was (quietly, I admit) confident that this year would been three days of basking in blazing sunshine, while drinking warm beer and listening to wonderful music.

How wrong I was.

Admittedly, when we set off from sunny Bolton the weather was a bit grey, but by the time we reached north Cumbria we could barely see three feet ahead, the rain was so torrential.

It did manage to brighten up while we put up our tents but then the downpours began again.

Thankfully, being a Cumbrian, it's rare I leave the house without a waterproof. And obviously, this was a festival, in the English countryside, so I'd taken wellies.

Ever the optimist, I had hoped I wouldn't need them — but over the course of the next three days they became my very best friends.

But, do you know what, the never ending rain, the rivers of mud, slipping every time you need a “rest break”, or to go and buy a jacket spud for a snack, or wanted to changed into something dry at the tent, didn't matter a bit.

What did matter was that the music was immense — I tip The Feud for big things — from the main stage, to the smaller tents and venues.

Not only that, the atmosphere was fantastic. Everyone was in the best possible mood, we were all in it together, and we were all having a bloomin' brilliant time.

If you were spotted struggling with something — be that putting your tent up, getting out of your tent, carrying your stuff on the long walk back to your car or wondering which band to go and watch next — there were loads of people who jumped at the chance to help.

Yes, when I got home I was soggy and everything I'd taken with me was absolutely caked in mud, but my face was actually hurting from smiling and laughing solidly for three days.

So, next time you see festival-goers caked in mud and looking daft on TV, don't feel sorry for them. Just remember what a brilliant time they're having.

Come wind, rain or shine, my wellies and I will be back at Kendal Calling next year.