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Undoubtedly, the past weekend at Camp Bestival at Lulworth Castle in Dorset was one of the most extraordinary since I moved to England. The festival was, to use a very English adjective, completely bonkers.

I’ll mention the musical lineup in a separate post, because in many ways, the music was almost a sideshow – something that you listened to accidentally in between learning how to dance the Charleston, singing campfire songs and making giant piñatas. Camp Bestival was all about grown men in dog costumes blowing enormous soap bubbles and wheelbarrow races involving kids dressed as Oliver Twist and Alice in Wonderland.

The weather was extraordinary. England has suffered a typically crap summer in 2008 so far, but finally we got a dry weekend of passing cloud and sunshine with mild temperatures – between 18 and 22 degrees. Warm enough to be pleasant, without having to remove your tweed jacket, top hat or Dalek costume.

It was an idiot-free zone. Everyone was in a good mood, relaxed, and spontaneous happenings abounded across the campsite. In the course of a single day, you could play old-time jazz on an outdoor piano in the middle of the Magic Meadow, play Scrabble in a yurt and listen to convicted felon Howard Marks read the Three Little Pigs in the Kids Field.

Perhaps most importantly, Camp Bestival was a family event, almost to a fault. There was no part of the site where kids weren’t allowed – so they infested every part of the festival: running around the bars, dancing in the Balearic tent to DJ Derek, in the front row of the “mosh pit” or staging swordfights among the baby buggies parked up for the Flaming Lips.

There’s something about having so many children around that makes us grown-ups behave differently. What a blessing to spend a weekend with 10,000 people who could drop their pose, shelve their attitudes, paint their faces like tigers and remember how to have fun.