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I like adventures, but only in theory. Occasionally the prospect of doing something terrifies me, preventing me from taking any kind of action. So whilst you are out there, rad-ing it up in a fine style, I can frequently be found curled up in a foetal position on the living room floor, clutching a bottle of wine.

However, sometimes destiny comes a-knockin’, and there’s nothing you can do about it (probably as it has the keys, and can let itself in without your approval). These are the times when it’s almost as if your course of action is predetermined, and there’s nothing you can do to get out of it.

I’ve never been a big fan of determinism, as I think that ultimately human beings possess too much of the random factor to remain tethered to one particular course of action. I know it’s a proposition that will probably never be resolved, but the four years of philosophy that ate up most of my time in the early part of this decade have cemented in my mind the existence of free will. I guess I like the thought that I have some kind of input into my behaviour, rather than being the product of circumstances. But sometimes, an event will become lodged in your headlights, and no amount of manoeuvring will shake it off. These are the times when rational philosophical discourse goes out the window, and you just have to uncork a bottle of wine and go with it.

So it was that I found myself stepping into a car on the Ormeau Road on a sunny Saturday afternoon, with at least one person I’d never met. The seeds for this piece of pre-determined fun were sown on the previous Tuesday, when I interviewed a man about a music event taking place in the future. At the time, I had no idea it would involve MY future, and as he handed me five VIP passes to Pigstock 09, I thought nothing more of it.

Fast forward to the weekend, and the long-predicted heat-wave finally exploded upon our collective skins. My initial plan for the day was to simply listen to punk rock and nurse my hangover. However, several garbled phone calls later, and myself and two compatriots were tooled up with wine and hats, and getting ready to go to Killinchy. Pigstock, it appeared, was on.

I have to admit that by this point, I didn’t really want to go anywhere. When the idea of going to Pigstock was initially mentioned, I was enthusiastic enough to rope in someone else for the journey. As we walked aimlessly up the Ormeau Road, this burst of excitement had faded, being replaced with a despondent hunger for food, and a desire to lie down. However, the immovable power of destiny intervened, and the car showed up at just the right time before I gave up and went home. There was something in the cosmos compelling me to go to this particular field, and I was powerless to resist it…

Pigstock is an open air music festival in Killinchy, which features lots of local bands playing in a field, whilst people drink heavily and eat a roasted pig. The event is now in its second year, and initially started as a kind of party thang, before solidifying into the festival it has now become. I’ll admit that I was expecting something fairly low-key; a few bands playing to a few people, all very civilized and reserved. The reality was very, very different.

Upon reaching the site, I was immediately struck by how many people were there. It was like a gathering of the tribes, with groups of people wandering around, eating, drinking, and generally having fun. We set up camp somewhere in the middle of the field, and promptly began to make a little nest, ostensibly to give a home to my wine.

The stage was a considerable distance from where I was positioned, but the music was loud enough to float over our heads into the stratosphere. Without being too dismissive to the bands playing, we didn’t really pay an awful lot of attention to them, instead making our own amusement back in the nest. In fact, at one point we were happily singing our little hearts out, tackling a handful of popular classics.

The sun beating down upon us, our attention soon became focussed on the drumming group that marched through the field, featuring two of our companions. Emboldened by their rhythms, I marched with them, munching on my pork burger, which was truly horrible (but the salad was really nice). The drumming seemed to attract more attention than the rest of the bands, some of the more adventurous spectators (i.e. drunk) attempting to dance to the samba rhythms. One particularly exuberant chap danced so hard his trousers literally fell down.

As the evening wore on, the sun melted into the sky, and beverages were quaffed. As a result, memories become a little sketchy as to exactly what transpired. All I do know for certain is that I threw some hay into a man’s face, after he had thrown beer over us. Also, two of my companions revealed themselves as talented boglers, a skill which has, as yet, not been at all useful.

I’m not much for the great outdoors, but something about that field in Killinchy touched me (and it wasn’t just the bugs that tried to eat me alive). Standing there, surrounded by revellers, I looked around me and felt a contentment I don’t usually have. The moon hung low in the sky, and the light of the fires upon people’s skin made them all look very happy and pleasant.

The following is all based on reported information, your correspondent being too ‘distracted’ to be a reliable source.

Then we returned to Belfast in a car which, according to the recipient of a phone-call whilst on the journey, “Sounded like a nightclub”. The action continued in my apartment, with Loveless by My Bloody Valentine being thrown on the turn-tables, prompting shoegazing dancing. A discussion on the work of Alan Moore sent yr humble correspondent into a feverous whirlwind of excitement, distracting him from the knowledge that his Facebook status was being repeatedly vandalised.

It is here that we return to our theme of the unbeatable power of destiny. A party somewhere in Belfast soon became a magnet to our attentions, and just as it was a cosmic inevitability that I would be taken to Pigstock, so too did the universe intervene and prevent me from partying, by causing me to fall asleep on the sofa, entering into a weird limbo-death state, oblivious to any form of physical contact.

Like I say, when the universe wants you to do something, free will goes out the window, and you have to just accept it.

It’s bigger than us, and it always wins.