Besides running a marathon or watching Australian Idol, attending a music festival is a feat of endurance only the fit or foolish should attempt. Last Saturday’s Livid was no exception to this rule.

Even before I’d left home, I faced the trauma of deciding what to wear. Little running shorts and a singlet might suit long distance runners, but are hopelessly impractical in Sydney’s fickle spring weather. While last year’s Livid sweltered under 34ºC heat, this year’s weather was a schizophrenic melody of bright sunshine, hail and bone-chilling winds. Layering might be fashion’s way of beating fluctuating temperatures, but since when does band clothing come in anything other than an XXL T-shirt? I’m yet to find cashmere knits with the logo of Jurassic 5 or Linkin Park emblazoned across the front.

Along with the ban on underage drinking and illicit drugs, organisers should prohibit the wearing of polyester in future. As the volunteers inside the St. John’s Ambulance tent found out, man-made fabrics in confined spaces were a recipe for body odour far more lethal than any cocktail of alcohol and drugs.

Festival organisers should also take note. Endless queues for basic foodstuffs brought down Communist regimes in Eastern Europe in the early ‘90s. Similarly long lines to enter Livid, check in bags, go to the toilet and buy food and beverages could well do the same to music festivals.

Of course, I hardly expected Livid organisers to ply me with finger food and flutes of champagne served in the comfort of my very own corporate box. Nor did I show the foresight of Renee Zelweger and Toni Collette, both of whom are cleverly dating the lead singers of Livid acts The White Stripes and Gelbison in order, no doubt, to get backstage passes. But like Moscow shoppers, hours spent waiting to use foul-smelling Porta-loos or to buy overpriced, undercooked food left me smouldering with anti-establishment resentment.

This gets me to my next gripe. Why were headline acts such as The White Stripes, Linkin Park and Turbonegro scheduled to play simultaneously? Livid’s schedule of acts made about as much sense as Cityrail’s train timetable. Navigating the various stages scattered around Moore Park was more difficult than changing platforms at Town Hall station during rush hour. The added stress of running back and forth between stages to catch fragments of each act pushed me to the brink of festival rage: a violent lashing out at fellow festival-goers borne out of frustration.

Cityrail’s influence could be felt elsewhere too. Like trains on the Inner West line, acts began late, were overcrowded and in the case of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, which finished half an hour early because lead singer Karen Orzalek concussed herself earlier in the week, failed to arrive at their final destination.

Music festivals also pose dangerous health risks, mainly due to the many hours spent standing. Unlike shop assistants, festival-goers are not covered by an Industrial Award that mandates breaks every four hours. Forget binge drinking. Public health officials should be more concerned about the blisters, bunions and varicose veins we’ll get from being on our feet for so long.

Like an emaciated marathon runner risking internal organ meltdown instead of catching a bus, the question obviously arises: why bother? Why not buy the CD and stage Livid from the comfort of my own bedroom? But as all endurance athletes know, no amount of pain can rob you of the exhilaration of achieving your goal: crossing the finish line, finding out who wins Australian Idol, catching every Livid act.

In any case, why else were Mondays created than for sickies to give us time to recuperate from a weekend of punishment? So if you’re reading this boss, don’t expect to see me on 8 December, the Monday after Sydney’s next music festival, Homebake.