Bestival: the main event on this year's festival calendar

Rob and Josie Da Bank have survived debts, deluges and David Icke on their way to turning Bestival into the party of the year
Rob da Bank and wife Josie
Rob da Bank and wife Josie, organisers of Bestival. Photograph: Alicia Canter for the Guardian

We've all watched in horror as the storm clouds of doom have gathered over a defenceless festival site. But imagine how it feels when it's your festival about to endure a physical and financial rinsing. "The panic was awful," confirms Josie Da Bank of the year when the rains came to Bestival, turning the site into a swamp and making the underwater fancy dress theme feel like a cruel joke. "We had to have a plastic floor driven down from Newcastle in the middle of the night. Without that we wouldn't have been able to open. Our producer had to stay up all night paying people cash to lay it in the rain. Every time they tried to walk off he'd hand them another tenner."

In a way, though, the great soaking of 2008 was the making of Bestival. "We learned so much from that show. Up until then we had our head in the clouds a bit about the reality of running a festival." Handled badly, the monsoon year could have spelled the end for Bestival; as it happens, the event has sold out on every subsequent occasion.

This year, with Glastonbury taking a sabbatical, many festivalgoers are now treating Bestival as the summer's main event. But its genial hosts are reluctant to interpret this as evidence of a mantle being passed. "People have called us a mini-Glastonbury, which is really flattering, but we're a much smaller show," protests Rob. "I'd rather Glastonbury was there every year, because it helps create a feelgood thing about festivals in general."

For Rob and Josie, Glastonbury remains the "fairy godmother of festivals". The couple even got engaged there in 2000, and their annual pilgrimage to Somerset was the inspiration for setting up their own festival. Their eclectic Sunday Best parties, started in a Clapham tea-room in the late 90s, had become a word-of-mouth success, and they saw an opportunity to transpose the playful, participatory Sunday Best vibe to a festival environment. They charmed the owners of a quaint adventure park on the Isle of Wight and, in 2004, Bestival was born.

"At the time, there weren't that many festivals," says Rob. "None of us had worked on a camping show before. We hadn't factored in people to look after the site through the night, so me and Josie ended up putting out fires in woods. We were pouring pints, then running off and sorting out a toilet problem or doing security. It was a total baptism of fire." The inaugural event left the pair exhausted and heavily in debt, but the sight of 4,000 people dancing to Basement Jaxx on the last night was more then enough reward. They were hooked.

Bestival has since grown steadily year-on-year to its current capacity of 50,000. While other medium-sized festivals have struggled in the current economic climate, Bestival's vibrant, holistic offering – from folk to dubstep to fancy dress parades to "David Icke giving lectures in the woods" – has continued to attract an enthusiastic audience, keen to be a part of the spectacle. They've also been able to direct those ravers starting to feel the pace towards their family-oriented spin-off, Camp Bestival.

Each year, Rob and Josie have striven to improve the Bestival offering, whether in terms of the headline bands (it took seven years of begging letters to land the Cure, but last year's greatest hits set was the envy of other festivals) or the other random stuff that goes on around the site. This year, they're introducing a new outdoor cinema and expanding the Arcadia area. "It's a big mechanical cabaret," enthuses Josie. "Part of their show is that every few hours you'll see these absolutely enormous mushrooms of smoke and fire in the sky. It'll blow everyone's minds."

Rob is not averse to working with brands, but only those who can bring something creative to the Bestival experience. "We have to pay the bills. It's not like the money's going into someone's pocket, it's going straight back into the show. We spend an absolute fortune, probably more than anyone does on a festival." He says that the festival's chances of breaking even remain on a "knife edge" until the last few thousand tickets are sold.

Is he concerned by European competitors' attempts to poach his customers with the lure of (almost) guaranteed sunshine? "I'm not worried. Every year I try to go to one of the European shows, and this year Bestival is even twinned with Exit [in Serbia]. It might be a bit sunnier, but I hope there's something reassuringly good about Bestival that will keep people coming back. It's like coming home and having a nice cup of tea."

Rob and Josie both admit that Bestival has taken over their lives, but they agree that "you couldn't wish for a better thing to be worrying about". When they reminisce about Howard Marks reading bedtime stories to the kids at Camp Bestival, or the time that the Beastie Boys came onstage in matching Bestival cardigans, or when Rob DJed from the top of a 30-foot bonfire, it's obvious that all the stress about riders and toilets and plastic flooring is worthwhile. Rob nods in assent. "It's such a great feeling to see 50,000 people loving what you've done."

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