Electric Picnic begins with day of artistic tomfoolery

[ Read all the action as it happened from our day one liveblog ]

"We're here to see how drunk people are," says Eoghan O'Neill, a member of the Electric Picnic Drunk Police. He has a police hat, badge and baton, short trousers and converse runners.

They have a police van, inside which are spray-painted “Repeal the Eighth” “Bush did 9/11” and “Harambe, RIP”. His friend Kevin Mulcahy entices passersby with a loudhailer. “How drunk are you?” he calls.

I don’t think they’re real policemen. They get passersby to perform US police-style drink tests – standing on one leg, walking in a straight line – after which they assess their drunkenness. There’s a “leaderboard” of the drunkest people so far.

“It’s sort of competitive drunkenness,” says O’Neill.

“We don’t have the moral authority the gardaí have, but we feel we’re . . .” he pauses, “informative.”

What do people get if they win? “The respect of their peers,” says Éanna Morley.

On Friday before the bands play, Electric Picnic resembles a big open-air shopping centre-cum-art exhibition. About 55,000 people wander around looking hungunder in fancy dress of various descriptions. There's a bear, a king, a thousand people with plastic flowers in their hair, several people dressed as child catchers pulling carts full of children, and a few proudly celebrating their Native American heritage in feathered head-dresses.

There are many Electric Picnics now – there’s one for hippies (The Greencrafts area), pseuds (Mindfield) and people who’d prefer to be in a super pub (several alcohol-sponsored dance venues).

Trailer Park

The most active part early on is Trailer Park where arty tricksters customise caravans in the name of artistic tomfoolery. Near the drunk police, the doctors (real doctors?) at the Incredible Deprogramming Machine take a break from deprogramming punters of their worldy biases to pump smoke from their smoke machine and dance to Move It. "Oh Jesus, I've got to . . . move it!" says an ample gentleman in a poncho, before busting what can only be describe as "a move".

Nearby, a trailer surrounded by broken motorbike parts and shopping trollies declares support for a Trump presidency via posters. “Finally, someone with Balls!” reads one.

A woman named Chastity (real name Lucy Osborne) explains in a fake American accent that this is The Redneck Republican Headquarters. The first year they were Big Fat Redneck Wedding and their star Darlene got married. Last year, Darlene was divorced. “This year Darlene is tired of men.” Donald Trump will appear at 3.45pm on Saturday, she says.

“Do you really support Trump?” asks a young woman.

“We’ll get this all weekend,” whispers Lucy, dropping her accent.

A topless Scotsman named Jack Collinge stares at a double-decker artistically embedded in the ground. “Can I get into the bus?” he asks, apparently under the impression that I work for the bus company.

“I don’t think so,” I say.

“Aw,” he says, shivering.

“Are you cold?” I ask.

“Yes,” he says.

“Why no shirt,” I ask.

“I hate shirts,” he says.

Over at the drunk police van, a young man with a propeller-hat is drunk tested. “They said I wasn’t drunk enough,” he says sadly. His name is Cathal.

I say that I like his hat. “I brought four hats,” he says. “This. An umbrella hat. And a bright yellow paddy cap. I have a fourth hat for Sunday, but that’s a surprise,” he says, mysteriously. “I cannot tell you about the fourth hat.” (I am convinced I will be blown away by the fourth hat).

Later I see the drunk police handcuffing a man in a brightly coloured Kim Jong-un T-shirt. Is he the first drunk person? “Oh no,” says policeman O’Neill, who is holding a beer himself and twirling a baton. “There’ve been a few.”

“Have you been drinking the whole morning?” I ask the man in the Kim Jong-un T-shirt.

“I’ve been drinking for two weeks,” he says. His name is Ciarán. He’s been InterRailing. He bought the T-shirt in Bratislava. “They like Kim Jong-un there,” he says. “I don’t like him. I think he’s a bad man, but I said, ‘Sure I’ll buy the shirt and wear it to Electric Picnic.’”