Picture this: 5,000 party-goers at a first-time music festival, dropped in at a scenic location. Then imagine it’s orchestrated by two dreamers, music fans with little to no experience in running a monster event. They’re way in over their heads.

Then consider the dream turns into a nightmare. Nothing runs to plan. Torrential downpours mess with infrastructure. Performers don’t show, the booze runs out.

Costs spiral, money is torched, contractors aren’t paid. People are angry. The organisers go into hiding. ‘

‘We were so high-spirited and wanted to do this amazing thing and … it’s wrecked my life,” says one of those dreamers, speaking soon after from a hideaway, somewhere.

In the washup, it’s a wreck. Unsalvageable.

”I’ve got nothing, I’ve got no job, I’ve got nowhere to live,” claims one of the co-founders, counting the cost of this shocker. And to those owed cash, ”I’m sorry… I never thought it would turn out like this.”

Take a brief moment and visualise this all going down, not in the Caribbean but in Australia. Because it did.

By now, you’ve either seen the Fyre Festival documentary on Netflix, or it’s on your to-do list. It’s a jaw-dropping account of that most epic of fails ever witnessed in festivals-land, a journey through hubris, stupidity and ruin made so much more incredible by the fact it was all caught on camera, every daft step of the way.