(Yes, I know, I’m shoving this up on the blog somewhat after the event, but I’m a busy man y’know. Better late than never…)
Bloody hell, it’s windy. Either that or someone has got hold of the outside of my tent and is flapping it about like a Killer Whale with a half dead seal. Maybe it’s them Spam bastards paying me back for nicking their tent pegs. One thing is certain – the noise it is making has rendered any further sleep impossible without tranquilisers. I dare say there’s a fair bit of Ketamine washing around the festival site, but personally I’ll give that a miss if it’s all the same to you.
Horse tranquilizers: it's a race horse called Horlicks, apparently.
I am a parent now and hurtling towards middle-age, so 8am is considered an indulgent lie-in anyway, so I get up and go for breakfast – the details of which started the first blog, so we’ll skip over that. However, before I can go to eat I am refused entry to the festival main area as no one is allowed in until 9am. Eh, do what? The festival closes at night? I thought this was supposed to be a playground of non-stop revelry and no sleep ’til Brooklyn. Now I find that everyone went to bed before me, tucked up with a cup of Horlicks (other revolting bedtime drinks are available).
It occurs to me that I’ve not really had a proper look around the whole site, so I rectify this. There’s not a great deal around other than food stands and stalls selling t-shirts with wanky slogans, although I do spot a place which sells ale as opposed to the rather flimsy Tuborg which is the only other beer available onsite. Sadly, further investigation later in the day reveals the ale to be rather horrid as well. Continue reading
