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This is a question Festivals

Mud, rubbish sex, food poisoning and the Quo replacing the headline act you've mortgaged your house to see. Tell us your experiences

Question from Chart Cat

(, Thu 4 Jun 2009, 13:33)
Pages: Latest, 13, 12, 11, 10, 9, ... 1

This question is now closed.

Damnation Festival
I got my ticket for this year, just thought I'd share that with you all. Woot woot! :o)
(, Wed 10 Jun 2009, 12:02, 2 replies)
Festival parking.
This happened at V97 (I think).

I was quite happy with the space I'd found for my car: though the field was big, I was close to a huge oak and a pylon. I took a detailed mental map using these consipicuous landmarks so that I'd be able to find the tank-like Volvo lickety-split when the time to go home came around.

And what should happen during the festival?

Only that someone came along and uprooted and replanted the tree, and re-routed the national grid. My meticulous triangulation was thus utterly redundant, and it took me about an hour to find where I'd parked.

I bet the bastards did it on purpose.
(, Wed 10 Jun 2009, 11:00, 1 reply)
T in the Park 2006 (or was it 7?)
Bloc Party were midway through their set and the crowd were loving it. This was at the height of their popularity, although perhaps a few people were really waiting for The Killers who came on soon after.

Anyhow, I was at the front (I got a close up on 'telly!) and during the lull between songs, where people had finished cheering and were talking fairly queitly among themselves, I shouted at the absolute top of my voice, in a way that only an inebriated Scotsman can:


To which numerous people in the crowd had a good wee chuckle. The front man Kele Okereke heard my drunken drawl, had a laugh and went "we love you too!".

So that's why Bloc Party love ME! I don't even like their music that much!
(, Wed 10 Jun 2009, 10:37, 2 replies)
Oxygen festival 2008
to begin with, it's a horrible horrible festival. It is populated by ginger gypsies and the lowest of the irish scum (and I am irish so I can say this ok?)

We get there, and after eventually finding a place to pitch my tent (fnarr fnarr) we get confronted by a group of initally friendly guys from Coutny Mayo. We chatted and laughed and when they found out we came from *insert my county here* they turned quite nasty and told us we should go back to where we came from. Anyhow we ignored them and they continued to drink for the entire weekend, throwing their empty cans at our tents for the duration.

Oxygen is notorious for theives, and that night some twunt tried to steal my tent-mates beer and clothes only to be heard by his sister in the tent opposite and he got the wrong end of a rubber camping mallet on his temple, knocking him to the ground where she very deftly put her foot right on his groin and pressed down....hard. I had just come out of the tent to witness the groin incident and laughed at the sight of tears running down his face.

Another incident involved a drugged up git coming into my tent at 6am trying to root through my things saying it was his tent and the i 'was mistaken as to my location' being a tall fucker I planted my size 12 boot on his face and kicked him out of the tent where he got up and went around asking "where am I?", another walked around tents asking "Johnno, you in there!?" and if he got no reply he simply wandered in and nicked everyones stuff. I am not sure but he was eventually hunted down and dealt with as he spent too long in one area with his arms filled with other peoples booze/clothes etc.

The highlight though was walking around the very edge of the campsite near the grubby little Centra shop when I notice a group of guys standing around a tent, all shuffling and not really cheering, more kind of moaning and giving long drawn out cheers of appreciation. Once again being a tall lanky git I wandered overed and peered over the groups shoulders only to see a completely naked woman doing various 'things' to herself as all the men did various 'things' to themselves...I mean between the mud and the crap toilets I thought there was enough crap and bodily fluids around.

EDIT* oh and there was 2-3 cases of rape and a stabbing, good times eh?

And I was dirty texting a mates girlfriend, and had a dirty chat with her just before the Prodigy came on, awesome

After that I decided never to go to a festival ever again......I leave for Download Today :S

Length is above average and proud,
(, Wed 10 Jun 2009, 10:15, 3 replies)
I made my way from the very back of the crowd to the very front by clutching my hand over my mouth, leaning forward slightly, and making puking noises.
(, Wed 10 Jun 2009, 8:41, 2 replies)
Apologies if I have told this before.
A couple of years ago I was in Ulverston coinciding with their annual Dickensian Festival.

My other half’s flat had a direct view out over the main road that runs through the town centre, so I sat idly looking out the window at the crowds below. There were people dressed as Dickens, as sweeps, as mayors, as Victorian ladies and gentlemen and servants and Oliver Twist and all sorts.

And there was a pirate. A four or five year old pirate. Being herded about by his Mum and Dad who were nudging him in one direction, then the other and turning him to face this way and that. It looked odd, until I saw the press photographer and realised they were obviously hoping to get their little pride and joy onto the front page of the local paper.

‘Aw’ I thought ‘The proud parents, how sweet’

And then I noticed something odd. His sword was round. And black. And shiny. And about two foot long. And rotating at the tip. The bell end shaped tip.

The jolly japesters had given their son a double ended, flexible, rotating dildo to use as a sword.

I didn’t know whether to piss myself laughing or call social services. I do sincerely hope he got his picture in the paper though.
(, Wed 10 Jun 2009, 8:36, 2 replies)
Alternative Nation
Failed attempt to start a new Aussie festival was only ever held once. It started out with a huge line up, bands dropped out when they realised how crap the ticket sales were (Chilli Peppers and Stone Temple Pilots were two who decided against showing up) it rained all day in Sydney, the whole venue was on an old clay pit so everything went (literally) to shit) and the day was dry due to alcohol bans... in other words it was a cluster fuck of the highest order.
And yet, there was this one moment.
Having smuggled a bottle of vodka in and drunk 3/4 of it I swapped the last for a "cigarette" and was therefore utterly trollied when Lou Reed braved the rain to play.
In front of the stage was a small mud lake formed by the rain and sluicing clay so there was a gap of about 4 metres between the crowd and the edge of the stage.
I was already drenched and mud soaked so I just waded on it through the mire until I was at the front.
Reed, seeing this, wandered over until he was about an arms length away and started to play.
By the time he was finished hundreds of others had braved the knee deep mud to join me, but for a while there, I had Lou Reed playing a gig just for me.
(, Wed 10 Jun 2009, 4:58, 2 replies)
Pied Piper (Or how we got the green fields trollied)
Glastonbury 2000, in the days when you could still find a gap in the fence guarded by a dodgy scouser in a tracksuit (stereotypes aside the guy did have a tash as well)

Me and a few mates turned up with cases and cases of gutrot vodka, the 15 quid a case sketchy import kind, a bunch of cordial and plastic cups intending to fund our way through the weekend by selling double shots with a dash of Kia Ora for a quid.

Much fun was had with entertaining barter and as the sun set we wound our way up to the greenfields. Being as the only alternative was warm lager for a fiver a can our cunning plan was a great success. The highlight was turning against the wind to light a cheeba and seeing a queue of a few hundred people following us round the field to get the moonshine goodness.

Happy days :-)
(, Wed 10 Jun 2009, 4:58, Reply)
Can you play "way over there"?
Reading 2003 I think. The path to the arena was lined with tents, some of which had aspiring musicians doing their best to 'entertain' the crowds. At one such juncture, a chap in a deerstalker hat played his guitar. On our many trips to and from the tent, he would always be there strumming away enthusiastically. He was so reliable we used him as a kind of aural beacon at night to find our way back to the tent.

Sadly, he was shit.

On the last night, we staggered back towards our tent, listening for his tuneless twanging to point us in the right direction as usual. Alas, nothing! We eventually figured out the correct route using other landmarks, and upon walking past the fellow noticed he was sulking in front of a small fire, hat in his hands... and poking out of the fire was the smouldering neck of his guitar.

Vigilantes had silenced him. I felt quite sad.
(, Wed 10 Jun 2009, 3:05, 2 replies)
Tesco Value Rich Tea biscuits
Be prepared and stuff a packet of these in your rucksack before you leave your home. They are so utterly dry, so entirely devoid of any kind of moisture it's akin to eating a disc of compacted sand. I swear I once lost a whole mug of tea to a dunked one.

If it rains at Glastonbury like it did in 2005, half a pack should clean up the Pyramid stage area nicely.
(, Wed 10 Jun 2009, 2:57, Reply)
How to obtain free beer at a festival
As a youth I attendened many a festival including Glasto and saw many awesome sets including Radiohead. I realise in retrospect this behaviour was a bit cuntish but honestly, £4 for a pint of warm lager...

More enjoyable than the music was the free beer available if you knew what to do.

To do this, go to a crowded festival bar and order as many pints as you need. Make sure you have passed all the beer back to mates behind you as they have been poured. Once this is done and the barperson asks you for the money, suddenly remember another drink you need that involves them turning their back on you. As soon as they aren't looking, beat a hasty retreat.

Drink your warm lager and repeat at as many times as necessary.
(, Wed 10 Jun 2009, 0:17, 6 replies)
It happened in slow motion...
I was seventeen. He was a man in a kilt. He offered me a cup of tea. I declined. I turned to go back to my tent. He picked up the cup and started to pour in the water. From behind me, I heard a sound that has never been rivaled - a sound of a man in severe pain. Turning, I saw the kilted man clutching his groin, the cup on the floor and a dark stain of water upon the tartan material. He staggered and fell to the floor.

After the ambulance turned up, I decided to have a cup of tea after all.
(, Tue 9 Jun 2009, 23:13, Reply)
First special cigarette time!
16 years old and at Leeds 2002. In a 2 man tent with my mate and two Welsh blokes. Just before Prodigy went on.

Welsh blokes.....

It took my mother 2 weeks to wash the *strange* smell out of the tent.

*edit* What the fuck am I talking about, I was 17. Which of course, makes the world of difference.
(, Tue 9 Jun 2009, 23:07, 1 reply)
During my first visit to Reading fest back in 2004, I naively lost the rest of my friends in a drunk filled stupor, only to bump into a crowd of people cheering someone on.

Being a nosey sort, I barged my way through to have have a look at what was going on, to be greeted with a very flexible young man gobbling down three quarters of his cock.

I went back to my tent a changed woman.
(, Tue 9 Jun 2009, 22:58, 2 replies)
Do Marching Band Festivals Count?
So, some of my friends were in a Marching Band festival this week. The general idea is that, in a set time limit, you have to march through 6 villages and perform in their band stand. Modern marches are therefore Sitting In Traffic waiting for the five bands ahead of you to finish in the bandstand, so you can leg it down the high street playing oom-pa-pa and trying not to get absolutely soaked in the English Summertime. They're judged on their marching and the playing.

So anyway, my friend looks out of the window before they get to the first village, and decides he's going to make it more interesting. So he pours 6 pints of cider into a vacuum flask, tapes it to the side of his tuba the judges won't see, and threads a rubber tube around the valves so it's next to his mouth. So now when he's marching, he's also getting quietly pissed in the rests.

His band didn't win. I doubt they marched particularly well after the first few villages. :P

And to answer my own question: Yes, Marching Bands do count... but only if they have a good percussionist.
(, Tue 9 Jun 2009, 22:27, 1 reply)
Bestival 2008
There are no words... set in a valley... lots of rain..

here's a vid...
(apologies for the dire narration...!)

it rained for the whole festival and I was working six hour shifts as a volunteer.. in my wisdom I'd forgotten my wellies as well.. NOT clever!

edit: In hindsight I still had an awesome time though.. cheesy as it sounds everyone stayed (people talked of leaving but few did) and everyone had a laugh even though we were all damp
(, Tue 9 Jun 2009, 22:11, 3 replies)
A muddy Glastonbury with no tent.
Lady friend and I decided to go on a whim at the last minute, this being the days when it was easy to get in for free. So, a hitch from Nottingham is necesssary, no probs apart from the guy who decided that he had to drop us on the hard shoulder on the M42 about a 3 mile walk from the next junction, thanks.

So we arrive and having decided to bring no tent we have a vague plan to crash a friends truck in the crusty truck field outside the arena, said friend has recently got a new lass and as such is having no guests for the weekend, but points us in the direction of a friendly chap who is kind enough to let us sleep in some seats on his bus for the night.
So we settle in with some acid and booze of various varieties and amusement is had, eventually sleep tries to take over but it is to be denied by a 40ish somewhat fried looking couple who climb aboard looking for "John, this looks like John's bus, is he here?" to be told that no, it isn't and there's no one called John here, so they leave. 5 minutes later they return, same question, same answer. This routine continues for about an hour or more, with me wondering if this couple have been sent to test my lsd soaked brain, until someone gets tired of it and invites them to stay telling them that John will be back sooner or later.
So they sit there on the floor, babbling away whatever nonsense their fried brains are producing and I doze slowly, waking at one point to see them both holding needles, oh great thinks I, smack heads, but no. They are putting the needles into cans of special brew and injecting it into the backs of their hands. At this point the guy who's bus it is also appears, sees the needles and ejects them. Hooray! No, they are still convinced this is John's bus and return 5 minutes later, and 5 minutes after that, and well, you get the picture. Little sleep is had by me, the lady friend is blissfully unaware of most of this, having passed out solidly long before.

So, friday is spent wondering the site on various stimulants and getting knackered cos every last dry place to sit is permanently taken, all day and all night. Come time to think about sleep again we decide not to go back to "not Johns bus" and try the welfare tent where some large creepy guy offers us space in his small 2 man tent, no thanks, we're in need, but not that much - this guy looks like he could barely fit in a 2 man tent on his own, never mind with 2 other people, so we head off and eventually find a lone table to sit on in a tent that's closing in half an hour, so we decide to fall asleep there and pretend as hard as possible that we're out for the count when they try to wake us to kick us out. It succeeds and we're left for the night. Most comfortable table I have ever slept on.

Saturday sees more inebriation and a real desire for somewhere good to lay down that night, fortune smiles upon us though as mid afternoon some of Lady friends mates appear and tell us of the tent that their friends left behind after leaving because of the mud. Huzzah! We go to see our new home and lo! it is a big dry 6 man tent, all for us. Lady friend has a lie down, that ends sometime on sunday afternoon, while I continue the binge and return to dryness eventually, heaven.

Sunday see more inebriation in the mud and back to the heavenly tent at a respectful hour, to prepare for what turns out to be an entirely easy hitch back to Nottingham.

Unless you're capable of not sleeping for 3 days, which I am clearly not, I'd say it's really a good idea to take a tent to a festival even if you can't be arsed lugging it with you whilst hitching.
(, Tue 9 Jun 2009, 22:02, Reply)
Good times!
Phoenix Festival, mid 90s.

This was the year that;

1. My mate got food poisoning (I told him the sausages were dodgy, would he listen?)

2. We camped near these guys who kept us entertained with the catch-phrase “Skin-up Graham” all weekend.

3. The bloke in the next tent had the “best dope known to mankind” (turned out it was a legal high).

4. One of the girls had her bag pinched out of their tent, turns out she was sensible and it only had clothes in, so I suggested she tried lost property to see if it had been ditched when the thieving little bastards realized they’d pinched nothing of value. She returned an hour later, big smile, holding the bag aloft in victory. It was short lived, they’d stolen all her knickers!

Random festival memories

A man naked except for a fur rug tied to his back with string, carrying a Stop Children Crossing Lollipop.

Going for a piss in the woods at Donington Monsters of Rock, to be greeted by a young lass dropping her strides and relieving herself in front of me. When I jokingly pointed out this was the gents area, she muttered something in German, at least I think it was German as she had a major bush going on.

My first smell of dope, down the front at Donington 1986, stood next to some Hells Angels, this was closely followed by my first smell of Hells Angels piss as one particularly hairy biker deposited a few litres of secondhand cider over the people in front of him. These lucky people even thanked him for the gift.

Not being allowed to take plastic bottles of beer in, so watching people trying to drink three litres of cheap bitter in double quick time, so as not to miss Warlock. I doubt they remembered much about them.

Being called to toilets to see the biggest turd in the history of the human race. The Guinness Book of Records would later be in attendance.

Talking to a lad who was going to be in trouble when he got home, his Mum had seen him on the TV coverage with “Cunt” written on his forehead in marker pen.

Listening to a bloke describing how he’d just gone down on a girl, this being the third night of the festival.

And finally…

It was at Donington Monsters of Rock in the late 80s where a group of my mates were camping over night. As was the way with this one day events, the camp site was a scene from hell, with wall to wall lager and vomit, which was one of the reasons I never stayed there over night. Anyway the story goes that Kev; a skinny thick bass player, long black greasy hair, skin of alabaster due to never seeing the sun and possessor of the dumbest monotone voice, actually manages to land a girlfriend and not only that gets her to come to the gig. After a few beers around the camp fire, she decides it's time to retire to the tent for some action, drags him off to much cheering from his mates. There is very little privacy to be had in a tent, especially when everyone you are camping with sneaks up and stands next to it. Noises ensue and then the GF's voice can be heard.
"Call me a bitch!"
"Eh?" (Imagine in the dumb monotone voice.)
"Go on, and a slut too."
"Because I like it when you talk dirty to me."
"Do I have to?"
"Yes, go on."
"Come on!"
"I can't, I don't like those words."
The silence is broken by one of his mates who shouts at the top of his voice,
She was not happy!
(, Tue 9 Jun 2009, 22:00, 1 reply)
For a minute there I lost myself
Glastonbury 97, not yet 18, amazed by my first glastonbury and indulging in all the usual first festival mistakes. No wellies, too small tent, over ambitous dope consumption and a total lack of cynicism.

I convince the others to miss Radiohead on the pyramid stage and we go and see Primal Scream. As we waded through the mud to the half submerged dance tent I knew my life would never be the same. In my plastic bag entombed feet, Dad's waterproofs and Screamadelica T-shirt I lost myself in the groove. A beautiful dreadlocked tattooed girl moved next to me and began to join me in the loss of my small town comprehensive catholic inhibitions. Lower and lower she moved as shuddering bass, chemicals, smoke and sweat combined.

I felt my waterproofs clinging against me, hesitantly i looked down and realised she was actually pissing against my leg. Primal scream stopped playing as some twat had climbed the lighting rig and wouldnt come down. I realised i was cold and wet and we tried to go and see Radiohead. we could hear possibly their greatest ever set but could get knowhere near the stage.

I gave up drugs a few years ago as i realised those few naive moments would never be bettered (though i tried very hard). But then i still go to festivals every year and I love Radiohead. And I sort of got a golden shower.
(, Tue 9 Jun 2009, 21:59, 2 replies)
Download 2007
Definately my claim to fame

Was watching Dragonforce on my fella's shoulder's and desperate to be within shot of the TV camera panning over the crowd.

Cue Camera: Image on screen, me in my underage youth decides to flash the screen

Cue the biggest cheers I've ever heard in my life (all at me), god knows how many lads saluting me or shaking my boyfriends hand on the way back to the tent

But the best part:

Dragonforce pionting at me and singing "And now we stand with our tits in our hands!!!"

Search for it on Youtube lol, that's gonna be a cracker for my grandkids one day
(, Tue 9 Jun 2009, 20:56, 13 replies)
Came back from the Sunrise festival last week
It was actually rather pleasant - sorry about that.

The best bit was the last night when my daughter (13) and I stayed up to watch the sunrise. We listened to really great music (Baka Beyond and Inner Heights if anyone cares) until about 3 am, then sat in a temporary garden filled with prayer bells and wind chimes that somehow wasn't cheesy watching the sky get brighter. Then we went over to stand by the main fire pit and watched the sunrise to the sound of people bongo-ing and a drunk irritable scouser playing the guitar badly.
Then we ate egg baps and laughed at people having dizzy races, and finally went to bed at about 7am.
(, Tue 9 Jun 2009, 20:07, Reply)
7 county wide police search for little me.
When I was 17 and in care, I asked my social worker if I could go to the Reading festival, and unsurprisingly, she said no.
Irritated, I visited the local underage pub and met up with a few dodgy mates, who sold me my first ever acid tab.
They were going to the 'white goddess free festival' in Camelford, Cornwall (of the blue hair and evil water) and in my altered state I decided to go with them.
We hitched there, and I have several very confused memories of the trip. It would seem we walked straight into Paignton zoo at one point, and I recall the bloke with the tent vanished with our home on his back. I also remember about seven of us being picked up by a normal looking bloke and his daughter when we were hitching along a deserted road.
I had a great time at the festie. I talked to a man who was still on an acid trip from some tabs he'd dropped about 25 years previously, and saw some woman dancing madly and not even noticing when a police helicopter landed 50 yards from her. The festie lasted about a week although it was supposedly a weekend one.

On the last day, having taken all my money out of the cash machine twice (those were the days) and having my card swallowed when I tried again, I wandered around the festie asking if anyone had any spare drugs, as I'd none left. Strangely enough mixing speed and mushrooms really monged me out. I don't know why.

When I went home, I found that the police had been looking for me in 7 counties, but not Cornwall. Huzzah!
(, Tue 9 Jun 2009, 19:57, 1 reply)
Having a poo in the 'long drop' at latitude last year (big latrines, with a 6 foot drop to a pile of rotting faeces), I achieved splashback.

Well, I say achieved...
(, Tue 9 Jun 2009, 19:13, 4 replies)
Going all the way
Was driving up to Brum last summer to visit friends when I pulled into a service station and noticed an unsual placard for a hitchiker trying his luck in the coach lane:

'Need ride to Leeds Festival. Will suck myself off in return :)'

Confused, I suggested it would be more effective if he offered to suck them off for a lift.

'Na mate, that'd be gay.'

He was gone by the time I got back. Maybe he found some perverted trucker to lend a hand. I personally find the whole thing a little hard to swallow.
(, Tue 9 Jun 2009, 17:16, Reply)
Melinda Messenger's norks
A few years ago, a mate of mine worked for a music press agency. As such he was always sorting us out with tickets. I forget the exact festival (Reading I think...) but he got us backstage passes one year. It's hardly rock and roll but the bogs are fragrant and, more importantly, the queue for the bar is non-existent.

One one trip to the bar there was a short blond lady being harassed by some drunk bloke. I didn't pay too much attention but as I got to the bar the girl (who seemed to be on the verge of tears) turned round, grabbed my arm and said "It's ok, I'm with him, bye". The bloke stumbled off and I looked round at my new found friend only to find it was the then-newly-famous Melinda Messenger! In a short skirt. And very tight top. She gave me a kiss (on the cheek!) to say thank you and signed my T-Shirt.

In case you're wondering, they were (and I'm sure still are) magnificent...
(, Tue 9 Jun 2009, 16:39, 11 replies)
EXIT Festival
It's outside Novi Sad in Serbia. My black friend was the main attraction, all the locals wanted a picture with him, like he was a beefeater.
(, Tue 9 Jun 2009, 16:18, 6 replies)
At a rainsoaked Leeds Festival years ago I saw a bloke pick up a couple of pints at a beer stall they had set up at the crest of a hill. The fella turned sharply in the sodden earth, took a resolute step forward, somehow managed to plant one foot on a discarded plastic plate, then the second foot on another discarded plate, then effectively and unintentionaly ski all the way down the hill until he landed in a crumpled and soggy heap at the bottom.

"WAAAA - HAAAAAAYYYY !!!" Came the cries from the assembled crowd.

The fella stood up and continued on his way without a word. And he managed, somehow, not to spill a single fucking drop of beer.

Now, that man's a hero in my book.
(, Tue 9 Jun 2009, 16:05, 3 replies)
Impenetrable jenga towers of beer!
I'm not the festival type, really. Something within my parameters of personal comfort prohibits me from sharing a toilet cabin with a thousand other peons, and the chance of being caught servicing Mrs Badger within the confides of my tent is somewhat offputting to my stamina.

Most importantly, I'd be willing to pay good money for what I feel is a good value amount of entertainment - the golden rule being the only people fitting in to a festival were those who refused to pay. I know I am not welcome there as I am indeed a straight-laced spineless chump of biblical proportions, but back in the Summer of 2004 fate threw me an Eastern European screwball.

Back then, I was working what I could at a certain alcoholic beverage company known for toying with the music scene. Not enough hours to blag free tickets by all means, but enough to assign me the responsibility of offloading pallets of watery beer off the truck and into the tent. Well, that was the plan, but some muppet assigned me to work with our blessed lorry driver, Polish Dave.

Polish Dave was called Polish Dave because of his habit of being Polish, and had all the cultural understanding of a Gumby. Who was clocked by a member of the public with one foot out the window, steering with the other? That's Polish Dave and his wet nail polish. Who pierced a hole into the bottom of the pack of fags and proceeded to smoke them all simultaneously? Polish Dave was bored. Who spent the entire morning run impersonating Sir Terry of Wogan every time the broadcaster spoke, despite it being Radio 1? Polish Dave doesn't understand channel frequencies.

Now when the radio's newsbeat story mentions the large number of teenagers sneaking into the festival we were delivering to, who else would decide to sneak me in 'for the hell point of it' than Polish Dave, ignoring the fact I already had a legitimate (albeit temporary) access right.

His rationale was simple; mine out the beers from the bottom of the pallet and fit me in the space opened up, like a giant game of Jenga. With more than a few tins in my system on the company's behalf, I decide it isn't a bad idea.

An hour later we pull into the public parking to drop off the delivery, which may have been the stupidest idea ever conceived as thirsty queue jumper after thirsty queue jumper watched eagerly as Dave wheeled a 10ft tower of beer alongside them nonplussed to his situation.

I've never seen a zombie attack in person before, but this is the closest I got. Realising the potential reward, they started following us. Slowly at first, but their evolution from Night of the Living Dead zombie to the 28 Days Later incarnate (despite not technically being zombies) became apparent. I was being chased through a field by a crowd of teenagers within a large tower of pisswater steered by an eccentric Pole. I did the only thing I could do; I offloaded as much beer-ammo as I could furiously in the direction of the drinkers, but that only made them worse. Then it happened; the tower started collapsing. Reluctant to being crushed by a half tonne of alcohol (although in hindsight, I couldn't think of a better way to go), I abandoned ship and was nicked by security who told me to fuck off to my tent and never grace their vision again. The only problem was I didn't have a tent; I wasn't supposed to be there anyway.

The moral of this story is that if you saw a long haired bloke screaming at security guards that he didn't belong at Reading 2004 while 50 people shook his hand for being an internationally recognised provider of beer, I should apologise for causing a scene. The only ones who looked a bigger twat than me were those who paid to see The Darkness headline Friday.

No apologies for length; it's the only reason we're together.
(, Tue 9 Jun 2009, 16:03, Reply)
Redcar Folk Festival
I used to be a folkie and in my twenties was at festivals most weekends.

One such weekend was in Redcar, the campsite being the recreation ground. After a good night of singing, drinking, dancing, singing and drinking we wandered back to the campsite, only to find that my tent was now just a patch of yellow grass. Some local kids were wanting to go on a camping trip apparently and had gone through the site stealing a tent here, a sleeping bag here and so on.

At 2 in the morning we were interviewed by the local police in the rec room changing block. They knew exactly who had done it but I never got my tent back.

Did get to share with a very personable young man however!
(, Tue 9 Jun 2009, 15:32, 2 replies)
If you remember you weren't there
I don't remember so I must have been, was a quiet night in the summer months, some pokey little place down on the levels where I grew up, the usual weekends invovled drugs...what ever really.

I recall that one weekend someone mentioned that the Pilton festival was on (Glastonbury for non locals), then it was the usual have a smoke and neck some pills.

It later transpired that some mates decided to crash it for the weekend and I was up for it, we went for the weekend and came back.

I remember a rather dirty come down on the Tuesday and that's it. So no memory or experience of it, just some photos to prove I was there.
(, Tue 9 Jun 2009, 15:28, Reply)

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