Reading(s)
So many wasted nights at Reading over the last 7 years! My fave 'memories' include:

- Walking along the path doing a laughing gas balloon, then chugging a load of jack daniels, then have the full effect of the balloon hit me and find myself waking up in a ditch! Wooo!

- Trying to sell my Dutch friend at 5am(while drinking JD again!) and managing to do so but only by taking one of the girls from their campsite as change... who then ran away 10mins later!

- Many mobile mosh pits/raves :) good times!

- Whilst wandering round off my face some guy ran up to me and asked me if my name was Dave (which it is!), when I said yes he screamed "we've got one!" and out of nowhere 50 people suddenly appeared and started worshipping me chanting "we're not worthy"!!

Gotta love the Reading crowd, unforunately I feel far too old for them all now! Shame this years line up is so pants though cos I'd still go!
(drchino, Fri 5 Jun 2009, 10:15, Reply)

It was night time. I needed a wee
and I had a rumbly tummy, which meant a runny bottom was on its way. It was dark, I was covered in green face paint and glowing red devil horns, a gift acquired from some suspiciously young girls in the Green Fields.

I approached the Glastonbury Portaloo with trepidation, smelling its foul contents from some distance away. As I stepped inside, the stench became overwhelming so I transferred my torch to my mouth, held the door open with one hand to let some air into the cubicle and maintained my aim with the other.

Unfortunately, the unholy stink had activated my guts, and a full rectal purge was now underway. Cursing my weak constitution, I decided against all reason to peer into the bowl to see what I was up against. The sight that greeted my weary eyes was so appalling my mouth automatically formed an 'OMG' and lost its grip on the handle of my torch. It fell through the seat hole and into the fetid mire below, landing handle-first and upright and still very much switched on. I considered my options to retrieve it, but it was embedded deep in the funk and the shitwolves were howling at my bumdoor. I turned round to find that the lock was broken too.

Disappointed with the way things were turning out, I dropped my trousers and perched above the glowing seat, which now resembled a kind of ghoulish uplighter. As my sphincter yawned I released the first of many hot, wet and exceptionally stinky colon burps. Seconds later, the door swung open and I was blinded by light and deafened by screaming.

Somewhat unsettled by this development, I rose from my squat in a literal blind panic and tried desperately to wipe myself off, still suffering retina-burn when I heard the door open again.

Emerging into view was a large, half-naked bald man with eyes like dinner plates. "Fucking hell mate, what have you been eating" he uttered, swiftly followed by "My missus is tripping badly, she's just run back to our tent and swore that she just saw the devil himself shitting out evil demons"

I cleaned myself up and was persuaded to join them both for few cans of warm lager and a lovely "Camberwell Carrot" in an attempt to calm her down again.
( chart cat has an itch, Fri 5 Jun 2009, 10:02, 22 replies)

My first festival
Well maybe not first, as they all sort of mixed together into one big childhood memory.

between the age of 5 and 8 i went to glastonbury and spent much of the time in the playground and craft areas, I remember the playground quite vividly, large wood fortress with a zipline that you went down and landed in straw. I dont even think i was aware that live music even took place at the festival, all i remember is the playground and all the cool arty stuff like stilt walkers and fire breathers and them gyro thingys.

anyway, while I was playing (unsupervised as my mum was rather liberal and didn't bat an eyelid at the idea of a 5 year old boy walking around a festival ground alone (those were the days)) I saw a large blue tent, to my youthful eyes it looked like a circus tent, and the door was slightly open to reveal more playground activities, as well as food and drink all lined up on a table, but it was all closed off and my attempts to get in were met with denial from the staff...

I walk away defeated, upset that i couldn't play in the exclusive area but not so much as to stop me having fun in the common zone.

I think it was the next day, or maybe the same, I really can't remember but I asked my mother permission to go off exploring, she happily let me and off i went into the unknown regions of glastonbury, I must of been walking around for an hour or so, through the camp sites, past stalls and artistic stuff and performers, taking in all the sights and sounds of the festival weekend.

Now I havn't been back to glastonbury since then so I can't exactly remember but i think the layout was sort of like a figure of 8, at any rate I ended up back at the same 4 way junction several times, and when i began to get tired I decided to head back to the tent... except. I couldn't remember which way the tent was... not being one to panic i remembered what I'd been told if i were to get lost. stay calm, stay still, and find someone who looks offical. Eventually 2 girls, probably in their 20s come up to me and ask if i'm lost, I tell them I am and they explain that they are going to take me to the lost child tent, a big blue tent near the big zip line...

well awesome, I get to go there afterall! huzzah! I wasn't worried about being lost at all now, if anything i was over the moon, and i walked back to the lost tent with a skip in my step. past the performers, past the stalls, past my tent waving to my mum as i past.

I spent the afternoon sheltered from the harsh sun, playing with all the exclusive toys, eating all the free sweets and meeting a couple of kids my age too.

but eventually i got bored and decided to leave, so i waited to the staff weren't looking and left. walked back to my tent just in time for sandwiches. festivals are such wonderous places when you a child :)
(That Random Guy, Fri 5 Jun 2009, 9:55, 1 reply)

Knebworth..
1978

Just before Genesis came on my mate decided he needed a piss.
As the entire crowd was stood up awaiting the gig, moving away really wasn't an option, so he decided to piss in an HMV bag.

It's only in circumstances like that, you realise just how many tiny holes are in a plastic bag.

The sight of him running around with this bag, spraying piss in all directions will stay with me forever....
(greatoldone Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl f'tagn, Fri 5 Jun 2009, 9:47, Reply)

Short one
I went to Sheffield to see The Quo headlining. They didn't turn up & were replaced by the Proclaimers.
(Hop, Fri 5 Jun 2009, 9:29, 2 replies)

Allow me to make your mind up
It was at Reading 2002 when I had my epiphany. Up to that point I had avoided festivals for years based on the misguided opinion that they were crap. So, for anyone still pondering whether or not to go this year, I will describe the moment when I realised just how wrong I had been.

The first day had been enjoyable enough but I’d spent a large part of it too drunk to properly enjoy Pulp, The Strokes and Mercury Rev, three of my favourite bands at the time. Heading to the food vans around lunchtime, I noticed some wag had cobbled together an unconvincing 'bomb' out of old aerosol cans, wires, an alarm clock and a fuckload of duct tape. It had been placed conspicuously at the base of one of the fire towers, complete with a sign which read 'BOMB', garnished with a comical arrow pointing down at the feeble contraption.

On the way back, my none-too-tasty burger was interrupted by sirens blaring. The shambling crowd unzipped in a wave, allowing a red jeep to speed past in the opposite direction to the mass-migration of unwashed rock nerds. As it zoomed by, a creature we now presume to be some kind of bearded proto-human pounced from behind a row of tents. He was covered in mud and dressed in a small t-shirt.

Only a t-shirt...

The curious being opened its gnarled mouth, producing a high-pitched scream and grabbed the trailer bar at the back of the moving jeep in order to be dragged along the slatted metal walkway at high speed. A thin layer of fabric on his upper body was all that separated him from a likely cheese-grater finale. Still wailing like a naked banshee, this interesting spectacle continued all the way to the fire tower amid a phalanx of rapidly-approaching ‘bomb squad’ vehicles.

As the jeep slowed down, the nutter sprang to his feet and span round to reveal an absence of frontal T-shirt, an abundance of bruised and bloodied genitals and a mad, frightening grin. With a final flourish and a hearty whoop, he skipped towards the 'bomb', snatched it up and dived into the nearest row of tents to the amusement and collective bewilderment of his audience.

That set us up nicely for the rest of the day.

I forget exactly which gigs we watched during the daytime, but it included a little-known new band called The Libertines, who drew a small crowd of about 50 people on one of the smaller stages. Pete Doherty looked reasonably healthy back then, as I recall. A bit later, a group came on stage to announce "This is the moment you have been waiting for; when we finish you may as well go home... we're THE HIVES". Then they actually backed up their astonishing arrogance with a performance to justify it. I was suitably impressed.

As we left the main stage, a paper cup fight broke out between the front and the back of the crowd; just two small groups tossing litter at each other, no big deal. By the time we returned from a much-needed piss against one of the boundary walls, this had escalated into a full-blown war. I will never forget the sight of *thousands* of half-filled paper cups of piss-weak lager (and lager-based piss) sailing over my head as I ran the gauntlet of no-man's land right through the middle of the conflict to be reunited with my mates. The missiles stopped as the bands returned to the stage, and a truce was declared as we all stood ready to watch the next acts.

Darkness fell and small fires fuelled by debris sprang up around us while Ash finished up their brilliant set. As we had time to kill before the headline acts, I happily entertained a cheeky handjob from my girlfriend with people milling all around us, too close to see what was going on right at their feet. I shot my bolt at about the same moment all the lights went out on the stage and around the arena, but I’m pretty sure the two events were not related. I quietly contemplated my shame while bathed in the glow of the fires and the food stalls, my eyes adjusting to the darkness left by the lack of fierce stage lighting.

The crowd grew impatient. It appeared to be some kind of technical problem, but just as the chants grew to a crescendo, a spotlight came on to expose a piano at one side of the stage, and Matt Bellamy of Muse sitting at its helm. A cheer went up but it was quelled in seconds as he started to play. I’d never heard of Muse at the time, but like everyone else, I was captivated immediately.

As far as I know, no videos exist of this particular performance, but to set the scene, I recommend you watch the first couple of minutes of this clip (from Glastonbury 2004) before/while you read the next bit. This is what it is like to see Muse at a festival.

The opening section of ‘New Born’ is a haunting piece of solo piano. It was surreal to see what only moments earlier had been a rowdy, drunken orgy giving its complete attention to one man, on what appeared to be an otherwise dark and empty stage. As the final note of the piano section rang out in eerie sustain, Matt leapt to his feet and dashed across the stage carrying his guitar, a spotlight chasing him to the other side. The stage lights pulsed anxiously, stirring the crowd to cheer him on as he shredded that brutal distortion guitar riff, a clear signal that it was all about to kick off. As he reached the climax of his guitar solo and hit the final chord, ALL the lights burst on like a supernova in sync with an explosion of fireworks to reveal the rest of the band. It remains the greatest opening to a set I’ve ever seen; everyone went absolutely cunting fuck-mental.

I was entranced in an instant, realising with shocking clarity exactly what I’d been missing for so long. Foo Fighters finished up an amazing night and cemented my opinion that music festivals, despite the food, the weather and the toilets, are something that everyone needs to experience. Don’t give it a second thought.
( chart cat has an itch, Fri 5 Jun 2009, 6:08, 7 replies)

I shit you not! - the night I nearly lost my virginity at a festival (not that long ago actually...*sighs*)
Apologies for length, I have far too much time to kill.

So!!!
The year: 2007
Destination: DOWNLOAAAAAAAD Festival in Castle Donnington!

My favourite festival, I go every year :) even before the festival had even started we'd been chased by police on the tuesday night for 'borrowing' trolleys from the nearby airport, you just knew it was going to be good!

Eventually thursday arrives! Thursdays are always awesome at Download. Well, once the village opens and the shops, afterparty tent, stalls and the fair become available...it usually opens 2hrs late. We wonder about, buy some shit, try the rides, then go back and continue drinking and meeting friends who arrived late due to work commitments or whatever.
Said friends, have brought a ton of weed with them. Me, rarely smoking weed and very easily gotten drunk on wine, cider and whatever else was lying around was stoned to fuck and passed out at 5pm.

4 completely blank hours later! I crawl out of my tent not even remem bering how I got IN the tent...feeling right as rain! Except, I had a random txt on my phone... went something like "hey stud, you were amazing! Wanna meet up later? I'll be in the Duracell tent xxx"

I look at my mates, who were annoyingly sober (sods) and they explained I'd managed to pull and actually do sex!

"Bollocks!" I said, and argued how bollocks it was, hoping to god I hadn't lost my virginity and forgot it. The least I could have remembered was how to 'do' the whole sex thing! I might not have shagged a certain ex had I not been so desperate by that point...*coughs* anyway, I took my official plastic Download pint cup, fill it with more wine and begged a couple of mates to come proove this to be the stinking pile of bs it appeared. And off we go.

When we finally get there, my 'mates' explain it was actually a stinking pile of bs and they'd deleted one of their numbers from my phone and they were bored back at the site so came along, hey then headed back after deciding the Duracell tent was a bit crap. I'd already started drinking this pint of wine and was starting get too trollied to notice so said my goodbyes and procceeded to boogy to some metal when this absolute stunner in a silver dress starts dancing with me. Could not believe my luck. I even end up snogging her! There's definitely something special about slowdancing to slayer and getting a really tonguey snog!

Her name was Lucy...
I think...
was kinda drunk...

But she was fit! (i think...)

an hour or so passed and I can't remember much of our conversation. It mostly consisted of:
"can I have some more of your drink?"
Sure!
"cool, I LIKE WINE!!!" This should have been my warning...

My little virgin willy springs to life as she grabs my arm and seductivly yells, "LET'S GO BACK TO MINE!"

Yessss! I'm finally going to do it!

We leave the Duracell tent hand-in-hand and pass some portaloos...

"I NEED A PISS!!! COME WITH ME!!!" Not that I would have resisted given the choice, but I was dragged in anyway.

Now, do I get to screw her? A Blowjob maybe? A Handjob even? at least see some boobies?

No! She pulls down these polka dot kninkers (my most vivid memory of the whole encounter, bar the next bit), giggles, "DON'T LOOK AT ME!" and starts pissing!
...this is joined with some amusingly squeeky farts, followed by the unforgettable sound of wet, bubbly, aero mousse beer squits.

"Oh, god!" cries my conscience before fainting! but do I run? Are you kidding?! She wants to touch my penis! In the name of virgins worldwide I grin (far from literally) and bare it! Making a note of where I can buy some mind bleach while she finishes deficating.

Finally, after some slight mental scarring we emerge from the portaloo hand -in-hand and once again and(it's now apparent she's VERY drunk) stumble back to the campsite.

We end up at mine as she can't remember the way to hers, and finding everyone asleep in their tents (boring sods!) I sit down and contemplate the morality of the situation. Next thing I know she's helping herself to my box of wine!

After downing half a pint of wine she explains, "I LIKE WINE! OH HANG ON, I NEED ANOTHER PISS!!! FUCK IT!"

"Oh, nooooooo!"

Anyway, the story ends with me very sober, completely fucked in the head, helping her call her friends who were convinced I was trying to rape her. Then her eventually passing out nearby where she'd just micturated and me assisting her friends carry her back to her part of the campsite. It also ends with nobody in MY group believeing me! Because they were all boring cunts who went bed early!
Fucksocks!

end :)
(suicidalducky has too much time on his hands, Fri 5 Jun 2009, 5:46, 2 replies)

On How I Didn't Get my Free Tattoo
As related somewhere in these many QOTW, many years ago I and the missus attended a motorcycle rally. The only significant difference between this event and your typical music festival being the typical participant.
Instead of hundreds of drunk college students, we were confronted with hundreds of drunk bikers. That's not to say the difference is insignificant. While both groups are just as likely to feature rolling in mud, inappropriate nudity, shouting, fighting, etc.; the biker festival is likely to also feature drunks plowing through crowds on high-powered motorcycles, stabbings, gang wars (with machine guns), and a lack of police presence (due to police being outnumbered and out-gunned).

That said, we had a generally great time. I'm quite large and mellow, as were my friends in attendance, and since we knew the organizers, our campsite was close to the main area of the compound, thus well away from most of the craziness. The highlight of the events, after the wet t-shirt contest, was the raffle. Many prizes were donated, but you had to be present to win, and much of the crowd had evaporated well before the raffle was over. As such, being in attendance the entire time, I won a metric buttload of goodies.

Much of the loot was in the form of gift certificates. One of these was for a local tattooist, who fortuitously had set up shop inside the large pavilion area. I could get my tattoo immediately! So there I am, paging through the flash books, the missus relunctantly agreeing that some of the designs were quite nice.

I'd just settled on a funky dragon, clearly ripped off from Dave Trampier's Wormy comic, when directly outside the tattoo area someone started moaning and crying.

"What's going on"? my wife asked.

"Oh, she's pretty strung out on smack -- don't pay any attention to her." replied my erstwhile tattoo artist.

Not possible -- we left the area post-haste, and I never did get that tattoo.
(danalan Pretty good, for an amateur., Fri 5 Jun 2009, 4:42, 1 reply)

I was at Reading festival
...watching rage against the machine and trying to get into it - not really my thing. I'd managed to get right to the front, so there was no chance to escape the suffering, and I was being squashed against the railings by fucking idiots. Okay then, time to neck those pills I bought from the rastas ("dis stuff wi melt yo eyes", he said).

The pills were not as advertised. In fact, I'm fairly sure they were just laxatives. Laxatives and squashing against railings causes expedient and explosive evacuation. Also, the bustling crowd had the effect of smearing the liquid shit down my ass and legs and a bit up my back.

Cocksnot.
(mmmkay, Fri 5 Jun 2009, 3:15, 1 reply)

Big and Clever Day Out
During my travels in Melbourne I had the fortune of being in the right place at the right time, on the 26th of Jan was the mighty Australia Day. The natives take Oz Day as seriously as English people take St. Patrick’s Day at home. I had been looking forward to beach parties, clubs, all nighters and a raucous time, but it didn’t work out that way. I ended up going to see one of the biggest selling artists of all time instead.

By chance the travelling festival Big Day Out was on Australia Day in Melbourne, so it was like your birthday and Christmas all at once. Poor Jesus, I’m sure he gets a bigger present than just a birthday present, but it probably isn’t as good as two presents.

I got a ticket and joined a stack of people from the hostel who were all heading down - except they started redoing their hair or something. Bored of waiting myself and Jono the Kiwi jumped into a taxi with a 19 year old ‘Doctor’ we met on the street, mercilessly ripped the piss out of him for the whole ride, and made it to the festival good and early ready for some dancing. I was officially the only kilted man at the festival, and as a result I met loads of people – plus the festival was remarkably well organized (apart from the ‘Proof of Drinking Age’ bands and beer tokens). Learn things TiTP; have more bars.



I/we/I again saw loads of bands; The Grates; The Vandas; Simian Mobile Disco; Sneaky Sound System; Pendulum; The Silent Disco is always fun; Arctic Monkeys; Neil Young and the Prodigy. Very the fun. The best thing about the BDO though came from an idea I had years ago whilst I was at TiTP. I’m sure it’s a coincidence, but maybe, just maybe, a multinational company got into my head and ripped off my amazing idea. At the BDO they have two main stages sandwiched together, meaning that there is about five minutes between headline bands. One stage plays whilst one is rigged. Genius. I thought of that years ago, but I’m lacking in the other million aspects of putting on a festival.

We got a train back into the city after seeing the Prodigy rip Melbourne apart, and I turned up the Scottishness just once more. I got talking to a couple of guys about the bands they’d seen, then moved on subtly to the girls they were with. One of them was paler than a new borne albino polar bear. I’m scared of the sun, I don’t want to get burnt, I do everything I can to avoid getting burnt – but when you’re Australian I’d have thought that after twenty five years or so you’d build up a little bit of resistance and colour. Not this girl. Milk bottle doesn’t quite describe the blankness of her skin. I was almost expecting the Dulux Sheepdog to run by with a can of emulsion. Anyway, I pretty much told the entire train this, much to my amusement. I’m almost sure other people were enjoying the banter, but let’s face it that’s never really been my concern, so long as I laugh I’m happy.

The white girl was joined by a few of her mates and the banter started back and forward about the kilt etc, and by the time we’re pulling into the city we’re all getting on like a house on fire. I suggest that we’ve all missed the last trams to the districts anyway, so why not head for a pint and buddy up with others to get home in a cheap taxi. There were a few awkward glances, a couple of coughs and no takers. Now I’m not one to give up so easily on a party, so trying to get a positive ‘Yes’ from them I say something along the lines of ‘Come on, it’s a laugh, we’ll get some pints, we’ve all got our drinking bands on haven’t we?’

“Um….we’re….um….”

You’ve never heard me ask for clarification for something so loudly before. The entire train erupted in laughter, stifled guffaws and straight out side splitting. I had to bite down on my hat to stop from crying. For five minutes. The bridal gown girl turned bright red all over and everyone else in the group didn’t know what to say.


They were sixteen years old.


Just as well I wasn’t flirting with them, Officer.

I’ve barely talked to someone that has a favourite teacher in the last ten years, and when I eventually do, I’m drunk with an audience on a train.

meh
( The Lurker Plenty One, Fri 5 Jun 2009, 2:20, Reply)

Reading Festival, baked as a kite
Time, alcohol, marijuana and the similarly awesome experience of the past four years have dulled my ol’ noggin and I can’t remember which year this occurred at. I want to say 2006.

In what has become a tradition for me at Reading festival, I took some time on the first night to get completely lost around the campsites when I was pissed and befriend some randoms. If you’re there this year and some tall cunt in glasses called Matt sits with you and shoots the shit, give me a beer. Cheers.

Anyway, I sat with some randoms, none of whom I can now remember, and we drank and talked and listened to music and laughed, as you do at Reading. After some time a dreadlocked individual came bearing gifts – Marijuana Cookies, £2 each or £5 for three. He assured me that they were made with über-strong skunk.

“Bollocks,” thought I, handing him a fiver. Aided by beer munchies I devoured the lot and had half of someone else’s. Having said my goodbyes, I left about 30 minutes after this and figured, not feeling high at all, that I’d been conned. Ah well, I’ve lost a fiver on worse things. I met up with my mates and Iain revealed that he, too, had bought and eaten three cookies from this guy. Small world, thought I. “Fancy a burger,” slurred I.

So Iain and I, beers in hand, meandered off, pissed as farts. A glorious row of food vans were available to us and we happened to go before the first to get a burger and chips. Easy enough, no?

Now, the thing is with eating Mary J – it’s very different to a smoke. When you smoke it you get the hit pretty instantly. When you eat it, it takes about an hour or more but it hits about four times harder. Iain and I were unaware of this fact and were really only just starting our experience of illicit herbs – we were lightweights.

Iain attempted his order: “Alright mate. Can I get a… haha, sorry. Can I get a cheeseburger an- hahahaha, hahaha. Fuck, hahaha, sorry, can I get that and hahahahahahahahahahaHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

Between gales of laughter, tears streaming down his cheeks, he waved me on to take his place in the queue as he held his sides and struggled to stand through hysterical belly laughs. I was already laughing at this when it struck me.

“Yeah, sorry about that. Can you get me a cheeseburger with chips and HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

For a good few minutes the patient burger vendor attempted to retrieve this information from our drug-addled brains but every time we went to speak, nothing emerged but the laugh. It was the hardest I have ever laughed. Occasionally Iain would calm down and attempt to order for both of us before the sight of me creasing up would set him off again and vice versa.

Eventually we gave up and took a breather. We calmed down and went to the next vendor – no fucking way were we going back to the guy we’d just died in front of.

“Hi mate, I’d like a hot dog and a oh haha fuck hahahahaHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

We spent an hour making our way down every single food van with breathers in between. Every time we thought we’d conquered it, the laugh attacked again. Eventually it turned into “hi mat-HAHAHAHAHA, haha, hahahaha just forget it, hahahahaHAHAHAHA!”

When it wore off we each got a giant Yorkshire Pudding. It were mint.
(MJPerry was crude but clickable at, Fri 5 Jun 2009, 1:37, 8 replies)

Finally, a QOTW made for me.
I have only ever been to one music festival.

However, it was so fantastic that this year will mark my fifth consecutive attendance. I speak of the no-longer-sponsored-by-Carling Reading Weekend Festival. Christians have Christmas, Muslims Ramadan and Hindus Divali but this is the lynchpin of my calendar year.

When I leave Reading, I enter a period known as the “Post-Reading blues.” This is most severe immediately after the event although last year my mate Bill had a week-long free house to take the edge off. It peaks and dies during the frantic, high-pressure rush to buy tickets in March, at which point you enter “Pre-Reading blues” instead.

First, I wanted to post dozens of short stories about my time at Reading. I then realised that, without the context of the festival, they were meaningless and a tad boring. So then I set upon the idea of a compendium of stories but that would be far too long. So I’m compromising. You’ll find other stories scattered about this QOTW but this is the tale of my first ever night there.

~~~ (multitude of wavy lines) ~~~

August 25, 2005. I didn’t know it yet, but this, the day before my sixteenth birthday, would change my life. We decided to go to Reading because Iron Maiden were headlining. Originally we planned to see them in Paris but decided to go to Leipzig, Germany, instead. Then we changed our minds and decided Holland was a better option. These we even bought tickets for before Maiden were announced as Reading headliners and we snapped the tickets up.

Having packed the night before (severely overpacked as it happens, it being our first festival), we set off. Petley came in his dad’s car (his dad driving, Petley Jr being 16 at the time) and we bunged in our rucksacks. Three of our friends had gone ahead to set up our monstrous nine-man tent (only £100 and it lasted for three Readings before we gave it a drunken Viking funeral on the last day of 2007).

But first, a detour. Today we had to collect our GCSE results – this sheet of paper could make or break our festival. Would we be drinking to drown our sorrows or to celebrate our supreme intelligence?

Petley and I picked up everyone’s envelopes and set off to Reading. On the way we opened them. I had passed all but RE (considering my exam was a scathing attack on organised religion I was hardly surprised) and Petley had matched me. Initially he was very disappointed in his results before realising that he was looking at Iain’s. To pass the time through the hoards of traffic we played hangman on our GCSE certificates.

Finally we were deposited on the streets surrounding the field of dreams and we hoisted our luggage to follow the grimy crowd. We entered via the furthest Brown entrance. Our friends were in Green and if you’ve been you’ll know that’s about as far as possible. We trekked over safe in the knowledge that we’d find a freshly-assembled tent and a cold beer. Actually the tent was on the floor and our mates were drunk but everyone passing their GCSEs perked us up and we set it up. Petley and I rapidly caught up drinking and before we knew, it was 5pm and we were hammered.

We spent the night drunkenly meeting our neighbours including a group of Mancunian students, one of whom was jaw-droppingly fit, and a strange ginger man who sat on a chair staring at us all weekend. We even wrote a song for him to the tune of Bon Jovi:
“Wooah-oh, he’s got ginger hair
Wooah-oh, livin’ on a chair!”
In addition I went on a drunken wander and befriended a random group of strangers. This resulted in Martin and Egghead coming back to our tent after getting some food and having this conversation:
“Where the fuck is Matt, Egg?”
“Here isn’t he?”
“Well Iain and Petley are asleep there but no Matt.”
“He wouldn’t have wandered off on his own.”
“Hang on, I’ll ring him… yeah, Matt? Where the fuck are you? You’re WHAT? Christ!”
“Shit, what happened?”
“He says he’s with a girl!”
“No fucking way.”
No, I didn’t get any. She told me after that she would’ve if she was single but I think we all know that’s bollocks. Anyway…

Friday inevitably rolled around as it is want to do. Egghead had drunk a tad too much (20x 330ml bottles of Stella’s finest Artois as a 5’5” 16-year-old) and was feeling the effects – I woke up to the sight of him, head between knees on a camp bed, puking his guts out into our washing bowl thingummy. The five of us recognised that we’d just experienced one of the best nights of our lives.

I was then rudely interrupted by a phone call from my granddad, of all people.
“Hello?”
“Hello Matt, top o’ the mornin’ and a point o’ Guinness*!”
“… yes?”
“I was just ringing to say happy birthday.”
“Happy bir- oh, fuck, yeah. Cheers.”

A night so good you forget your birthday the next day? That got me hooked. Since then I’ve been to three more Readings and I’m going this year. Each have been fantastic and you can look forward to a multitude of stories from me over the course of the week.

You poor bastards.

Length? Four days but five if you get an Earlybird ticket for the Wednesday.

*He's Irish. He didn't actually say that but it was a clever narrative device to explain his ethnicity.
(MJPerry was crude but clickable at, Fri 5 Jun 2009, 1:22, 1 reply)

Glastonbury 2008
Me and my ex-girlfriend are not your standard issue festival types. We're much more at home in clubs than tents, and more into the narcotic side of things than the boozy. Having said that, when I recieved a phone call from my Carlsberg Rep, asking if I'd like two tickets to go to Glastonbury for free, I jumped at it.

My parents live relatively close to Glastonbury, so we could use there as a base, get a good nights kip on the Thursday and then get down early Friday and get pitched. Now, my ex has absolutely no camping experience whatsoever, and also has an amazing ability to be late for absolutely everything, so I shouldn't have too surprised that when we eventually got to Glastonbury, everyone else had been there ages, my car was parked in the arse end of nowhere, and all the camping on the side of the festival I was parked nearest to was taken, so cue the trek carrying everything and eventually finding the shittest camping spot ever, a good 30 minutes from the gate we'd come into, but we were in and set.

However, as we'd got there late and I was desperate to find a) beer and b) food, I didn't really spend much time studying our surroundings. I'd made note of the big orange flag on the gazebo next to us and a few other notable things to navigate by, and so had been able to find the missus after a quick loo break and beer hunt.

Anyways, we got sorted and duly toddled off to go and see some bands and general do the festival 'thing'. Headed off to The Glade as I'd been told there was a Carlsberg area there. Sure enough, I find out about a hidden door down the side of a tent that leads us into a VIP type area, with a free bar and a free BBQ. Things are looking up!

So, laden with booze and starting to enjoy ourselves we head off into the night. Feeling quite happy and chilled out we decide it's time for a spot of MDMA action, which was duly sorted. The night carries on. As the night pans out, we move from the Class A action onto another powder more generally known as a Horse Tranquiliser. Now, we're both experienced clubbers, and this is not our first time we've taken K, so no problems there.

We have a good night and we eventually head back to the tent and all is good. We find out way back no problems and we aim to try and get some sleep ready for the following days shenanigans. As we were sleeping on rather bumpy ground, and neither of us were feeling upto sexeh tiem, we decide to have a slightly bigger line of the previouslyly mentioned Tranquiliser. Again no problems there.

Unfortunately for me, this is where it starts to go wrong.

Having just settled in for the night and starting to feel comfy, I became aware of the need for the free beer I'd drunk early to be released from the bladder. Upon mentioning this to the missus, and saying "Bollocks to it, I'll just go by the side of the tent", I am then told in no uncertain terms "No you fucking well will not, you'll at least go to the bush" Brilliant....

So getting redressed in the rather small tent was achieved, wellies were put on, headtorch was donned so as to the tents in front of me.
Figured out which way the nearest bush was and struck out. Now, for those of you who aren't silly enough to inhale prescriptions normally reserved for the four legged species out there, Ket has a very specific effect on the section of your brain that deals with depth perception. Namely, it stops it working properly, but I was used to this, and so set off. I managed to avoid the guy ropes of all the tents with ease, I didn't stumble or fall on a single tent. I did however forgot one small problem.

In a field full of tents, you cannot walk in a straight line, instead you meander back and forth whilst heading in a general direction. So you fix on where you're going and head for it.....

Unless it's dark...
And you've taken Ket...
And you've taken your contact lenses out to go sleep...
So you can literally only see six foot in front of you.

After ten minutes of walking probably around the same four tents I ended up fixing on a wierd blurry light source and sort of aiming for it... This porved fairly succesful for a while, but it turned out the light source was not the toilet block. Oh know. Just a random light on a post. Great. Eventually after 30 or so minutes of wandering around, I heard what sounded like nice peoples voices. As it happens, they were... I explained what had happened, and the nice lady said that she would help me try and find my tent. I didn't have my mobile, so she took my girlfriends number and rang it. I'll never forget the words she then spoke:
"Hi, have you lost your boyfriend?.... Well yeah I've found him... Yeah he's lost bless him.... I'll try and bring him back to you.. okay then..." So, I tehn describe where our tent was near (the gazebo from before etc) and am then lend hand in hand by this lady towards my tent, where I am duly reunited with my girlfriend. And again, I stand there as they discuss my situation, and my girlfriend thanks the nice lady for bringing me back. I just stood there like a 3 year old who's been found in the frozen section at Asda, and has been united with Mummy.

The really comical thing is that I'm 6'3" and both nice lady and my girlfriend are about 5' 4"... Oh, and I was 26 at the time.

But, if you were that nice lady at Glasto who found ame and returned me.. Cheers!

Apologies for length, but it's quiet at work and I'm bored.
( Ril3y is a brit abroad.. bring on the Stella / Asahi, Fri 5 Jun 2009, 1:04, 2 replies)

festivals
ive not been to many but my best was supersonic 2007 (its held at what was the birds custard factory in birmingham) its a 3 day thing and the tend to have on a real mix of stuff the 2 bands that year where wolfeyes on friday night and sunn 0))) on the sunday night oxbow get a specail mention just because i later found out the vocalist is a mental and a really sound guy

the best thing about it for me was meeting this woman from israel who was really cool she'd worked at a music label over there for sometime amongst other things and her coming to super sonic was a trip she was makeing before going back to university at home so i spent quite a long time during the 3 days chatting with her about all sorts of shit
(imgunnabesick rawr ^ \_/ ^, Fri 5 Jun 2009, 0:08, 1 reply)

Glastonbury 1999
Aged 16, fresh faced from GCSEs

A group of us from school went, got there wednesday, set up tents, played football against a rival camp in the no-mans ground inbetween, times were good.

Another lad from school arranged to buy a lump of dope from some dealers, went to the cash point, got the money and made the trade.
He might have expected the dope to be an oxo cube, or a bit of mud. It wasn't, it was real as it gets.

What he didn't expect was to be twatted over the back of the head 5 minutes up the road and for the same dealer to steal his dope back.

Mark, if you're reading, ha ha!
( Moonraker isn't the droid you were looking for, Fri 5 Jun 2009, 0:04, Reply)

Free shit is good shit
Went to Getloaded on Clapham common like two years ago?
Anyway The Streets were headlining and my mate is related to Mike Skinner so he asked me if i wanted to come for free (No.1).

So we get there and have a walk around watched Peter Bjorn and John? and checked out a few of the various stages. (M.I.A., Dizzee Rascal,Digitalism, DJ Yoda anyone?)
The group decided to grab some food and headed off to get some burgers etc, wasn't really feeling it (Does stuff to my stomach).
Oh yeh I'd gone to the public toilets and they were foul already... it was like 2pm and it had started at 10am not to mention it was a single day festival??

So we trot off to the "Guest" area with our special wristbands. So theres a free bar (no.2) as a standard thats always a good thing.

So bare in mind everyone has eaten bar me, over on the far side theres a stall with the people from the local Nandos cooking it up for everyone. I approached asking people on their way back with their full plates what the deal was, all told me it was being laid on for free!(no.3)
Brilliant!

Then whilst i was munching down free Nandos and drinking free cider two very nice women came over and gave us some free posh ice-cream(no.4)

Then on the way out to watch a few bands etc a man working for volvic gaves us like a crate of touch of fruit to share between our group (no.5)

After the Streets performed we headed back to the guest area to re-group and as they had to get rid of everything to take the site apart that night.
Being the only people there we were treated to crates of volvic, boxes of haribo,bottles of cider and beer, and leftover nandos.
Best day ever!!
(Bludfoot rushing out since, Thu 4 Jun 2009, 23:59, Reply)

This one time I was at this Mr T. festival for Mr T. fans as well as supporters of the A-Team.
I ended up getting in to a tussle with Mr T. in the queue for candy floss.
I knocked three of his teeth out and he ran off crying.
Then I made out with eight page three girls.
( Jam Master Geordie Hero of B3ta., Thu 4 Jun 2009, 23:57, 1 reply)

Does this fit in?
I once sang in a festival of Renaissance choral music in Stuttgart.


*gets coat
( ejlflop errrrrgs. Regularly., Thu 4 Jun 2009, 23:57, Reply)

A friend in need...
Reading '92. Sleeping in a car (I made a last-minute decision to go, so I guess I should be grateful).

Woke early on the Sunday morning - to tell the truth, I hadn't slept well - and went off to find some breakfast.

Wandering round aimlessly, I passed a tent and said hi to the guy sat outside, he asked if I fancied a coffee, so I sat down and had a chat with him for half an hour or so over caffeine and a couple of ciggies.

It struck me that he was asking some reasonably personal questions, without being too pushy, and by the time we said our goodbyes I was in a much better frame of mind than I had been before sitting down to chat with him.

On the way back to the car, I turned round and saw the Samaritans flag above the tent I'd just been drinking coffee outside.

Not that I was their target audience, but I have to say the guy did a great job of cheering me up in a fairly down period of my life.
(Capo, Thu 4 Jun 2009, 23:47, Reply)

Oxegen.
Oxegen is pretty much THE festival in Ireland.
Within 40 seconds of getting through the gates last year, some lovely blonde lady full-on groped me. This would've been great but I was holding hands at the time with my then girlfriend.
I'm surprised a bigger deal wasn't made of it, as any other time I so much as talked to a girl, I was accused of cheating and called all the names under the sun, i.e. a rotter or a blaggard. Glad i'm shot of her tbh.

Apart from that, my festival experiences have been pretty standard: Get there, struggle to put up a tent, drink until im paralytic, see some bands, get up to hijinks, then get home and sleep for 2 days straight.
(KneelDiamond, Thu 4 Jun 2009, 23:43, Reply)

Longdrop toilets
Leeds Festival, a few years ago

friday morning, suffering an epic hangover and in need of a crap, I decide to brave the dreaded longdrops.

Open the door encountering the most foulest smells known to man-even the thought of it to this day makes me gag. so I drop my pants and about to park my arse (or hover) when suddenly...

'POP UP PIRATE!!!'

I leapt up in fear and turned round to find a man literally poking his head out the hole wearing a snorkel and mask, I never ran so fast.

sometimes I wonder, why would anyone want to wade in excrement? or how the hell he actually managed to get in there?
(Lord Chode, Thu 4 Jun 2009, 23:40, 5 replies)

Spooning
The sexy Danish girl in the portacabin handed me my key, directed me to my tent, and hoped I had a good festival. Gotta love the Danes. Great beer, good looking people, and they'd also come up with this idea at Roskilde this year where you paid a little extra on your ticket and they'd give you a tent - saved you having to cart one over to Scandinavia with you. AND they'd already set the fucker up, so once you found your tent in the rows and rows of identical black fuckers, you can chuck your gear inside and go over to the main festival sight to get pissed and do some high quality letching.

I ended up coming back that night on my own at about three am. My mates had either copped off, fallen asleep in a bush somewhere, or staggered back to their own tents a little earlier. I was happy. I was pissed as a newt on preium Danish lager. Of course I was happy.

After a fair bit of confusion I found my tent, clambered inside and was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

As is the case at most festivals, I was woken early the next morning by some talentless cunt playing a guitar badly. I opened my eyes and saw hair. Lots of hair. Then I realised I had my arm clamped tightly round something. And then my rock hard morning glory started pulsing like a geiger counter near Chernobyl as my cock realised it was in close proximity to hot bare buttocks.

I was spooning this stranger.

Funny... I didn't remember getting lucky the previous evening...

Infact, any chances of that died in flames and a hail of bullets when I vomitted spectacularly down my t-shirt after one or two too many malibu chasers.

But this girl was - from behind at least - fucking lovely. Long gorgeous blonde hair. A smell of coconut shampoo. Fucking nice one. My hand stroked down her body - I couldn't remember getting any the night before, so I fancied a quick make-up shag for breakfast. She had nice soft skin, a firm tight torso. I breathed in the long locks and moved my hips so my cock nestled nicely in her arse crack. I reached up her stomach, trying to find her boobies so I could have a bit of a feel.

Then my sleep partner for the night stirred but didn't wake, she turned over onto her back.

And that's when my erection died instantly and I very nearly puked and shat myself at the same time.

Now that she was laying on her back I could see her face. And she had a very nice, very long, very dense, bushy blonde beard.

My sexy morning-after shag had somehow turned into a man. Fuck... Fuck? Shit, I hope not...

Trying to get out of a nylon tent with a muthafucker of a hangover while attempting not to make any noise isn't easy, I can tell you. But I managed - just. And then I found my own tent a few pitches down the row. My mate Sean was up outside his own tent and busy smoking.

He saw me: "Who didn't come home last night?" he said with a cheeky little grin. Then he realised I was very pale; something had disturbed me. Deeply disturbed me. "Fuck me, mate - we're in the country of the beautiful people and somehow you still manage to pull the ugliest looking bird in the fucking world, ehh?"

I nod. "Yeah... something like that..."

I saw the bloke I'd slept with later. Had a chat with him - thankfully he was too pissed to remember me, the fella that'd crawled into his tent late at night and hugged him while he slept.

His name was Darren and he was from Wolverhampton.
( SpankyHanky, Thu 4 Jun 2009, 23:27, 5 replies)

The time we bailed
IOW 2006.
Had spent most of the weekend at the very front barrier, trying not to pass out from heat or sweaty armpits. The Friday night saw us throwing ourselves around to The Prodigy, much to our enjoyment, despite Beth losing her shoes and having to walk back to the tent through the piss...

Saturday, we decided to glue ourselves to the front again, kidding ourselves that its a good place to be in 30 degree heat, no water and nowhere to wee. We'd managed to get our way in quite early thanks to Beth's secret weapons: her ginormous tits and the biggest sombrero known to man. We'd been there all day, trying not to pass out, sharing the meagre cups of water, being shoved around by guys with guyliner and "RAWK" hands waiting for Foo Fighters, and dodging the abuse for being front row with a fucking sombrero. We stood our ground, got lairy and shrieky as girls do and danced around a bit to some Primal Scream.

Foos come on and all hell breaks loose. With Beth in flip-flops and a sombrero and me almost dying we take one look at each other and push our way through the 75,000-strong crowd...where we traipsed back to our tent, got into bed (around 10pm) and went to sleep instead of throwing ourselves around to Dave Grohl. Fucksocks.

Having said that, saw Rage at Reading last year and I was four rows from the front, being catapulted up and down in the pit and had the time of my life. Who says you need a sombrero to have fun?!
(meowmix is a voodoo child, Thu 4 Jun 2009, 23:16, Reply)

Monsters of Rock 2006
Three of us travelled down from Stafford for this. Let me start by asking any citzen of Milton Keynes a question. How do you not take your own lives? One day in that place and I felt my soul shrivelling away.
Anyway, Ted Nugent was bollocks. Queensryche were meh. Thunder were fucking excellent and then Journey came on. I looked around me and realised that I was surrounded by some of the largest, scariest gig-goers I've ever seen in my life.
And they were all singing along to "Open Arms"
(Big D, Thu 4 Jun 2009, 22:57, 4 replies)

Bloodstock
A relatively small festival focusing primarily on the heavier, more obscure end of the metal spectrum. I went last year and was frankly staggered by the amount of... odd people from various european countries.

Highlights include:

-Screaming obsceneties at some twat from Kerrang radio who appeared to introduce bands. He lasted all of 4 appearances on stage before he realised nobody liked him.

-The drummer from the unsigned band "Necrosadistic Gost Torture" (who win best band name of the festival) wandering up to me at 6am to blag a cigarette absolutely twatted off his face and playing in less than 8 hours.

-Stealing beer from Alestorm who decided to wander around the campsite screaming at people.

-Watching a mate get launched from an inflatable sofa as a very large man in a cowboy hat leaped on the other end unexpectedly (well, as unexpected as it can be when you hear a scream of "SOFA!" seconds beforehand). Managed to destroy 2 neighbouring tents on his way down from his impromptu flight.

-Going on a hunt for the guy screaming Arnie catchphrases for 12 hours a day every day, finding said guy and joining him in being an annoying twat.

But I think the highlight of the whole thing were the people camped opposite us. We gleaned early on that they happened to be Manowar fans. This was corroborated by them playing one manowar album 24/7 untill the end of the festival. There were about 8 of them in one massive tent which they frequently left unattended, so most people nearby had a nose in it when it was left open.

As it turns out they couldn't be fucked with portaloos, so they'd been shitting and pissing all over the inside of their tent. God only knows where they slept.

By sunday we noticed a strange occurence. They'd all started the festival in jeans, however they'd gradually been cutting them off for whatever reason. Fair enough, cutting them into shorts is acceptable. Then by sunday evening EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM was sporting a pair of jean hot-pants. This was only made funnier by the fact the pockets were hanging a good 4 inches past the cut off legs. It looked like they had little scrotes growing out of their sides.

Wherever you may be, hot-pant wearing Manowar dudes - I salute you.
(mrcheese989, Thu 4 Jun 2009, 22:48, 10 replies)

Bodger
Mates of mine went to glasto one year and saw the bloke from Bodger and Badger abosolutely ripped to the tits on drugs.

I don't go to festivals as the toilet situation gives me the fears.
(Just a girl., Thu 4 Jun 2009, 22:38, Reply)

I love Leeds
I'm 41 this year. That's quite old.

I did Glasto '92-'94 (1994 being the year of the most awesome Nick Cave performance I've ever seen.)

I did Thurles (Ireland) in 1993 - the filthiest ever festival.

I've done a few others.

But now I'm older and cherish my home comforts I'm not really up for the festival thing any more.

Leeds, however, is a whole other thing.

I'm a senior manager in a retail warehouse. It's good money - not fantastic, but I live well.

Now here's the thing. I used to work in the bus and coach industry, have a PCV license and still drive buses on a part-time/casual basis.

Leeds festival is the best weekend of my year.

I don't know what the organisers pay my employers for bus provision to/from Bramham to Leeds City centre, but the money I get to drive is worth time off my regular job, and more.

From a driving point of view it's awful work - we usually hire in buses that are destined for the scrapyard and the punters are puke-festooned kiddies or hard faced nutters. There is a strictly enforced legal maximum working time for bus drivers and two years ago I spent all of it on one journey in a traffic jam.

The money I get for the weekend, however, pays for my Autumn holiday to the US.

If you're cold and tired, and get on the bus at Bramham on August bank holiday Monday to head back to suburbia don't bother to spare a thought for your driver, because he'll have made more over the weekend than you'll have conceivably spent.
( The Disappointed Caravanner of the year, Thu 4 Jun 2009, 22:21, Reply)

A long time ago in a century far away...
If your parents were born in the 1930s and never quite "got" The Beatles or The Rolling Stones (because they were already pushing 30 by the time those bands hit the big time) then they were hardly prepared for the tastes and attitudes of their 1960s-born kids.

Being born in the 1960s was a weird journey on its own: cutting your pop teeth on the likes of Slade and T Rex, getting to big school when Mike Oldfield, Led Zep and Pink Floyd were the coolest things on the planet only to find within 2-3 years that this was a load of old shite and we should rush out and buy The Clash and Never Mind the Bollocks...

But formative experiences cut deep and when it was announced that Led Zeppelin were playing Knebworth in 1979 (I was 16), this seemed like the the gig you could not miss, despite a couple of years of punk creating a major cultural divide in the country: either you were for Led Zep or agin 'em. Or somewhere perched on the fence in the middle where you owned Pretty Vacant as a 7" single but still couldn't imagine anything better than the drums cutting in at *that bit* in Stairway to Heaven and the idea that you might even get to see this happen live.

Remember that I was 16.

Context: I was old enough to have a summer job from school holidays, I had saved up enough for a ticket and a train fare.

"Mum, can I go to a concert?"

"Well, I suppose so. Have you saved up enough?"

"Oh yeah. Easily enough."

"Where is this concert?"

"Somewhere called Knebworth. In England."

(Did I mention that I'm from Aberdeen?)

"Who else is going?"

"Hamish and Keith."

Hamish and Keith were nice boys, geeky in their own way and patently trustworthy - much like the teenage me I guess - so this was deemed to be acceptable.

"I suppose so then," she said and we were off.

In more recent years I have asked 30- and 40-something parents from Aberdeen, "Would you let your 16 year old go to, say, Glastonbury?" and they give me that 'don't be absurd, you're not a parent are you' look. A 16 year old? All the way to the south of England? To a rock festival? With drugs and things? Now? No Way At All.

Of course, back in the day my dear old mum had no way of knowing what Led Zep at Knebworth would be like. The last major public cultural event she had attended was either The Corries at His Majesty's Theatre, or Paint Your Wagon (starring Lee Marvin and Clint Eastwood) at the Gaumont cinema.

But why was Knebworth such a big deal? Given the longevity of rock bands now, people kind of take for granted that careers go on for decades. Even when someone has died, you can still pick up their work on iTunes, or for free. Back in 1979, Led Zeppelin had been off the road for a couple of years; the band had endured a few disasters, punk had come along and this was all before the era of CDs or MP3s. If you want to read more, check out the Wikipedia entry...

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Led_Zeppelin

They had formed in 1968, had enjoyed an unprecedented run of success but towards the late 1970s were they washed up? Would a couple of major festival shows in Hertfordshire be a triumphant comeback or a cultural embarrassment? Had punk killed them off? As far as I can remember, they hadn't played gigs in the UK at all for several years; Wikipedia says this has to do with tax exile status - a lot was hanging on the Knebworth shows and these were bound to be big: six figure crowds, crucial for the band...

Into this jamboree stepped three teenage laddies from Aberdeen who had absolutely no idea what they were doing.

The overnight train ride from Aberdeen to London was Enid Blytonesque in its quaintness: three go mad on the sleeper. Drink? Drugs? No - juice and Jacobs Club chocolate biscuits. As far as I recall none of us had been to London before and we had a vague idea that we got off at King's Cross then had to get another train to Stevenage. Internet? Didn't exist. Maps? Hadn't bought any. GPS? LOL. Mobiles? ROFL. We made the connection then got off the train in Stevenage and worked out which way to go by following the crowd, essentially like following a football crowd to the away stadium except these were hippies and we were looking for the grounds of a stately home.

Somewhere we must have stopped to buy lager although just a few as we didn't have heaps of money: cheapo Heineken when it came in bland grey cans. Somewhere in Stevenage I seem to remember two people having a 69er on a bench. I tried not to stare.

The campsite seemed miles although when I look it up on Google maps now it can't have been too much of a schlep. We camped (two tents I think) then settled down, waiting for the gates to open the next morning. Other campers wanted to liven things up by throwing stuff around and a big section of the campsite turned into a two-ended adversarial throwing contest, a bit like a medieval football match. All kinds of crap was being lobbed from one end to the other, mostly just to pass time. Do I remember burning tents? Is that a trick of distant memory? It was pretty chaotic but eventually we tried to get some sleep...

At this point I'll borrow from another account I found on the web:

"There was a huge build up of people outside the entrance on the eve of the concert. Twice they knocked the fence down and eventually a row of police with dogs and Land Rovers was needed on the park side of the fence to hold the tide until the arena staff arrived and they could be let in. Amazingly there were no accidents. It was impossible to visit the campsite that evening as the vast number of fans made it quite scary. At 3 a.m. we gave in and opened the turnstiles. Fans slipped through in the darkness and ran towards the front of the stage for an eighteen hour wait for Led Zeppelin."
Chryssie Lytton Cobold (one of the family that owns Knebworth House)

My own memory of the anarchy was that there seemed to be a lot of shouting, running and movement in the middle of the night; we got out of the tents and decided to go with the flow then promptly lost each other in the dark. After a bit of a wait and a bit of a crush, the entrance was opened, I was separated from my mates, and I was in a field of something like an estimated 210,000 people at Silly O'Clock wearing just a T-shirt and a light sports kagoule, clutching a four pack of Heineken and wondering, "What happens now?" The answer was, wait. Sleeping was hardly possible, I had no one to talk to, searching for my mates seemed impossible, so with the idiot stoicism of a 16 year old I settled down to the long interregnum between getting in (3-4am?) and the first act taking the stage in the early afternoon.

Chas & Dave.

Yes, Chas & Dave.

There were two gigs at Knebworth in August 1979 and we got tickets for the first, so the lineup went: Chas & Dave, Fairport Convention, The New Commander Cody Band, Southside Johnny & The Asbury Dukes, Todd Rundgren, then the headliners.

I can honestly say that all these years later I remember precisely two things about the support acts. Firstly, there was a babe ten or twenty yards behind me dancing away for part of the day wearing a loose top and no bra. She held my attention better than some of the music. Secondly, this was 1979. In the previous couple of years both Saturday Night Fever and Grease had been massive movies and massive in the pop charts. In the middle of the evening, Todd Rundgren took the stage and introducing one song said, "Now we're gonna turn Knebworth into the world's biggest DISCO!!!" to the sound of 210,000 rock fans booing.

And then? Eventually? After the overnight train ride to London, the voyage to Stevenage, the barney at the camp site and getting in a good 18 hours before the main act took the stage, there were Led Zeppelin. And they were bloody good.

Set list for the 4 August show:
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Knebworth_1979#Set_list

I remember Heartbreaker being the last tune, even now. I don't remember that they prefaced this with In The Evening (from their 'new' album), then Stairway to Heaven, Rock & Roll and Whole Lotta Love.

Some time later I found my tent again, found Hamish and Keith (after nearly 24 hours on my own) and we got a bit of kip before heading back to Stevenage, back to London, then back to Aberdeen. It was a long jaunt.

Nine or ten months later we'd left school and gone our separate ways to uni; we never really saw each other again. Do they read this website? I have my doubts. Also around 14 months after the Knebworth gigs, drummer John Bonham managed to drink himself to death one night, finishing off the Led Zep myth once and for all. He was 32.

No Quo, no mud, no rubbish sex. But that's the experience...
( writerblock ... embedding disabled by request on, Thu 4 Jun 2009, 22:07, 4 replies)

Transparent solo action
Didn't happen to me, but a friend whom I'm sure won't mind me sharing this with you.

Several years ago, a friend of mine who went to Glastonbury on his tod, and found himself with a bit of morning glory when he woke up one warm sunny morning and decided to make the most of it by having a quick one off the wrist.

After spanking his monkey, he heard a few voices coming from a neighbouring tent, and slowly realised that the cheap tent he was camping in had become semi-transparent in the sunny daylight, meaning that his neighours and passers-bys had been treated to a spot of early entertainment before the stages kicked off.

He decided to move shortly afterwards to a more secluded spot.
( flapmeister knows where your mum lives, Thu 4 Jun 2009, 21:47, Reply)