Glastonbury tickets
A blatant pearoast, but I haven't posted in a while so need to ease back in gently.

Growing up in Wiltshire in the 90's wasn't all that great. Clubbing was restricted to the larger cities and generally there was fuck all to do. Except in the summer when every year without fail, we went to Glastonbury.

Going on a regular basis meant we knew our way around the local area, particularly the nearby fields. As the festival got increasingly popular it became more and more difficult to source tickets and one year (1999) we didn't get them.

Fucksocks.

About three hours into day one of the festival I get a call from my mate Rich who tells me to get my arse down to Glastonbury because he has got himself a load of tickets. Slightly wary of how he got them or if they were fakes I turned up, got in and had a great day; Rich remaining tight lipped as to how he managed to get the tickets.

Fast forward to Sunday morning and I'm queuing for the toilet when I start to overhear a conversation in front of me. A couple were talking about a scam that someone was running where tickets had been stolen. Much discussion later and I find out exactly how Rich and accomplice got the tickets.

What they had done was to open the gate of a nearby field and print and put up a large sign stating 'Glastonbury Festival Parking'. Armed with more official looking arrow signs, tape, ropes and tables, together with a convincing marshal's outfit, they had set themselves up a fake entrance to the festival and after people had parked, they were exchanging people's tickets for worthless 'entry passes' and sending them off through another gate to get thoroughly lost in the Somerset countryside.

Rich denied all but he knew that countryside better than anyone I know and given that he is now serving a prison sentence for fraud I am more certain than ever it was him. Needless to say I did feel more than a little guilty at being in on a stolen ticket but it was a great festival.
(quantum raspberry quizzically quashing Quebecans, Sat 6 Jun 2009, 2:49, Reply)

The BDO
The Big Day Out is the only festival worth a damn in New Zealand and I've been 4 times. Some highlights:
-Being asked by a guy at Iggy & the Stooges is I want to "duck 'n' dive". Told him I didn't know what he meant, he shrugged his shoudlers and turned away. When a song had ended he dove onto his stomach amongst everyone's legs and feet. The Stooges started playing again, everyone started moving and the guy got stomped. A few of us pulled him up and he had a bit of a blood on his shirt, a few rips, and an exhilarated grin.
-My mate Kieran opening the door of a port-a-loo on a woman in her undies getting dressed. She gave him a bollocking, he told her to lock the fucking door next time. He also walked in a guy having a piss, same deal.
-Wearing a t-shirt saying "I Hate Dave Grohl" when Foo Fighters were headlining. Got a lot of awesomely shocked looks, a rant from some guy who had "just interviewed Dave the other night" and assured me that "he's a really nice guy" and a drunk woman telling me that hate "is such a strong word" and that I should use words like detest instead, because she felt they were softer. By the way, I like Dave Grohl, the t-shirt was a dare.
-Shared a joint with a girl who hid her weed in a rolled up sock. She sat down next to me, told me that "the magic's in the socks!" THEN revealed the joint.
-Dizzee Rascal blowing out the speakers afer 30 seconds and having a tantrum.
-Hearing Bjork get loudly BOOED! by a massive crowd waiting for Rage Against The Machine (it drowned out bands that were playign on other stages). She'd put on a great show so I felt sorry for her, but it was a hell of a moment to witness.
-Seeing a great set by The Mars Volta while all my friends insisted on watching a lousy set by The White Stripes (not hating on White Stripes, it's just the sound for that gig was horrible).
(ElGranto, Sat 6 Jun 2009, 2:03, 3 replies)

Class Act.
When you spend nigh on a hundred quid for a weekend ticket, the last thing you want to do is swap your bottle of JD for 10 pieces of hash fudge, eat them all, then eat 24 odd pro-plus pills, drink lots of lager and then fall over laughing so hard you wee yourself and miss the first day of the festival feeling ill. But I did just that. What a class act.
(Biromunch, Sat 6 Jun 2009, 0:56, Reply)

Random festival memories...
I think festivals tend to be a 'you had to be there' type thing, and the bulk of my festival memories are feeling the effects of narcotics and time but these are some of the snippets that survive in my murk that is my brain...

Totally fucked guy (really really badly wankered) asking at around 10 in the morning "Have you seen a green tent?" poor fucker looked like he'd been searching all night
"yeah mate, I think its over there" while pointing in a random direction

Young girl (around 15/16) sobbing as her friends looked on while her father simultaneously bollocked her for coming to the festival (Reading late 90s early 00s I think) while throwing her belongings into the back of his BMW (Somehow he managed to get security to allow him onto the campsite with the car)

Being shouted at by some 'performance artist' on stilts. Don't know why.

Stepping on human shit complete with bog roll while nipping back to the car (some dirty fucker had decided that next to the drivers door of a fiesta is better than risking the portaloos - fair enough actually)

Some scary looking punk taking a dislike to me while watching Rancid. He got me onto the floor and I remember looking up and seeing the sole of a foot coming towards my face. I turned my head and thought "Fuck, this is going to hurt..."
It didn't so I got up. Not responding in the accepted manner to being kicked stamped on seemed to worry Mr Scary Punk Man so he melted back into the crowd, and carried on jumping up and down like a loon

Falling asleep and missing Frank Blacks set after going on about wanting to see him all weekend.

The Prodigy being unexpectedly shit

The Beastie Boys being unexpectedly awesome

Some random in the next tent pissing into a Sunny Delight bottle, and it being the same colour as Sunny Delight. He was very proud.

A rumour going round the campsite on the last day that Cilla Black and Jeremy Beadle had both been killed in a car crash (Beadle was very much alive at this point of human history)

The sound of a couple going at it very vocally with the male partner screaming "BANANARAMA!!!" at the point of climax.
"BANANARAMA!!!" was subsequently shouted at random intervals throughout the campsite over the weekend...

...and saw some bands, drunk some drink, drugged some drugs...
( TheMattInAHat has a particular... odour..., Sat 6 Jun 2009, 0:12, Reply)

Glasto again
Sitting in a dance tent area arena, nothing going on other that quite a few chilled out dreadlocked hippes.

A fellah comes on stage with a crazy wooden contraption that turned out to be the Satan of all synthesizers. Within seconds, chilled out hippies turned into whirling dervishes dancing to the most mental gabba beats this world and the next has ever seen.

Problem - lots of these dreadlocked types put metal things in their beeswax bouffants. Imagine the scene, like something out of an adeventure movie - drugged up to fuck trying to navigate our way between these flying hairy metallic death things to get out of the place. My friend actually got cut on the face where he took at 180bpm dreadlock with a brooch round it on the cheek.

One of the loveliest experiences at Glasto that instantly turned into one of the most dangerous. Fucking funny to watch from the outside though!
(Stewaddy-waddy, Sat 6 Jun 2009, 0:06, Reply)

Long Beach Blues Festival
2 years ago, the first time husbandthesecond kicked me out, one of my friends had spare tickets to the Long Beach Blues Festival. I love the blues, so agreed to go with him.

You gotta remember, this guy's in his 60's, long hair and looks like a tramp. He also has a long beard so his nickname is Osama. However, he's worth quite a few million bucks.
Spent a couple of hours walking around in the blazing hot sun, pouring water over ourselves, other people and drinking lashings of margaritas.

We move over to one tent, and a lady was singing the blues. She then went into one of those rambling "talking blues" moments and asked "is anyone here with someone else's wife".......and Don stood up, raised his hand and said "I am!".

The entire tent pissed themselves laughing.
( Batshitmentalist is sane for once, Sat 6 Jun 2009, 0:06, Reply)

Glasto and the Hat
Being of a tall persuasion, and having a fetching reddish pork pie hat - when in crowds some years ago at the mighty Glasto - and when friends became displaced the call of "follow the Hat" would go up. I duly hold the hat up and said lost friends find their way to the hat.

Didn't account for the 25 or so random happy people with no direction of their own at about 2am from the stone circle who ended up following us back to our camp. Great party, but some of the most gloriously weird people I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. All of whom were walking off licenses and pharmacies, so much fun was had by all.
(Stewaddy-waddy, Fri 5 Jun 2009, 23:59, Reply)

Oh and i think i disturbed a wedding at Glastonbury
I'd had some 'magic brew' and spent most of the monday morning watching the glorious sun rise above the amazing colours and crowds of the stone circle (2005 if anybody is asking) and was quite literally in heaven. Nothing could ever beat the sounds, the smells, the crowds, the people, the weather.... It was beautiful.

I think somehow i ended up lost amongst the crowds and just spent half the day drinking and playing and rolling in the grass in my own happy and colourful delirium, occasionaly stopping to roll a joint and chill out.

I think I watched a kid of gypsy/brass band dance about parping out classic TV and film themes in a polish stylee, and i was again in heaven... Great tunes, great day...

I soon got lost in the blur of noise and sound and colour and concentrated on finishing this joint that i had been trying to roll for a number of minutes and soon i was engorssed in the licking and sticking and rolling (and it took me ages)...

At one point, (god knows how long i'd been sat there staring at my rizlas)I realised the music has stopped and it had gone ominously silent...

Without thinking I shouted 'Oi where's the music gone?'

and some cockney geezer piped up 'Shat ap you Cant there's a facking wedding g'an on'

I had no idea.... So i just proudly replied 'Carry on then!'

So apologies if i ruined your wedding vows, but you did choose to get married in a field full of drugged up meery makers didn't you. It's not my fault if i lost my mind.
(mr-lizard Hell's teeth man!, Fri 5 Jun 2009, 23:01, Reply)

big chill 2007
went with my friend evie. she brought the tent. now, i am NOT in my natural habitat in a tent. there is nowhere to chill the pink moet and there is nowhere to plug in my straighteners. so i bought a stupidly expensive airbed (only been used the once, anyone want to buy an airbed?)to make it a bit more comfortable.

it took us about an hour to put that tent up, in full public view. there was not enough room and evie had only brought some of the bits, so we had to tie half the ropes to other people's tents, like some sort of parasite tent. and it lurched sideways, and it was so crooked the zip did not fasten. disaster.

the big chill is a great laugh, and we were lounging around happily drinking champagne cocktails from a jug, watching some old american dude play fabulous blues on stage, when i clocked a guy selling brownies. LOLZ, DRUGZ!!!!!!! so we bought four, completely ignoring his recommendation that we only had one each if we weren't big smokers. which we weren't. the brownies tasted like shit, but they were effective as fuck, the whole world started spinning and every last thing was hilarious. esp the guy who was so stoned himself that he walked into a mud puddle that came up to his tits right in front of us.

at about 6pm we thought we'd better go and put our makeup on for the evening festivities. so we staggered all the way back to the crippled tent, which was a huge effort as the ground kept moving, and got in it to get ready. and the next thing we knew, it was 8am...... we'd slept through 14 hours of dance festival. we were absolutely furious with ourselves. but we did feel fucking fantastic!

the only thing i do remember is that i was woken up at about 1am by the couple in the tent next to us having a screaming row. he had been through her mobile phone and found some incriminating shit, and she was trying to deny it. so all i could hear was her yelling:

"it's not what it sounds like!" and him replying:

"it's not what it sounds like? [PLAYING HER VOICEMAIL MESSAGES OUT LOUD] he can't wait to taste your sweet cunt and come inside you, what the fuck else can he mean?????"

so not everyone there was chilled. but overall it's a great weekend, and they even have proper toilets and showers for people like me who are showing their age! anyone going this year??? as i'm stuck at work on a feckin friday night, fantasising about it is cheering me up...
( rachelswipe with a fork, Fri 5 Jun 2009, 22:58, 1 reply)

MDMA
I took far too much at Glastonbury festival (i was spiked if anybody is asking *cough*)

My girlfriend told me what happened the next day.

I spent an hour or so watching a 'cartoon in a tree', i then spent another half hour watching 'golden ants coming out of my leg' and then tried to convince my girlfriend that i could see 'invisible writing' scrawled all over a napkin.

I then found £20 quid on the floor and we went for a chai in a tent, where i believe i freaked a number of people out by talking about golden ants following me.

She showed me the napkin the next day, which was sadly not magical in any way or form.
(mr-lizard Hell's teeth man!, Fri 5 Jun 2009, 22:51, Reply)

Reading 97
*Scroll to the bottom for the condensed version

"Its bank holiday weekend - lets go to Reading" said Dean in a slightly over enthusiastic manner.
"Fuck off" quoth I. "Its started and we're all skint."

This was very true. This conversation was taking place on a Saturday morning and we were all trying to get over a week long session that had only ended two days before.

"Come on! We can scrape enough together. We've still got a bit of weed. All we need is beer and petrol. We can work out a way of getting when we get there."

And so a plan was formed...

The expedition, now down to the last three survivors, arrived late on Saturday and took stock.
Beer situation: Poor
Finances: Poor
Weed situation: Critical
Ticket situation: N/A
Morale: low
The evening was spent parked outside the site, sharing our meagre rations while listening to the faint sound of the Manics drifting over to Base Camp Astra.
Day 2. Possible result. Another group with the same plan as the heroes of this tale needed money and had mushrooms. After a brief inspection of the wares, the trade was made. My two fellow explorers declined the kind offer, but I was sorted.
Two fact finding missions were then launched. The last of the money was split. Dean would find tickets/any other way in. Andrew would get the cheapest alcohol available. I would initially stay at base camp rolling the last of the weed into spliffs ready for the final assault, following up with another drugs search. Joints rolled. I promptly fell asleep...

"Wake up you twat - were ready to go"

My colleagues had excelled themselves. We had tickets and Vodka.

Soon we were in the arena. Sat on the grass, warm sunshine starting to burn exposed skin, slowly smoking our last spliffs and drinking the hairspray tastefully sold in vodka bottles.
I take in our surroundings. Life is good. But what is that? A small plastic bag, near my foot.
It was a plastic bag. Containing around a quarter of hash. Refuckingsult...

Things go very blurry here. Someone suggesting getting closer to the front to see Marylin Manson and Metallica. Trying not to throw up as I chewed up a stinking mass of fungi washing it down with warm pisslager.
Standing shirtless in the middle of the crowd, swaying slightly, waiting for the band. Someone threw a bottle. And it came back. Followed by another. And another. And repeat. A bottle bounces of my head. I barely notice but enough to want to throw it back but by now by body is fucked. I launch it directly into the back of the head of the very big, very scary looking hairy bloke directly in front. The neanderthal looks at me as if to kill someone then quickly turns back. It seems a grinning, pale, skinny, sweaty, swaying and shirtless bloke with mad looking eyes is not to be fucked with (Apparently I have mad looking eyes even when unsullied with narcotics tho)

Then, the epiphany...

"I AM FUCKING IMMORTAL!!! LIKE THE HIGHLANDER OR SOMETHING! ONLY WELSH NOT SCOTTISH!!!"
"NOTHING CAN KILL ME!!!"
"I CAN LIVE FOREVER!!!"
"RAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!"

Thats it. A blur; a swirling mess of memories. Snippets of Moshing, Marilyn Manson and Metallica. I think we stopped in the services and ate a Burger King on the way home. But what I do know is that I had a fucking awesome time.


And so children, that is the story of TheMattInAHat's first festival experience. And every time since has been a let down...


*Got drunk, took a pile of drugs and had a great time. Probably the same as 95% of the rest of the stories here TBH.
Also I needed to google to find out the date that this happened. And now I feel fucking old and not at all immortal.
Fuck.
( TheMattInAHat has a particular... odour..., Fri 5 Jun 2009, 22:40, 1 reply)

Beanz Meanz Painz
An acquaintance of mine - lets call her Louise, for that was her name - went to her first festival as a teen, choosing Glastonbury for the privilege.

It was back in the early nineties when it was all a little bit more anarchic than it is in these more corporate times, and there were many campfires around the fields. One group of lads thought it a jolly wheeze to throw tinned food into the fires, for the child-like joy of seeing cans explode.

Louise was rather tipsy on a heady mixture of cider, weed and ecstasy, and felt something hit her leg. The pain didn't really cut through her addled mind, though she knew somewhere inside that something quite bad had probably just happened.

She was awoken the next morning by a searing pain in her left leg and hauled herself out of her sleeping bag, not sure what to expect. The list of things that she didn't expect definitely included seeing a circular blister about four inches in diameter and an inch high covering her thigh. With a baked bean suspended perfectly inside.

Horrified she assembled her friends and they gingerly walked her to the first aid tent. Whereupon she was put into the 'drug casualties' section, for her wild-eyed hysteria about the "BAKED BEAN STUCK INSIDE MY LEG".

The next year she went back, managed to cop off with a bloke with a strange crustiness around the mouth and awoke to find herself covered in herpes sores.

Aaah, Louise. You were ace. I wonder where you are now... probably dead.
(roszser, Fri 5 Jun 2009, 22:39, 1 reply)

Oxegen 07
The mud was horrific. Knee deep in places.

Still saw a man pushing about a wheelie bin full of WKD.
(KneelDiamond, Fri 5 Jun 2009, 21:20, 2 replies)

Glastonbury
We were sitting about by the tents having a few casual beers, when we saw a guy with a hotdog-style tray.
"Hash truffles, get your hash truffles here!"
As you do, we bought several, then slowly walked off to the stone circle.
Later on, as we are still eating along the way, someone pipes up with:
"Oh yeah, I also got us loads of fly agaric truffles, those are the ones we ate walking!"
The annoyed queries lasted but mere moments, as we then spent 10 hours sitting open-mouthed watching someone juggling fire.
It was BRILLIANT.
(fantomex, Fri 5 Jun 2009, 20:02, Reply)

Monsters of Rock 1992
My first ever festival was MOR 1992. Iron Maiden(Awesome), Skid Row (Also awesome. Seb Bach called me a mother fucker), Thunder (One of the best festival performances I've seen), Slayer (A noisy racket), WASP (Blatantly miming) and The Almighty (Were there too).
Some random moments.
The two blokes who'd drunk themselves unconscious before the first band came on. I wonder if they managed to see anybody and what colour they were when they woke up.
The two rock chicks, also pissed, trying to get to their feet. One would manage to get mostly vertical and the other would try clambering up her like a ladder, their soft lycra clad skin grinding against each other, before the pair inevitably collapsed into a giggling pile of thrashing legs and mighty hair. I watched them for about fifteen minutes then beat my stalk-on down with a rolled up program and went on my way.
The bloke shagging a blowup doll in the centre of an appalled - yet fascinated-circle.
The free singles that some clown had handed out and were now whistling through the air like black vinyl death stars.
The epic bottle fight. The bottles blotted out the sun and the slaughter was great. A two litre plastic bottle impacting the bonce bloody hurts too. (It could be worse. My brother swears blind he saw somebody take a direct hit from a clingfilmed turd.)
The equally epic queue to get back out of the carpark and as I drowsed in the passenger seat all I could hear was "Maiden! Maiden!" hissing through my ears.
We shall not see it's like again.
(Big D, Fri 5 Jun 2009, 19:36, 3 replies)

I went to festival with my brothers.
I drank beer in the midday sun, which is always silly.

I enjoyed some decent bands and after seeing the state of the toilets, my arsehole closed up.
( Wildheart Baby. Drunken Mess In A Good Way, Fri 5 Jun 2009, 19:15, Reply)

Anarchists vs. Hippies
Happy Daze festival, Bala, North Wales , 1989ish.

Great festival, picturesque surroundings, sun shining, it was idyllic.

On the Sunday afternoon a friendly cricket match took place between the anarchists and the hippies. The anarchists, being anarchists, ignored the rules of the game.

The highlight though was when a streaker ran onto the pitch, gracefully jumped over the wickets, pursued slowly by two stoned-looking dreadlocked "policemen".

Happy daze indeed!
( slapdash flying through the cool clean air since, Fri 5 Jun 2009, 19:10, 1 reply)

fluff
I have nothing to add, having never been to a festival before.

My cat had a kitten last night though.

Which was a surprise.


She had another, but it was stillborn, hairless and freaky-shaped. :(
(dave likes cheese, Fri 5 Jun 2009, 19:02, 5 replies)

Miracles can happen...
Reading, 2008. My first time at this festival (I'd been to V 2006, but that's a bit different, and this time I was with my mates), and I'd made it to Sunday night without too much drama. Granted, the people camping next to us (friends of friends of friends don't make the best camping buddies) almost set our tent on fire Saturday night, but I'd had a sweet weekend.

Sunday night came and I left my metal fan friends to go to the second stage on my own. Conor Oberst, very good. The Last Shadow Puppets, excellent, no drama, looking forward to the Cribs. I want to celebrate making it to the end of the weekend in style.

So during the second-to-last Cribs song I decide to crowd-surf from 40-odd feet away from the stage. I'm not best suited, I'm six foot, and all knees and elbows. Sorry if you were one of the many I landed on on the way.

Anyway, karma meant that I lost my trainer. I was quite gutted, I'd made it so far and it's all gone to pot. Nevermind, I brought it on myself, I watched the last song from the side of the tent then as people were leaving thought I'd have a poke around in the rubbish to find it. People were being ushered out quickly, and a security guard came over as I was trying to retrace my journey to the front of crowd.

"Come on mate, we need to pack up, move out of the tent"

"But I've lost my shoe..." (Probably half-wailed in despair)

"You need to go NOW!"

Head down, I turned to leave, when something caught my eye.

On the ground.

In front of me.

MY TRAINER!

Kids, a lot of beautiful moments happen at festivals - love, great music. But nothing can compare to the sheer joy of knowing you don't have to spend the walk to the tent and a hungover coach journey to Bristol wearing one shoe.
(Dizzy Steinway, Fri 5 Jun 2009, 18:59, Reply)

Bestival 2008

As I am sure many of you are aware going to the toilet at a festival in the middle of the night can be an ardous journey, mainly involving tripping over guy ropes.

To solve this problem my friend Matt had come up with a genius solution - a funnel, a pipe and an empty plastic bottle. He was very proud of himself.

First night we all got very drunk, as you do, and then all retired to bed. Matt actively looking forward to putting his peeing device into action.

At what must have been around 4am - I was awoken by screams from Matt's Girlfriend - she seemed very angry. I went back to sleep.

The next morning we all awoke to find Matt looking very sheepish.

Matt then explained what had happened. He had woken up still quite drunk and wanting a piss, he was very excited about his peeing device so placed his penis in the funnel and then urinated - copiusly.

It was only when his girlfriend started screaming did it slowly dawn on him what was happening, but by then it was far too late.

Matt had forgotten to put the other end of the plastic tube in the bottle creating what was essentially a urine hose pipe within the confines of a tent.

Scarmbling to try and get the open end of the pipe into the bottkle only made thigs worse as he directed the stream of pisss in every single direction but the right one. He soaked his girlfriend, both their sleeping bags and all their clothes with his piss before he finished.

He was not popular and their tent smelled vaguely of piss for the rest of the festival.

(The next day a man ran into our tent at full speed and fell on me in the middle of the night - it almost gave me a heart attack and detroyed the tent - not happy)
(MrHungry, Fri 5 Jun 2009, 18:42, 2 replies)

Knebworth 1985
My first festival at a young tender age, couldnt wait to see Deep Purple (headlining) scorpions, UFO, blackfoot, mountain etc.
It pissed down for most of the day, mud up to my arsehole (and i'd put my best rock gear on) but was stunned by how fuckin ace all the bands were especially Scorpions and Purple, fuck me what a gig.

My hair at the time was down to my arse and I'd not long had it permed (a la Joey Tempest from Europe) so was very proud i looked so good, until the moment a full 2 litre bottle of piss came flying through the air to land directly on my head.
Cunts.

Mind, the guys next to me felt sorry for me, handed me their brew of JD and coke in a massive jug, and passed me a spliff rolled in some american bill a $20 i think, so got happily merry, made some friends and had a fucking ace time.
( BILL DOOR - MOON-MASTER, Fri 5 Jun 2009, 18:38, 2 replies)

Secret Garden Party 2008
Last year was my third year running at this magnificent little festy near Huntingdon. I love this festival so much its the only one I'm really bothered about not missing, its big enough to have plenty to do and small enough for you to get from one stage/tent/activity to another in a few minutes at most, (I've been to Glasto and some of the other huge festivals and spent more time walking through crowds than enjoying the entertainment).

I really can't praise it enough, its non-corporate and the organisers really go out of their way to provide a fun-filled time. I also like the fact that during the day it all seems quite sublime, not a chav in site and aside from some of the mad activites everyone is encouraged to take part in, at face-value it looks pretty straight laced for a festival. When it gets dark however, it becomes the maddest place on earth, just about everyone is on one (or two or three or more - if you know what I mean).

I digress...

I could tell a number of storys of utter mentalness from my times there but last year I caused complete mayhem and it was a bloody miracle nobody was seriously hurt. I'm not proud of what I did but in hindsight it was pretty damn funny.

One of the coolest things about SGP is the landscaping and the big lake smack bang in the middle of it. To one side of the lake there's a pagoda which has a DJ booth on it and a big wooden pier-like platform extending out over the water which acts as the pagoda dance-floor. Now this is all very nice but its a bit of a nightmare to get on and off this platform cos there's just one narrow point of access/exit to the side of the pagoda, unless you fancy a swim that is.

Anyway, its Saturday night and I'd been looking forward to seeing my favourite DJ all weekend. Adam Freeland was due to do a two hour set from the pagoda starting at midnight and despite two days of drinking, smoking, swallowing and snorting (and not sleeping) I hadn't forgotten. I got there a good half an hour early and found just the right spot to spend the next couple of hours dancing like a nutter to Mr Freelands eclectic mix of breaks and electro.

This is where it all went wrong.

As I stood listening to the mediocre dj before Adam it occured to me that the platform was getting a bit packed and that this just wouldn't do, I needed room to strut my funky stuff damn it!!
Now don't ask me why I did this but at the time my befuddled brain thought it would be hilarious to stride over to a group of 4 or 5 young ladies and pronounce with a remarkably straight-face "Oh My God! Everyone needs to get off the dance-floor, its fucking sinking!"
I then wandered away to the back of the platform to skin up and snigger to myself while looking out over the lake.

Next thing I know is there is mad panic breaking out! There are security guys on boats around the lake with loud-hailers telling everyone to get off the dance floor as quickly as possible, girls are screaming, some guy is shouting that he can't swim and there are about 200 people trying to squeeze through the 6 foot wide exit to dry land.

"Oh shit!" I think, then rapidly sober up quite considerably. I immediately remove the quite distinctive hat I'm wearing and put on the jacket I had wrapped around my waist in the hope that everyone was so wasted I wouldn't be pointed out as the protagonist. I got off there sharpish and legged it to my tent to get changed as paranoia about getting lynched was all I could think about.

If you were there and I ruined your night then I'm truly sorry but hey - I missed my favourite DJ! And I was only fucking joking!
I spent the next day shutting my companions up as they took great delight in taking the piss - I was still paranoid about someone over-hearing them and the lynch mob (or security) getting me!

PS. I'm sorry Mr Freeland - I do hope you got paid anyway!
( Twizla ...a shrew living on the edge of a bog, extinct on, Fri 5 Jun 2009, 18:08, 4 replies)

Once
I stood in a muddy field with Mr Kilmer and Mr Doonican. They had neckwear featuring pictures of small red felt hats.


It was one of my favorite Fez Tie Vals.
( Larry Death Anger Pain Fear Aggression, Fri 5 Jun 2009, 17:35, 3 replies)

haha right
I went to a festival and got really muddy

and I did some drugs and had some sex!

and none of this is made up or a cry for help about my internet self-diagnosed autism.

Cheers,
moohalaa
( moohalaa, Fri 5 Jun 2009, 17:27, 3 replies)

Marillion
at Milton Keynes in 86, a week after Glastonbury, and still a bit buzzy. The gate minders took all our beer of us before we went in - wankers. So a mate stole 200 T-shirts from the back of the sales tent and went round flogging them at half the price, and bought rip-off piss weak beer at the organisers expense.
( social hand grenade I was a lurker before you were a lurker, Fri 5 Jun 2009, 17:22, 2 replies)

Want that genuine festival feel but can't afford a ticket ?
Simple! Tape a cd cover featuring a photo of your favorite artist at the end of your garden and hook up an ipod with the speakers set on super-distort. Wait until it starts raining, go outside, turn on the ipod and peer and squint at the photo whilst getting thoroughly piss wet through to your bones. For added realism don't wash or have a poo for three days first, smother yourself in human excriment and piss, and charge yourself a tenner for a plate of under cooked super noodles.
(Big Grant, Fri 5 Jun 2009, 17:22, Reply)

Teh Quo 1984 End of the Road Tour
Stood all day in the hot sun.

Arms swayed during "Dirty Water"

Eyes misted up at the end during "Bye Bye Johnny"

Sat at Milton Keynes station at some ungodly hour, the full reality sinking in that we would never see Quo live again.

Bastards.
( Snollock Biffer I don't really sniff Bollocks, Fri 5 Jun 2009, 17:18, Reply)