Seeping with The Enemy
2007 - the year Glastonbury organisers got smart: in an effort to beat ticket touting, you had to pre-register with a photo a few months in advance of tickets going on sale.

Whilst preventing touts being able to buy up loads of tickets and sell them on at rates more hideously inflated than Piers Morgan's ego, it also made it more difficult for groups of friends* to buy tickets together.

*More specifically, my group of friends

Basically, you had to enter everyone's registration number separately to get tickets. My mate Jim (who we had stupidly put in charge of obtaining the tickets) somehow managed to only enter my number and then completed the online form, thinking he would be able to go through again and complete it for everyone else separately. The website was swamped. He never got back on.

The group of us were fairly angry with Jim (me less so than the others - I had a ticket, after all). We all tried again a few weeks later when some more tickets were released, but we were unsuccessful again.

I'd never been to Glasto before, and was pretty keen to go, so I set about looking for other friends who had tickets - there had to be someone, surely?

Upon further investigation, most of my mates from work, football and elsewhere who were interested in going Glasto had been similarly unsuccessful with obtaining tickets.

This eventually led to me agreeing to go to the festival with Maria and Suzy, two girls who at best could be described as "friends of friends of friends" (and at worst - and more accurately - could be described as "shrieking, whining fucktards").

I'd met them briefly at a gig earlier in the year, and had been particularly disturbed by their obsession with the band we had gone to see - The Enemy. Maria and Suzy had spent the entire gig clinging onto the front barrier for all their worth, screaming and shrieking all manner of obscene acts that they wished to perform upon the lead singer and drummer respectively (Tom and Liam, I remember being told - a quick Google search doesn't dispute this).

Anyway, fast-forwarding to mid-June, I find myself trapped in a car with said fuckwits, on our way to Somerset. I had imagined that, by this point, the girls' obsession with the Coventrian indie kids may have lessened somewhat - even if it was just to share the love they had to give amongst a few other acts.

Not a chance - they had both turned up in matching "Enemy" hoodies AND t-shirts, and - fuelled on cheap cider - were singing Enemy songs at the tops of their whiny voices. All this despite me having invoked driver's privilege on the stereo, removing any Enemy tracks from the in-car playlist halfway through the third playing of their debut single on the trip down.

Thankfully, when we set up the tents and checked out the playlist, it transpired that The Enemy would be playing on the Friday, therefore I would only have to listen to two days' worth of "I can't wait!" inanity before the gig.

Two days can be a really long time.

Eventually Friday dawned, and the girls were out of the tents at first light, down to the front of the Other stage, ready for their heroes.

I'd like to take this chance to say that I actually don't mind the Enemy's stuff - it's better than a lot of stuff around at the moment - but having it rammed down your throat every waking second does tend to grate after a while.

Anyway, I decided to leave the girls to it and wandered off, returning and catching the end of the set. I couldn't see the girls down at the front, but I was certain that at one point I heard them squeal in unison as one song came to an end.

When I eventually caught up with the girls later, Suzy was walking with a slight limp, but when questioned as to why, she refused to answer.

As the day - and indeed weekend - progressed, the limp got worse, but Suzy still refused to let on as to the cause. Until the last day, that is, when I was confronted by an image that will haunt me to my grave.

Awaking on the Sunday, we had realised that we still had a significant stash of cheap lager and cider with us, and - rather than carting it back to the car - we endeavoured to plough through it, resulting in the majority of the day being a bit blurry.

One moment really stands out in the memory though - towards the end of the evening, Suzy sidled up to me and said that she was a "bit worried" and that she had "something to show me".

We were camped quite close to the Pyramid stage, so we went back to the tents, leaving Maria 'saving our place' in the field.

Having dragged me into the tent, Suzy started wriggling out of her tights. By this point, my alcohol levels probably meant that my blood would only legally allowed to be served in 25ml shots, and all memories of quite how annoying this girl was were slipping out of my mind.

However, I instantly sobered up when she dropped her knickers, and I was confronted with a putrid scab-riddled pus-jungle. I'd like to say that I dealt with the situation in a sophisticated, mature manner, but unfortunately I allowed my natural reactions to get the better of me - the combination of dubious food, cheap alcohol and the sight before me hit home, and I spewed forth the contents of my stomach (namely numerous cans of warm Strongbow, a falafel wrap and an ice-cream).

As it later transpired, Liam from the Enemy had thrown his drumsticks into the crowd from the gig. Suzy had caught one, and then used it to demonstrate exactly what she wanted to do to him.

Apparently, numerous splinters from a bacteria-ridden drumstick can turn septic if left unchecked (and indeed unwashed) in a sweaty, muddy environment for 48 hours.

I'll never eat falafel again.
( TheMagicDwarf is back like ballroom dancing, Thu 4 Jun 2009, 13:35, 8 replies)

Funnilly enough.
The music and image of the Enemy make me want to hurl. Never mind seeing the rotten crotch effects of one of their manky drumsticks!!
( Evil Bastardo, Thu 4 Jun 2009, 15:08, closed)

One story
which I'm not sure "I like this" is really appropriate...

Really? I like the image of pustulated pubis? I did not know this about myself.
(blinkin the merrily misanthropic IT gremlin, Fri 5 Jun 2009, 19:07, closed)

Oh dear god!
If I click will you promise never to tell that story again?! Oh sweet jesus I think I'm scarred. Oh fuck!
(suicidalducky has too much time on his hands, Sat 6 Jun 2009, 6:35, closed)

Thankfully...
...this seems to be one answer which hasn't prompted a "pictures or it didn't happen" - I don't think teh internets would ever forgive me
( TheMagicDwarf is back like ballroom dancing, Sun 7 Jun 2009, 22:50, closed)

Your friend's a dick
and surprisingly thick
This made me sick
So have a *click*

(nice title too)
( chart cat has an itch, Wed 10 Jun 2009, 5:41, closed)

What a rotten cunt

(RVD420 has his world coming down on, Wed 10 Jun 2009, 11:56, closed)

Ha!
This is a great read, cheers matey - clickyty-click-click!
( SpankyHanky, Wed 10 Jun 2009, 16:15, closed)

Fantastic title.
Just brilliant.

Er... *clicks*
(Scritty Bakerman., Wed 10 Jun 2009, 22:18, closed)