Wow, can you believe it’s May already? This used to still only be Spring but thanks to cows’ farts and plastic bags, the seasons have changed and I’m wearing gross loose little shorts as I type this (cut-offs are so restrictive - I’m phasing them out, but on the way to work this morning the wind blew against me and you could totally make out my package, I could tell people walking past me thought it was hot but I felt like I was making an exhibition of myself).

As far as most people are concerned now, this is early summer, and if you’ve taken any kind of interest in British popular culture in your life, then you’ll know early summer is around the time dickheads who dig on Kings Of Leon and wellington boots start getting super-hyped for music festivals.

I’ve no problem with anyone’s music tastes or their waterproof shoes, but I never have the best fucking time evz that I’m supposed to at festivals. There’s a few things that people regularly complain about that are dumb to complain about, which I’ll list now, quickly:

Adverts everywhere: ignore them.

Yuppies coming to festivals: walk around them.

Taking a shit in a dirty toilet: suck it up, pussy.

Expensive food: who cares.

The weather: doye, you’re camping in Western Europe, man up.

I think complaining about those things when you go to a festival is like complaining about all the cheap Swedish things when you go to Ikea. Why the fuck are you in Ikea if you don’t want any cheap Swedish things?

Anyway, I had one great time at one festival, it was the Reading Festival in 1998 and I was 15. I saw some amazing bands that pretty much shaped my teens: Rancid, Rocket From The Crypt, Deftones, Beastie Boys and the Prodigy (remember this beef? That was fucking cool). I also saw the greatest touring show on earth, The Vans Warped Tour, on its first UK date ever on the Friday night, and I stage dived during American Jesus by Bad Religion (here they are playing the same song in 1998 in Quebec, it’s as near as I could find).

I went home that Monday morning feeling more alive and purposeful than I’ve ever felt. That weekend changed my whole fucking life and because I was having a such an incredible, life changing time (Rancid FTW, like Dick said) I didn’t even notice the adverts, the yuppies, the toilets, the food or the weather, I came back with a peeling nose, sunburnt calves (my knees were covered by my long shorts that hung off my butt the whole weekend like real Warped Tour kids do) and a whole new appalling attitude to take back to school the next week.

Ever since then, I’ve chased that dream: the dream of rockin’ music, partying and bro’s, together combined into a three and a half day sun kissed orgy of self discovery and new experiences. But it’s never happened again, and I can find a few things to blame it on.

When did my friends get so upbeat? Why are we making friends with strangers? Why are you letting this guy come sit in our bit of the camp site? We’re not refugees, stop sharing my water with him… Wait… who the fuck is that in my tent? A coke dealer? My ipod’s in there!

Cheap drugs
Sounds great, but if you can buy five pills for a tenner what’s in them? Oh, you say they’re ok? Ok then I’ll have ten please. And there’s nothing I can do about hallucinating about my grandparents’ funerals for nine hours? What about all the puking? Am I supposed to feel the worst I’ve ever felt the next day and then remember I’m at least a four hour drive from a clean bed and some privacy? That doesn’t seem fun.

Live music
So we set up all these tents, got all our best buddies together, got fucking wasted on coke at 11 in the morning, got 12 crates of cheap imported beers to get through and we’ve even got a stereo with loads of batteries. But now you’re making me go stand still and watch some ants on a stage 300 feet away play music I could listen to back at the campsite? The atmosphere you say?  What about the atmosphere back at the campsite where we’re watching Mark do beer bongs til he pukes and Emma is telling a really amazing story about saving a kid’s life when she was 12? That atmosphere seems more fun, but if you say it’s that important to see this band, then I’ll believe you.

Free love
So, it’s the third night and we’ve been flirting all weekend, shit’s gonna go down between us tonight, right? Well, I’m excited about that, but when did either of us last shower? Have you any idea what three days of no showers is going to make our genitals smell like? Have you got any idea what three days of cheap amphetamines is going to make my dick look like? You understand my breath smells pretty bad too, right?

Non stop fun
So you’re saying the fun never stops? Not even when I need to go to sleep? What about the quiet half an hour I need before sleep to watch some iPlayer and jerk off to relieve the stresses and strains of the day of fun? No time, you say? What about a nice quiet lie in to recover from all the fun the next morning? Oh, you’re going to burst into my tent at 9am and force me to do a line of K? That seems rather intrusive and unpleasant.

See ya in da pit, etc. etc. xxxx