Tuesday, September 7
The Reading Diaries: Two of Two
Saturday:
Finally, some proper sunshine had broken through this morning. It didn't help much, the path by the tap near our campsite was by now nothing more nor less than a small swamp, assuring that my shoes constantly had a layer of wet mud.
This could not daunt me - the Eighties Matchbox B-Line Disaster were playing, surely nothing else matters? First off, however, was a couple of other acts I wanted to see, The Bronx and The Icarus Line. The former was an absolute stormer - imagine Raging Speedhorn, if they'd grown up in America listening to punk, instead of living in Corby on a diet of metal. The only good thing about the latters performance, however, was the frontman's excellent hair. I was expecting some agression, any agression, but there was none.
This put me into bad sorts as The Eighties came on stage. And the mood followed. Sure, they were good, sure their songs could disembowl a donkey. But in my opinion, they just weren't very good that day. It was nice to hear some more new songs, though. However, they were giving out DVDs somewhere, and I didn't find one, not learning until I visited their forum the other day.
It was at this point that one of my many whims ran away with me. Finding the least dodgy market stall I could, I went and picked up a smal bag of magic mushrooms. I ran back to the campsite to indulge in these. I was disappointed - I was expecting hallucinations, all that happened was a pleasent high, not dissimilar to a good joint, only a little less disorienting. After these, I moved onto the Apple Sourz again. Everyone had a bottle of this, and while no one else had even touched theirs thus far, I had drained half my bottle by the time I left to see Roxy Saint.
A kick to the nads for anyone who didn't see her. The body of an angel, the mind of a devil, and a damned good singer to boot. Conparisons to my ex are curtailed over whether the arguement of "good singing voice vs. sex". Buy her DVD, you plebes! And do it now!
I decided that, after that, I didn't want anything to ruin my euphoria, so I just went straight to CAs tent for... you already know what. It doesn't help that he was asleep for all the time that he wasn't ripping bongs with me...
Sunday:
I was really quite bored today, mainly due to the lack of appreciated bands. The Rasmus got bottled off after one song, while I lay around and ate a pot noodle. Eventually, we all went off to see the Lostprophets and Placebo, both of whom were good. Then came the most fun of the weekend not clad in spandex.
For the life of me, I've not been able to find out what administrative blunder booked 50 Cent, the epitomy of everything there is to hate about bad rap, to play the Carling Weekend Festival, the biggest rock festival in Britain, and why they expected him to be liked. Throughout the entire weekend, I only found one person who liked him. That was out of at least a hundred people. There was only one outcome.
Five minutes before he even came on, bottles were flying at the stage. As he came on, you couldn't see the stage for the flying plastic in the air. And it never truly stopped, just slowed too much for my liking. I myself have never ended screaming "WANKER!" for so long, nor seen so many people raise their middle fingers in the same direction. You have to credit the man for his balls though - he stuck it out for 20 minutes before he buggered off, to the sound of the biggest cheer of the weekend.
This gave Green Day extra time to set up and play, and thank God for it. If Roxy Saint hadn't shown up, and I had failed to pick up for another year running, this would have been the highlight of the weekend. Not one of the band was sober, they covered everyone from Queen to The Ramones, and they dragged some guys out of the audience to play on a Bad Religion cover. Quality.
Then came the final blaze of the weekend. Both CA and I showed up for a party in a tree near his campsite, where we encountered a fine young lady who was up for a bong or two. We only got as far as CAs tent and one joint before she ran off "to go to the loo". She didn't come back. We were worried she'd just stolen his vodka, but it turned out that I'd just left it outside in my stonedness. Maybe we just weren't cool enough for her. We were joined by two of CA's mates from Croxley, and we experimented by putting the dish from my newly acquired pipe into his bong. Trying to clear this nearly made me throw up all over the place, and actually DID make CA throw up all over the place. I made my excuses and left shortly after that. Everyone else from my camp was out when I got back, so I concluded my night by falling asleep.
Monday:
On Monday, I packed up, and went.
Incidently, I still need to go and get my pipe and hat back I left them in CA's tent...
Finally, some proper sunshine had broken through this morning. It didn't help much, the path by the tap near our campsite was by now nothing more nor less than a small swamp, assuring that my shoes constantly had a layer of wet mud.
This could not daunt me - the Eighties Matchbox B-Line Disaster were playing, surely nothing else matters? First off, however, was a couple of other acts I wanted to see, The Bronx and The Icarus Line. The former was an absolute stormer - imagine Raging Speedhorn, if they'd grown up in America listening to punk, instead of living in Corby on a diet of metal. The only good thing about the latters performance, however, was the frontman's excellent hair. I was expecting some agression, any agression, but there was none.
This put me into bad sorts as The Eighties came on stage. And the mood followed. Sure, they were good, sure their songs could disembowl a donkey. But in my opinion, they just weren't very good that day. It was nice to hear some more new songs, though. However, they were giving out DVDs somewhere, and I didn't find one, not learning until I visited their forum the other day.
It was at this point that one of my many whims ran away with me. Finding the least dodgy market stall I could, I went and picked up a smal bag of magic mushrooms. I ran back to the campsite to indulge in these. I was disappointed - I was expecting hallucinations, all that happened was a pleasent high, not dissimilar to a good joint, only a little less disorienting. After these, I moved onto the Apple Sourz again. Everyone had a bottle of this, and while no one else had even touched theirs thus far, I had drained half my bottle by the time I left to see Roxy Saint.
A kick to the nads for anyone who didn't see her. The body of an angel, the mind of a devil, and a damned good singer to boot. Conparisons to my ex are curtailed over whether the arguement of "good singing voice vs. sex". Buy her DVD, you plebes! And do it now!
I decided that, after that, I didn't want anything to ruin my euphoria, so I just went straight to CAs tent for... you already know what. It doesn't help that he was asleep for all the time that he wasn't ripping bongs with me...
Sunday:
I was really quite bored today, mainly due to the lack of appreciated bands. The Rasmus got bottled off after one song, while I lay around and ate a pot noodle. Eventually, we all went off to see the Lostprophets and Placebo, both of whom were good. Then came the most fun of the weekend not clad in spandex.
For the life of me, I've not been able to find out what administrative blunder booked 50 Cent, the epitomy of everything there is to hate about bad rap, to play the Carling Weekend Festival, the biggest rock festival in Britain, and why they expected him to be liked. Throughout the entire weekend, I only found one person who liked him. That was out of at least a hundred people. There was only one outcome.
Five minutes before he even came on, bottles were flying at the stage. As he came on, you couldn't see the stage for the flying plastic in the air. And it never truly stopped, just slowed too much for my liking. I myself have never ended screaming "WANKER!" for so long, nor seen so many people raise their middle fingers in the same direction. You have to credit the man for his balls though - he stuck it out for 20 minutes before he buggered off, to the sound of the biggest cheer of the weekend.
This gave Green Day extra time to set up and play, and thank God for it. If Roxy Saint hadn't shown up, and I had failed to pick up for another year running, this would have been the highlight of the weekend. Not one of the band was sober, they covered everyone from Queen to The Ramones, and they dragged some guys out of the audience to play on a Bad Religion cover. Quality.
Then came the final blaze of the weekend. Both CA and I showed up for a party in a tree near his campsite, where we encountered a fine young lady who was up for a bong or two. We only got as far as CAs tent and one joint before she ran off "to go to the loo". She didn't come back. We were worried she'd just stolen his vodka, but it turned out that I'd just left it outside in my stonedness. Maybe we just weren't cool enough for her. We were joined by two of CA's mates from Croxley, and we experimented by putting the dish from my newly acquired pipe into his bong. Trying to clear this nearly made me throw up all over the place, and actually DID make CA throw up all over the place. I made my excuses and left shortly after that. Everyone else from my camp was out when I got back, so I concluded my night by falling asleep.
Monday:
On Monday, I packed up, and went.
Incidently, I still need to go and get my pipe and hat back I left them in CA's tent...
