| I am daydreaming as usual. I
can't believe the last few days. Last night I dreamt of two red moons in the sky. I wasn't
even sure that I was dreaming, but after the weekend we've had I'm not surprised.
It started on Thursday evening and I couldn't wait to be off on another
adventure.
My Mum had bought us litres of drinking water for our expedition. She was
off on adventure of her own. Captain Summers arrived in the star ship Faithful and soon
the three of us were set for take off.
First port of call was The House Of Rock to collect the band members of
Dog Piss, who were off to Amsterdam to play with NoFx at the Melgweg (Milky Way). We
dropped them and Mum off at Kings Cross where the tour bus would take them all to
Amsterdam. God bless Dog Piss!
Next stop was to the residence of The Queen Mom. I meowed a few times and
then heard an answering meow from the top floor. Having been graced with her presence we
went back to The House Of Rock to collect Dingo & Cara and set off for another planet
at around midnight...
...what a surreal journey it was. We chatted all the way, excited about
the adventure ahead as Captain Summers flew the S S Faithful through the starry night. We
stopped at a space station for coffee and nibbles, taking off from there to the sound of
The Beta Band album. Looking up at the sky we noticed that the mood was red. Catching the
first rays of what was going to be a glorious day.
Red moon. In June. Real fun. Real soon.
It got light quickly, the cows were still on the ground as the morning
mist came up. It didn't look real as we were coming in to land. There were majestic,
wooded hills and fields covered in a thick white mist strongly tinted to peach tones by a
deep red rising sun and as Glastonbury Tor loomed into vision, the mystical spell was in
full effect.
We landed at Planet Glastonbury around 7am. The usual experience of people
in bright jackets smiling and waving their arms around cluelessly and sending us up and
down to different entry Gates (last year The Hedge just drove straight through them, and
through one of the markets to the best parking spot ever with The Queen Mom and I cheering
and chuckling!) but a few hours after the usual getting-in sketches we had the setting up
tent sketch. We were informed by some Jobsworth lad that we couldn't camp on Virgin
Territory - apparently you had to be an employee of Virgin Records to camp on certain bits
of grass - we refused to budge until Richard-"Euston, we have a problem"-Branson
came and removed us himself! RECLAIM THE FIELDS!
We employed the help of a nice security man with our bags which meant the
Virgin Jobsworth had to pick on other people. Seeing how much alcohol we had, the nice
security man must have thought we had arrived with the official bar's worth of drink. Not
only were we well stocked with supplies, but were camped next to a water tap and had a
paddling pool to keep feet and drinks cool. We named our family tents The Pilton Hilton
and never stopped partying all weekend.
We made the first of many trips to the Cider Bus to meet folks, and found
them by raising our hands to the sky to spirit them towards us. Sure enough, though zonked
on acid, they did appear... Magic! Now we were all here, The Pilton Hilton was ready to
rock all weekend. And it did. We all laughed non stop, took copious amounts of various
mindwarpers, met and made loads of friends, had all sorts of great adventures and
experiences, saw all manner of sights, strange occurrences and even one or two bands. Some
Blondie, REM, Joe Strummer, All Green, Manic Street Preachers, Super Furry Animals,
Alabama 3 and Feeder musical memories.
Ate all sorts of stuff (my body isn't so much a temple as a LARDer), met
some walking telephone boxes, went to the Miniscule Of Sound, shrieked a few times. Thanks
to The Keeper Of The Flame our bonfire never went out until Monday afternoon. Found many
followers of "The Magic Wand", met up with Sue The Poo, visited the magic stones
(where later one boy would become a fairy for two hours playing with The Magic Wand. We
cringed at the bogs (good on ya, Manics, they're jealous we reckon!), rocked out, lounged,
went to the top of the festival to smoke a tribute to The Hedge who was on another planet
this year and marvelled at the beauty of the night sky.
We saw a big white ship sailing around the field, heard and saw Weapons Of
Sound and their accompanying flame dancers, saw the big silver men with bit silver boots
and big silver mohicans going to the Miniscule Of Sound, the smallest disco in the world
(when we returned for one more visit!), met the tea ladies, enjoyed fireworks and flowers.
Captain Summers reminisced one night about a book his friend's father had
written called The Banana Cat. As we looked over at The Queen Mom we noticed that she had
a leopard skin hat with cats ears on it and was drinking her red wine from a banana. A
character from a book come to life. He had driven The Banana Cat to Glastonbury!
I lost my bag, purse, torch, credit cards and money at some point but at
least I remembered to bring my knickers this year and didn't have to keep washing the same
pair and drying them on the top of my tent. I had the most brilliant weekend imaginable,
so good that when we finally returned to The House Of Rock I spent the evening puking
violently. It took until Wednesday for me to get back to work, and until Thursday for my
brain to get there.
Can't wait to do it all again...
One Friday on the way home from work I noticed that the Poems On The Tube
poster was allowed to use the word bollocks. I didn't think that would be allowed. Perhaps
I should make up a poem and see if London Underground would publish it on a Poems On The
Tube poster. How about...
bollocks to hatred, bollocks to war
bollocks to junk mail that pours through the door
bollocks to people that kiss really wet
bollocks to those who won't end third world debt
bollocks to political verbal diorreah
bollocks to sexism and homophobia
bollocks to Boyzone's karaoke cabaret
bollocks to missing my Gran every day
bollocks to hunting, and gluttony too
if you don't like this poem, then bollocks to you
Hmm, maybe not...
Another Friday Evening...
...After work we went to Brighton for the Evening in Faithful. We started
for a walk along the beach then went to the Core bare where Brothers In Sound were making
their live debut. It was one of the best worst funniest and most endearing gigs ever. It
was like the Spinal Tap guide to everything that could go wrong with your first live
performance. Luckily Brothers In Sound had as much good humour as their audience and
everybody in the room bonded. Revellers In Sound. All the way back to London, every now
and then one of the four of us sat in the dark would laugh out loud at the surreal evening
we had just experienced. I laughed so much that I must have mixed my drinks inside me
because I felt really ill by the time I got to my bed. Too ill to get out of it the next
day which was a shame as I had to fly from Heathrow at about 9 in the morning...
...Saturday afternoon! I'd made the plane by the skin of my teeth (made
the plane by the plaque?). The plane was then delayed which was not good as I places to go
and people to see - at 2pm! The hotel was further away than I thought, so the afternoon
became a dash - spliff, wash, dress, spliff, faff, photocopy something, leave... Bumped
into Little Ms Mouthy Man on the way out. Always a pleasure. We nattered as I waited for
the cab. His band were up for the festival I was on my way to.
The cab ride was through the beautiful Fife countryside to the
T-In-The-Park site. Just as we reached the place the wettest, fastest, heaviest rain storm
this side of Noah's Ark came down solidly. Oh, great! But Mother Earth must love me or
something. As we reached the gate, the rain stopped and I heard Ooberman come on in the
big tent. I stepped out of the taxi under a bone dry sky and walked into a weekend of fun
at T-In-The-Park... Of course Ooberman were absolute crowd winners, saw an ace band in
another tent on my way to bis (excellent, futuristic, punkishly defiant) and was told that
they were Muse. Hmm, must check them again. Bumped into loads of friends, smoked so much
that I thought it suddenly went dark but really the bright sunny day had turned into a
very misty afternoon. Sur-REAL! Stereophonics headlined epic as fuck, loved Richard's
kilt, I was one of quite a few people who got a pint of Tenants Lager over my head during
"More Life In A Tramps Vest". during a mass pogo though. I'd missed
getting rained on only to be soaking and stinking of beer and it was getting cold. I'd
luckily bought a rubber coat for £10 but had managed to lose me mates, phone numbers,
money and was was stuck with no idea of how to get off the site (brain not working well)
and back to where I was staying. Nice Mr G lent me twenty quid. I then spent the next hour
walking around the perimeter fence through a country lane in the dark, spooked and freaked
out. Eventually found the bus station and a long journey back to Edinburgh feeling a bit
miserable after a fantastic fun day.
One of the biggest draws of my weekend had been to see Remy Zero. They
were first on the main stage on Sunday but following the previous evening's experiences I
lay in bed and sulked at missing them a bit and then just enjoyed lazing on a Sunday and
waited for a lift with me mates back to the festy.
A few hours later, spirits were high again. We were zooming over the Forth
Road Bridge with our heads out of the top of a sunroof, towards seeing Manic Street
Preachers. The start of an exhilarating evening. At the T-In-The-Park site I saw Cinjun
and Shelby of Remy Zero. This was the second time in two weeks that I had missed their gig
(crazy for em, me!). They'd really enjoyed their show and were have a great time. The
atmosphere at this fest is always ace. Suddenly in front of me were the very big, very
blue eyes of Cliff Jones who asked me if I was still mad. (me, mad? nah!). I'd missed Gay
Dad too.
Two of us found a good spot and waited for MSP. A very kind man handed us
something wicked to smoke and the evening mist came up again, on cue. Manic Street
Preachers stole the weekend for me. They were electric, fired up, rant punk, fury. The
dark mist and crowd madness added to the poignancy of each song and the effect was
orgasmic.
I have happy (and genuinely misty) memories of T In The Park, and dreams
of Glastonbury. Out in a field again for Reading Festival at the end of the year. Summer
1999, love it. Daydreaming of being outdoors, I am upstairs on a bus travelling down The
Haymarket, in Central London.
I pass a club with burly Hale & Pace type security door staff. There's
a huge queue of gormless looking blokes dressed like boy bands (catalogue style
waistcoats, they look like waiters!) and glamour girl wannabes waiting to get in. Hale
& Pace are enjoying their power. Why anybody would want to wait for ages to get inside
a building with a big red rope around it is always a mystery to me. (They have one of
these at The Met Bar that I've never been in, either). Maybe if you were a farmyard
animal, the rope may mean something but the sort of place that shows off how many people
are stuck outside in bad weather just makes me think that it's either horribly full inside
or that they aren't very good at getting people in quickly. Hooray, these are all people
that you'd never see in a field rocking and rolling.
The bus carries on to Trafalgar Square and I continue daydreaming about
the fun of the festivals... |
