strawberrri.diaryland.com
Just listen to the rhythm of my heart!
2003-08-25 | 8:29 p.m.

I'm still suffering: aching-neck-from-big-man-landing-on-head and bottled skull (why does that sound like some kind of potion?) - just two of a possible 839 ailments you can pick up from a festival.

I feel more rested now though, even if I did accidently put a jar of Marmite in the breadbin earlier. Last night's entry was written on five pints of £3 Carling. Poor Good Charlotte. Poor, poor Good Charlotte. For their entire performance plastic bottles were thrown at them, ketchup and piss included (I begged the man standing behind me not to throw his little bottle of wee but he just ignored me and a fine spray of it landed on the guitarist).

Best song of the festival: The Darknesses' one which I can only assume is called 'I believe in a thing called love'. That man's vocal cords must surely be attached to a helium tap.

Best moment of the weekend was being in the mosh pit for Blur while they played Girls and Boys.

Worst moment was being in a portaloo which rocked from side to side while raw sewage sloshed about at the bottom as I tried not to be sick from the smell.

Aaaand to sum it up in as few words as possible: Manic dancing, moshing, loud music, people on stilts, sunburn, alcohol, dirt, uncooked burgers, hot hot heat (and I'm not talking about the band!), nose and nipple piercings (two of my friends, not me), plastic bottles, bollocks.

Oh yeah and I used a loaf of bread as a pillow which decreased in mass each day as it got consumed.

The manager of my bank rang me while I was in a Reading pub on Thursday so she had to duly fuck off and will be ringing me probably tomorrow (although she did have the outright cheek of asking me how I was funding my living next term). I came home to a further £20 fine from my bank and nearly cried because I cannot believe the stupidity of the people who work there. I should have every single person who works for the Royal Bank of Scotland lined up and have every single person who went to the Reading festival in turn throw a bottle of ketchup and a bottle of piss over them. It might make me feel a little better and less in a mood of wanting to kill everyone who comes within a 50-mile radius of me.

Smeh.

Roy in Coronation Street is currently trying to kill himself by taking an overdose, but at the speed he's swallowing the pills I'd say he's more likely to die of old age. That's all for now.

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