Happy teens, studes, A-Level celebrants and the occasional adult are skipping merrily to a field on the outskirts of Reading tonight, anticipating three days of fun and frolics during the last big rock concert of the year. What they’ll be met with is … well, a swamp, actually. Many of the campsites regularly used for the Reading festival were underwater this time last month, and it’s taken a huge effort to pump them out to the point where tents can be pitched. The going will, in horseracing terms, be soft to heavy. By Sunday night, it’s going to look like the Somme out there. If the fragrant darlings I’ve seen tripping out of Reading Station over the last couple of days are anything to go by, most people seem spectacularly unprepared for the conditions. If you need to make a quick buck, get down to Richfield Avenue sharpish with a van full of tent liners and wellies. The youth will snap them up. The weather report is for a sunny weekend. The primordial slime will be nice and warm then. Who knows, we may see new forms of life evolve from the mire, although we’ll probably mistake them for Razorlight fans at first.
It’s The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year…
As you can probably tell from the snarky tone, I’m not going this year. Although there are always bands I’ll be interested in seeing, there really wasn’t a decent enough bill to make me feel the urge to spend money and dig my kagoul out. It’s been a bit of an uninspiring year for music in general, and the festival circuit seems to have reflected that. Nope, this year I’m staying at home and listening to the music drifting up the hill in my garden, with a cheap beer and a home-made burger. Heaven.
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EXCUSES AND HALF TRUTHS 