Blades of Grass

We were sitting outside the tents under the gazebo, listening to the
Clash sing Police and Thieves. The grass was a bit crushed where Weazel
had fallen heavily last night while running all the way back from Red
Field (which is no mean feat, especially in the dark without a torch)
and a little way away from our tent was a huge pile of empty Carling
cans that someone had tried to turn into a Turner prize exhibit and
failed miserably when Bog had kicked it over because Alison had refused
to have sex with him.

Bog sat there looking very morose flicking twigs at the fire. "I'm well
fucked off," he said, after much thought. "I love her, but she doesnt
love me!" I lit a cigarette.

"But how can you say that?" I asked. "You only met her less than 36
hours ago, when we got here on Wednesday. Anyway, what about
Joanne?"

"Joanne is a fucking hippy," said Bog. "I am going for a shit." He
stood up and stumbled off to the toilet block. The poo lorry came
rumbling past a few minutes later, it was 6.45am and the rest of our
group were still asleep. I switched the CD and put on something louder.
I finished my coffee and lit another cigarette. We had approximately
1000 cigarettes between the ten of us, which sounds like a lot but
Weazel had insisted on getting another 400 in Reading so he could sell
them to the Goth camp in Yellow Field.

About fifteen minutes past and Bog came running back screaming
excitedly. I stood up, and watched him rush towards us. "What's up?"
Bog was almost hopping up and down. "Well?"

"Just seen Alison!"

"And?"

"She said she would let me sleep in her tent tonight."

"She's Irish isnt she?"

"Yeah, and has the biggest pair of tits you ever saw."

I suspected that Bog was easily pleased. He had spent most of the
previous night trying to get on Alison's better side. Even to the point
of buying her a shirt she liked. I tried to tell him that buying gifts
is cool but not for that sort of reason. Bog wouldn't listen, I
remember him wandering about with two bacon rolls (even though Alison
is a veggie) and a bottle of Coke up by the stalls near the Evening
Session tent.

We had seen four bands and bailed because for some inexplicable reason
the Dandy Warhols were headlining Friday. That night. The rain had held
off for the Vines and the Strokes had cancelled at the last minute.
There were two new bands in the line up but a lot of the afternoon
bands had been dire.

The ten of us had met up by the Orange Charge Your Phone stand and all
of us were wearing leather jackets, as it was much colder this year
than it had been last year. Five girls and five blokes up to see the
bands. Bog, Weasel, Doobie, Nike, and me, plus Lisa, Nicki, Jane, Sally
and Soph.

A lot more people were wearing leather jackets I seem to recall, maybe
they had got fed up with wearing the casual gear that had been
preferred last year. A sea of Army surplus shirts and para boots and
that was just the girls we had seen so far. There were also a lot more
people at Reading as Leeds had been cancelled.

Nicki farted. I looked in surprise at her and she smiled coyly at me.
She farted again and then a look of pure terror came on her face.

"Told you not to eat the scumburger," I said, as she had run off
screaming. I think she needed to take a crap at that point, or maybe
she already had.

Jane finished her coke and belched. Then she too ran off to join the
queue for the woman's toilets and nearly made it too, as the queue was
quite short, and narrowly missed showering a guy in a trenchcoat with
partly digested food. The guy had seen the funny side, and right now
Jane was still off at his tent I think.

Lisa and Soph came back from the toilet block, talking and smoking and
looking a lot better than they had done. I think they had been out all
night again. Soph liked going for walks and Lisa was her best mate.
Nike and Sally had stayed over by Camp Brighton as they had fallen in
with a lot of moddy boys and girls who had come to see the Slide
headline in the Evening Session tent. The Slide sounded like the Who on
speed, and it had been a tough choice, but face it, I would rather see
a mod band than the Dandies anyday. That was the thing, you could have
a tent full of punks, mods and goths and nobody started any
fights.

Doobie and Nicki surfaced at that point. Doobie was looking really
cross about something, and then as the tent flap waved open I could
smell why.

"She cant stop farting," he said, holding his nose. "It's worse than
the toilets in there." Nicki just looked embarrassed. I felt sorry for
her. I offered her a cigarette and Doobie stumped off to have a shower.
There were showers here again and this time they cost a quid so that
they didnt end up getting blown up.

The rioting had been much subdued last night. Only two bins had been
blown up and the police had left our area alone concentrating on the
chaos over in Green Field.

I picked up some blades of grass and zipped up the tent flap again. It
was time to go to Reading and Burger King.