The Glastonbury Experience

You've probably noticed that so far this year I haven't moaned about the Glastonbury Festival. There are several reasons for this: firstly, the BBC didn't run those bloody patronising adverts implying that everyone who lives outside of the M25 is a yokel; secondly, I didn't have the horrible experience of seeing (and hearing) my trumpet-playing twat of a neighbour in the audience during the TV coverage; thirdly, I decided that this year I'd get into the spirit of it all and try and enjoy the 'Glastonbury Experience'. Obviously, I wasn't actually going to attend Glastonbury in person - I don't like tents, I don't like drunken hippies of their faces on coke and I didn't have a ticket. Instead, I decided to recreate the whole thing in my living room.

This was actually easier that you might think. I just stuck a bucket of shit in the corner of the room, lit up a barbecue in front of the TV and didn't wash for three days. Combined with crapping out of the window (the bucket was full), this provided me with all the authentic smells and inconvenience of the actual festival, as I settled down to watch the BBC's extensive coverage. Thus, I was able to watch the ever-lovely Lily Allen threatening to fall out of her outfit, the ever-weird Lady Gaga shooting flames from her breasts amongst other highlights, without having to leave the relative comfort of my armchair. OK, it took four days to get the stench out of the house and the environmental health people are threatening to prosecute me over that pile of shit outside my living room window, but overall, I feel it was a big success. So much so that I'm going to do it again next year - but better! Maybe I'll replace the living room carpet with thick mud...