Floater Voter?

So, Glastonbury has come and gone again, almost without me noticing. I must admit that it crept up on me this year, so I didn't have time to come up with my usual sarcastic posts about mud and crapping in hedges, or the patronising depiction of locals by the London-centric BBC coverage. Apparently, they had trouble with the toilets again - there was a complaint about a horrible floater in the VIP crappers, but it turned out to be a dead Tory advisor. It seems he'd been there overnight and was only discovered when a desperate Beyonce was forced to take a dump behind the VIP trailers. She'd spent nearly fifteen minutes hammering on the toilet door screaming: "For the love of God will you hurry up and finish in there - I've been sitting on a horse's head for the last half hour and now I'm touching cloth!"

Whilst police were yesterday describing the death as 'unexplained', some early reports suggested that this guy - a pal of David Cameron, it seems - had committed suicide. I must admit that shitting yourself to death would constitute a unique way of topping oneself. More recent reports seem to indicate that he suffered a massive heart attack. I must say that I can sympathise there - I've taken some humongous dumps that I thought were going to give me a coronary. When you are straining so hard that you face is red, eyes bulging, sweat is pouring down your forehead and the veins are standing out, you really need to reconsider your diet. Anyway, the most 'unexplained' thing about this death is question of what some Tory bastard was doing at Glastonbury in the first place? Was he trying to get down with the kids by listening to the latest beat combos? Whatever the reason, can't there be one place left where we don't have to put up with these horrible people? Apparently not, it seems.