Today I completed my application for a new passport, complete with photograph that makes me look jaundiced or suntanned, depending on my degree of optimism. I shall go for the latter.
Glastonbury. Ahh yes. I keep returning to it. Here is a picture from one of the evenings’ adventures:
I have no idea who is looking at these pages, and feel a slight twinge of guilt at inflicting this self-obsessed rubbish on you all. Not so guilty, however, that I shall be removing any of it.
Perhaps apart from some of the stories. Particularly the early ones. Perhaps even the later ones, and the rambles below, although these will only be when I finally recognise that I have no talent.
Feedback is possible, for those who are interested, via the link that appears from the graphic in the top left.
Photos are, genuinely, coming. Soon. Ish. Just as soon as I have freed up some space on the computer to design the pages, for it is currently having trouble doing any more than opening the odd email.
Why follow ambition when you can watch it on the television?
Oh. And another thing. I have been cycling into work, and so far I’ve not been knocked from my bike or killed under a lorry. Long may it continue.
On Thursday morning, having just been out to the car to fetch another load of beer, I meet a journalist from the Q festival daily. This surprised me: not because I had met her per se, but because of her desire to interview me. Of course, the interview wasn’t published, and now I feel used and made worthless by journalism. Or something like that.
I’m off to have my teeth replaced.
Again.
Glastonbury
It was fab.
Had a great time.
Saw lots of bands.
Wore cool shades.
Danced. Lots.
Watched the sun set, rise, slept, repeated.
Recorded to minidisc.
Photographed.
Walked. Lots.
Ate vegan food.
Met hippies.
Saw Eavis in a Rolls Royce.
Interviewed by Q magazine.
Drank beer. And cider.
Forgot about Sheffield.
Became suntanned.
Made friends.
Picked bike up this evening. I shall start to cycle to work. The bike has lived in a cellar for 6 years; before that it lived in a garage; and before that it was used, for a year or so. The Local Bike Shop were all for replacing it as it must be 20 years old. I, however, was all for getting it back on the road. And now it is. Which is a good thing.
Soon it will be Glastonbury…
Voooooosssshhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!
What was that?
– That? That was your life.
Shit. I missed it. Must have been asleep.