I am unable to find words for the black cloud currently tainting my intestines with rage and jealousy. The fundamentals of summer (festivals festivals festivals) have once again given me a big fat reality slap straight in the face. An so, once again, I ask myself - the fucking champion of worrying about the future, WHY oh WHY didn't I get hold of some festival tickets this year EITHER? What is it I find so absolutely addictive about sitting in front of my computer trying to pretend that I don't want to be part of the muddy, STD filled, eargasm wrestling match that is a festival? What is so fucking hilarious about sitting at home trying to ignore the feeling of missing out big time when I've had just as good chance as anyone else to claim tickets for the tenting mayhems?
WHY AM I SUCH AN OLD BITCH?
The reason behind my new found rant need is, of course, Radiohead playing Glasto in about four and a half hours. I feel sick with jealousy. Absolutely fucking numb. And the ironic and worst part of it all is that I will listen to and watch Radiohead on TV tonight and cry my fucking eyes out. The standard way of solving any life crisis naturally.
So when you find my eyeless carcass tomorrow morning, crunched up in front of the TV in a pool of blood, Mnm's and Skittles, please thank my mum for my purple legwarmers who kept me company right to the very end. And please, let my story be told. Tell the kids, tell the infants, plant a speaker in every fucking womb and for God's sake TELL THEM. Tell them to plan their summer PROPERLY and EARLY to avoid this tormenting anxiety that is watching Glastonbury on a 12" screen knowing that you could have been right in the very middle of it.
I used to be alright, now what the fuck happened?