Friday kicked off with some embarrassed lounging on the couches of an upmarket Dublin PR agency in my wellies while I waited for a giddy lift home to a giddy-up party. The giddy-up parties are always my favourite part of the weekend; chances are that we won't last long as a posse once we hit the gig. And we didn't - I was soon distracted by boys, Bacardi and other shiny things.
So who did I see? Do you care? You can read all that shit on everyone else's blog, and they do it with more conviction than I do. As for photos, I have one of a circle of wellyboots which every other bastard seems to have too, and one of me wearing a smelly ginger beard. Which I'd rather not post, as it really fucking suits me. That's the trouble with posting about a mass event - my slant on it will be much the same as everyone else's and that does not make for interesting reading.
Still, I did have some adventures. I fished a celebrity photo from my boot for the celebrity in question to sign. It was every bit as mortifying as it sounds. I was kissed by a stranger in a portaloo (he followed me in so that he might finish screaming down the phone at a friend, apologised profusely and then lobbed the gob. I was suitably appalled and secretly delighted). I spent Saturday afternoon at a Beat on the Street party (we had neither Dove nor Tony Fenton so it wasn't a very good Beat) where we made fake wristbands for ballsy friends (you will need: a scanner, colour printer, satin finish photo paper, superglue, punch, duvet buttons and much gumption). I wished a little too loudly on Sunday night that I could be the one sitting on the wheelchair stand with a flesh-eating virus (maybe) in my legs like my friend JT. My legs were not being eaten by a virus though, just chafed by my wellyboots. I'm glad of that today, but I was so wrecked after Rage Against the Machine that I'd probably have traded.
In conclusion: I had fun and lots of it. I'm not too old for this shit just yet.
So who did I see? Do you care? You can read all that shit on everyone else's blog, and they do it with more conviction than I do. As for photos, I have one of a circle of wellyboots which every other bastard seems to have too, and one of me wearing a smelly ginger beard. Which I'd rather not post, as it really fucking suits me. That's the trouble with posting about a mass event - my slant on it will be much the same as everyone else's and that does not make for interesting reading.
Still, I did have some adventures. I fished a celebrity photo from my boot for the celebrity in question to sign. It was every bit as mortifying as it sounds. I was kissed by a stranger in a portaloo (he followed me in so that he might finish screaming down the phone at a friend, apologised profusely and then lobbed the gob. I was suitably appalled and secretly delighted). I spent Saturday afternoon at a Beat on the Street party (we had neither Dove nor Tony Fenton so it wasn't a very good Beat) where we made fake wristbands for ballsy friends (you will need: a scanner, colour printer, satin finish photo paper, superglue, punch, duvet buttons and much gumption). I wished a little too loudly on Sunday night that I could be the one sitting on the wheelchair stand with a flesh-eating virus (maybe) in my legs like my friend JT. My legs were not being eaten by a virus though, just chafed by my wellyboots. I'm glad of that today, but I was so wrecked after Rage Against the Machine that I'd probably have traded.
In conclusion: I had fun and lots of it. I'm not too old for this shit just yet.
