A Complete Explanation Of Everything

I feel like crap.

The wind and rain are literally howling outside of the tent, Mr. Bridges (unfortunately), lies comatose to my side and Mr. Naik can be heard emitting loud, sonourous type sounds from the seperate 2 man compartment of the overall 6 man tent which is really only suitable for 3-4 people.

It's early.

It's a festival.

And you are dying for relief.

The hedge beckons.

For dis relief much thanks Horatio as Spike Milligan would say.

So. Later.

After an advanced chat with Brian about the state of Irish politics, activism and our roles within that particular milieu. I adjourned to my vehicle to retrieve the wellington boots. It had rained overnight and the ground now demanded respect.

Boots secured and the 40 min roundtrip thereabouts endured, Rob still being pretty dead to the world, myself and Brian headed off to see Dublin band, The Things. Arch-purveyors of psycho-billy rock and consumate performers to go with. At midday, with a stonking hangover there really is nothing better and although the lead singer didn't treat us to the usual hand shoved down his own trousers treatment, they were still full value for money.

Saturday was a good day at the Picnic. We broke up the day at Fable (Jane's fair trade t-shirt shtick) and the rain kept off mostly and with that, wellington boot armoured as we were, things were fine.

Lying there with the gang, reminiscing with Jimmy and Siobhan about our respective memories of New Zealand all seemed rather well with the world and so it should. I could drink till the sun went down. Sunday would be an entirely different day.

I found my way to the main stage for Michael Franti (ex-Spearhead) and what a joy that was. Seriously. Ok, it was politics-lite, in an Eagle-Eye Cherry kind of vein but I wasn't complaining, it just about summed up my mood and I take my upbeat positive vibes where I can get 'em.

Hearing Monsieur Franti describe his experiences busking in Palestine and Israel really uplifted me, here was a guy who understood (at least in my conception) that to be sympathetic to the Palestinians didn't necessarily exclude or excuse their Israeli brethren.

With these happy thoughts I ran around the festival site, made a prayer for love, peace and beer at the non-denominational altar that Siobhan had going (her installation in the body & soul section of the festival) and debated with Christian the dubious merits of astrology.

I did not feel that my life was mapped in the stars but was totally within my grasp.

My velocity and orbit completely controlled by my own celestial body.

Then Broken Social Scene rocked our socks.

Canadian hipsters hoy, a beautiful blend of melancholy and noise rock. The Electric Arena, a communal church of non-denominational worship. Mebbe the hooch was kicking in... Lord knows...

At this point, the evening became fuzzy (but the knowing looks the next day told me I had a good time) and the end approacheth.

New Order took the main stage and we joined communally, in the spot that had been written. To the right of the sound desk.

A girl was dancing beside me.

"How does it feel? To treat me like you do?"