A Complete Explanation Of Everything

Last day.

And the wellingtons are beginning to chafe.

An ill advised bout of drunken self righteousness as the lads attempted to put the drunken cavalier to bed lead to sleeping boots outside of the tent for the vast majority of the night.

Up with the birds (for a piss as usual), I surveyed the damage.

The campsite looked godawful. Rob's skull drawings had not improved the outward vista of the tent, it still had that motivated seller look about it, swaying without conviction of gravity in the breeze.

Today would be done.

Stone Cold Sober.

Right, off to the car once more to deposit the gear, I returned (after the 40 min roundtrip) to a mere note and an unclear idea of my kamaradens whereabouts. Within ten minutes, we had once more stumbled upon each other.

Rob was clearly feeling the effects and the last smoothie of the batch wasn't clearing the excess of the night before from his eyes. After I had passed out, the lads moved on to the Bodytonic dance tent... So there was I, suitably refreshed, with a long stone cold sober day ahead and two reprobates for company.

I sought refuge in the comedy tent. An old mate from back home and a former colleague (of sorts, more of a slacker really) was doing a set at 2pm.

It was more a test of endurance than anything else. It's probably 'cos I know the poor bugger. I know how funny he can be, the forced nature of his material just leaves me cold but when we used to work together, we used to have each other in stitches. Mind you, the wider audience seemed to have a good time, so good luck to them all, says I!

I didn't really say that, sitting cross legged in the comedy tent (on the wet grass) had left my legs for dead and as I stood up and quickly fell down again (fuck), it was with a renewed weariness for the trials ahead that I ventured into the unforgiving weather.

It wasn't too bad looking out but it was hardly sun kissed.

Off to Duke Special, the Belfast based troubadour gave a good account of himself. First time I'd ever caught his thing live and it was thoroughly enjoyable, he'd obviously managed to marshall the northern element of the Picnic quite successfully and certainly towards the front, they seemed quite familiar with the material. 40 mins later and a death defying stage dive later Duke took his leave.

I was faced with a difficulty now.

Hang for Neosupervital or go back and catch the lads. In the end, I opted for the comrades when I really should have stuck to my guns. Ten minutes of Hot Chip didn't really do it for me, I probably wasn't in the mood sans alcohol so I wandered towards the at the beach wartime moroseness of Richard Hawley.

Much more my speed on the day. The ex-Pulp man delivered in spades. Despite the indignity of soundchecking his gear personally and the ironic cheers when he reappeared seconds after the soundcheck, he genuinely seemed to warm to the crowd. A fairly full Crawdaddy tent probably, given the competition of four other stages, a couple of dance things and general festival madness, gave the man heart. The band were thoroughly professional, cold and calculating to a degree but managed to portray the songs in their best light. The off kilter between song patter (I'm from Sheffield, England and I'll bleedin' kill ya) gave the thing a nice edge and we all finished happy in ourselves.

Time was killed.

People were getting steadily drunker but I wasn't touching a drop. The newly legislated for random alcohol tests were surely to be in evidence later on that night and in any case, I don't want blood on my conscience and certainly not in that fashion.

Rufus Wainwright... Josh Ritter...

Fuck it.

Where are The Yeah Yeah Yeahs???

You call that NYC?

You call that post-modern rock???

Karen O and gang took the stage at nine pm.

And what a gig. What a gig. The kids are alright.

Rob, Brian and all the gang were steadily getting drunker and more incoherent.

The end was in sight though, The Ys played "Maps" and a few more tunes and left the stage, I said my protracted goodbyes and trudged to safety in the dark of the rural night.

I sat in the car at 10:10pm in that crazy field.

I pondered the correct exit route in the complete absence of signage for a moment.

And turned the ignition.

Home at midnight.

PS> I didn't get breathalysed. Rob did. The next day. He passed though. Yay!