Crisis

There is no beer in the house

And no wine.

And no tonic for the gin; no coke for the vodka.

I drove into town, but it was last orders by the time I found a friendly pub and am I THAT desparate? Proabably yes! But dignity prevailed.

What AM I gonna do..................

Irony

Do me a favour folks; if you happen to run into me on this night next year, buy me a pint... not only is it the end of my pay cycle and I'll be skint; but I could use a decent Aug 30th for a change. I know life is circular but this is ridiculous !! On this basis, I should refuse to touch a motor vehicle tomorrow for fear of decapitation !

Not aiming to put the the boot in myself, but was feeling a little edgy so I gritted my teeth and logged into the hated F board for long enough to attempt to retrieve my old journal and dump it into word format; been putting that job off long enough due to my aversion to the place. Too late. My "gold status" has expired; all my journal entries have been chopped back to 200 characters and I'm not spending the tenner it takes to bump the status back on the offchance that the original data's still in the system because frankly I resent that site getting another farthing from me. Oh well, when my biography's written it'll have to miss about a year of my life.

Here's something you don't see every day

The beast with bits missing. That's one seriously mashed piston, one serious rebuild to come. And still the engine didn't seize and spit me off on my arse up the M69. What a brick built piece of kit.

Just been in town to do the ordering of parts bit. While I was at it, popped into the camerashop to the the bosscam hoovered out... the sensor on that one attracts dust like a Dyson... and tried out my next lens purchase; a luvverly Sigma 50 - 500mm; weighs a ton compared to my 170 - 500 that I'm using at the mo but it's a next generation piece of kit, much better than I'm using right now; and I can handle the weight. All I have to do now is find a very large bunch of pounds I'm not using! That could be a problem !

Greatly exxagerated...

... are any rumours of my demise; I've just been busy. And that damned V fest review took about four days to finish. But still here and tickin', although I AM getting paranoid about every sensation in my chest, every time a any muscle moves (and they do) and feels like it's pulling, every time normal exertion makes breath a percent more heavy than usual.

Been busy, but no time to record and certainly no time to write it up funny. Could tell you about being drafted up to the North Bank to help our guys up there who were struggling to break something naughty out of where it had been hidden very well.... they were farting about with drills and cleverness; Team Smash turned up with big hammers and Hulk attitudes and the job was done in an hour. Or could tell you about leading a close obs team for the first time, but I think I shouldn't. Or could tell you about that while you guys were enjoying the bank holiday sun, I was working and having a horrible time of it too but what's the point. But anyhoo, still here, still alive and desparately working out where I can take some holiday. Twenty six days left to take, my leave year finishes at the end of October, I can only carry over ten and I've got a ghastly feeling that the calendar's already full for those months.

Gonna have to "un-fill" something.

Virgin' on the ridiculous

To set the scene; an old joke.....

"If Star Wars was set in Essex"

Chewbacca would look roughly the same except he'd only be about 5ft tall, from Basildon and called Spanner. He'd have the same amount of body hair but would also have tattoos, would permanently smell of drink and invariably sport either a West Ham or England top.

Obi-Wan Kenobi would invariably be referred to as Chief or Cocker by his mates. People trying to start a fight with him would address him as Oi W*nky-Nobby.

R2D2 would refuse to go out on the streets after 10pm because of the number of drunks who would try to stuff chip papers in his head casing, or urinate on him. He would also refuse to go near groups of young kids at any time because of the high risk of being spray painted and/or dumped in front of aspeeding train and/or set on fire.

Darth Vader would be referred to as 'Elmit Head' or in moments of stress 'that dome-edded c**t'.

Although proficient in over 3500 languages C3P0 would still be unable to understand anything anyone from Essex said. He would regularly get beaten up for being a knacker-faced poof from Rayleigh.

The Millennium Falcon would have static strips, tinted windscreens and extra-flared exhaust ports. It would have a St. George's Cross SUN SUPPORTS OUR BOYS bumper sticker.

Princess Leia would get captured by Darth Vader because it's hard to run very fast when you're wearing 5-inch platform heels and a tiny silver mini-skirt which keeps hiking up over your arse every two steps. And you've been a heavy smoker since you were 6.

The best way to destroy the Death Star would not be a desperate all out attack with small fighter ships. Two easy ways would be to alter its orbit so it passed through Southend seafront, tell the locals it was full of Northern monkeys; or leave it unattended in the Safeway car park.

Lines from the film as they would be now uttered in the Essex:-

Han Solo - 'I've got a real bad feeling about this'
Translation: '****, I'm c**t-faced. I think I should go home before I getin a fight'

Han Solo - 'Bring 'em on! I prefer a straight fight to all this sneaking around.'
Translation 'Come on you facking *******s, al 'ave the lot of yer'

Han Solo - 'Hokey religions and ancient weapons are no match for a good blaster at your side, kid.'
Translation 'Bugger the mumbo - wot I needs is me baseball bat and several facking sharp knifes'

Darth Vader trying to shoot down Luke Skywalker - 'The Force is strong inthis one'
Translation 'You're a facking hard b*stard'

Princess Leia - 'This bucket of bolts is never going to get us past that blockade.'
Translation 'We knackered in this Capri'

Admiral Motti - 'Don't try to frighten us with your sorcerer's ways, LordVader.'
Translation 'You think you're that hard, you northern fat f*ck face w*nker'

Luke to the Emperor -'Your overconfidence is your weakness.'
Translation 'You fink you're well 'ard dunch ya'


I don't much like Essex.

Isn't the first time I've been down in the south east and felt not at home any more. Although to a degree I'm travelled enough that a field with a stage is just another field, these folks down here are quite alien. I've felt more at home in Slovenia; in Yorkshire and god help me, even Lincolnshire. Down there, they're all too noisy, too much to say. Too many noisy, contemptible people, too little time, too few bullets. Don't even think that they realise that Parklife's taking the piss out of them. Certainly the video. Yet for peope who talk too much, they look at you like you've shat in the street if you actually; a stranger; talk to them. Maybe I'm used to Northern manners. No bad thing if you ask me.

Didn't get off to a good start; been doing a run of earlies at the fun factory and I'd not been able to get the time off beforehand to get myself down to Ippo the night before for a nice easy run down; and it was impossible to get the Friday off too; a couple of folks taking sick knackered that for me. So it was working the shift, doing a job or two in town... Baz the bike needed the engine out of the Kwakker so that had to be done... then chucking a piece or two in the bag, grabbing some booze to take and jumping in the funbuggy to head south. 265 miles on the clock from the time of leaving to the time of arriving... I'd thought the GPS's chosen route was pants, so over-ruled it.... big mistake; long story short it was a hateful journey, punctuated by sleep breaks. The good news was that it gave me CD time, proved that the Mad Agnes cd's I bought at Croppers were a good beer purchase, and not rubbish like I've bought before when ale'd and happy. The folks who held my ticket and car park pass were akip by the time I arrived in Essex, so I headed down the road to Margaretting, pulled into a side road and went head down for a few hours.

Up with the lark and sending text messages at the appropriate reasonable hour; I already knew to head for the red car park to head for so made my way there, to be told by a long haired herbert in a fluro' tabard that I couldn't go there, and must go to the purple park at the opposite end of the park. Bah. That meant a long long stomp with the world's heaviest holdall; no tent to carry, but dossbag, and now fully functional airbed and pump, plus all the beer in the world. Must have been thirty kilo's at least. Absolutely cracked at the end of the stroll, seems I'm not as stompy fit as I once was. But then we all know that. As it turned out, the beer was useless due to the fact that V security don't all glass bottles into the camps, we'd forgotten to bring anything to decant them into and I'm too prejudiced to allow myself to buy horrid nasty canned drinks.

Dumped the holdall in the Kev'mobile, cracked a bottle open in defiance of the spirit of regulation and tipped another into the tankard and off to the camp to meet Kev's comfyshoe lady friends who's company I've had the pleasure of before. The tents are jammed in tightly; gives an entirely new meaning to the phrase "concentration camp" but I suspect it's not PC to say that. Oh well. They've even got sentry towers. No, really. All they need is the MG34's on a pintle mount and a storm trooper helmet on the security bloke.

Here's the odd thing, unlike Croppers I've spent the majority of this festival sober; pissing it up on my own stuff's not an option as it's all stashed; they won't let my hip flask in, we're way too lazy to keep trolling back to the cars; and I refuse to drink the over priced rubbish sold by the sponsor, Carling. No, no, no. So it's dry, which is no bad thing for once. Arrrgh! Maturity? Be afraid!!

So it's another stroll from red camp and into the arena; a big old place, five or so stages... only a couple of which I will ever bother with. Plenty of shopping, plenty of food, most of which I will not bother with and lets face it, if I chow down as I might I'd be fifty stone and skint. As opposed to eighteen stone and skint. Ahem. A gem or two though; a couple of new T-shirts procured and the Square Pie stand gets the nod as the food choice of the weekend; although the Chinese gave me the opportunity to play with disposable chopsticks. Ludicrous queues for the booze tokens and the bar... what is it with the British? That they HAVE to drink at a social occasion, even when the odds are so stacked? And they'll drink rubbish. They'd drink their own urine if Carling's advertising were good enough. Even if I liked the stuff, I don't think my liver's so hardened and inflated that I couldn't do without a bevvie for a day if the odds were so incredibly stacked against me. It was absolute madness.

And anyway, the queue for the wine stand was so much shorter :o)

So.......... music. Five stages, impossible to do everything, don't want to either. Kev had printed off intineries, so no need to buy one of those plastic coated card sets and neck lanyards that they sell. Yay! A tenner saved! Strolled in just in time to catch the end of the Proclaimers set... think I should add them to the list of bands I want to see in their own right; always quite liked them to be honest. Does that cost me a hundred credibility points? Of course they've got their own romper stomper set finisher and we all know what that is, and indeed they finished with it so nothing unpredictable there. Wandered over via lunch to catch a bit of The Thrills, whom I'd heard an interview with on Radio 2 a few weeks back and they were jolly enough, before it was off to the JJB tent to catch Sinead O'Connor who I don't mind spending time to see at all, think she dislikes the world more than I do so not necessarily a jolly set but a bloody good one and the audience, although large wasn't worthy of her; they didn't liven up until she played "nothing compares 2u"... thanks to Ms Winehouse's system cracking under the strain, she didn't show up to play ("gonna make me go to rehab, I say yes, yes, yes") and the timing of this tent was all gone to cock as a result; thus Sinead extended her set by twenty minutes or so, and the moron's were stressing because somebody called "Dizzee Rascal" should have started his / her / it's / I dunno set and and was showing no sign of doing so. Moron's. My first seethe of the festival. So onwards from the tent of fools to the Channel 4 stage where it's time to see another fool; Babyshambles. You know, if Pete Docherty ever gives up the drugs and the lifestyle of destruction, I swear the bottom will fall out of his record sales overnight. I don't belive for a second that people go for the songs which are average at best, but for the morbid curiosity of what the chemical dump is going to do next. Maybe explode on stage? As it was, it wasn't a bad set. He was his usual blunted self, pretty enjoyable but god help us if he ever starts acting like a professional. Afterwards, caught a bit of Ocean Colour Scene; they're a band who do what they do very well, but personally just don't flip my switches, I *like* them, they're very good; they just don't move me in any way at all. So I mooched at the back and waited for the next band to come on; it would appear that many thousand people don't share my apathy. Good for OCS. Their income would be a bit knackered if that were the case. As it was, the crowd was packed, singing, and even singing as they left. Which was nice.

And time for Jarvis, of the family Cocker. For a skinny bloke from Sheffield with floppy hair and a very dodgy pair of glasses, he puts on a helluva show; a glorified stepper on top of the monitor speakers for him to prance on in a bizarre "crane" kung fu styleey before belting out some damned good songs, most of which to my shame I didn't know; that's the problem with Croppers and V - they do tend to muck up my CD purchase plans for the rest of the year. Fashionable he is not. And he knows it. And he plays on it. And I know full well that it's ungrammatical to start a sentence with "and". Tough. I liked him. He's a bit like Morrissey to my mind; really good live, even though he really SHOULDN'T be. Experienced enough to know that his weaknesses are actually his strengths. Another for the "look out for a solo tour" list. Caught a little bit of Happy Mondays on the way to the main stage.... I mean, I can't believe Bez is STILL getting paid for that dancing he does. He's rubbish. Really. But they seemed ok, then onto the main stage for Foo Fighters, who believe it or not, although I've been following them for EEEEEK years; I've never seen live. Had the chance in 2002, but I went to a bike show with an ex instead and in fairness, found a crash helmet that fitted which is a rarity for me. So, the Foo's.... just HOW does Dave Grohl manage to not drop a note; not sing a bum line; not step out of role by one degree all night and at the end of it all, make it look so EASY !!! It's not fair. That much talent in one human being. And to add insult to injury, by all accounts he's one of the nicest and grounded human beings in music; sneaked out an unannounced acoustic set on one of the smaller stages earlier today, shame I missed that. DAMNED good show. Lots of tracks from The Colour and the Shape; my fav' of their old albums, the one that's got the best emotional hook for me. I felt a bit out of it though, and a little sterile where I was stood, towards the rear of the gig. Maybe to watch for one of their indoor shows, go forward and get a bit more atmosphere without the claustrophobia of being at the front of this sea of people; they're touring in November. Birthday treat maybe. My god, how did I ever get to be staring down both barrels of thirty seven?

SUNDAY.... festival standard, I should be feeling like my head's been caved in with a beer barrel at this point. I'm not. The glass bottle ban, my laziness in not being arsed to retrieve bevvies from the car as I need them and the fact that my hip flask of single malt just isn't doing it for me is biting, but that's no bad thing. But instead of the hangover, every one's confined to tent anyway. The weather is miserable, it's chundering down with rain and it seems set in. G'ah. A good job that books DID make it as far as my bag. Polished off my latest Le Carre purchase waiting for the hour to come where it's necessary to slop my way back through the mud to music central; then let down the air bed, stowed all the gear back in the holdall; and took my route to the gig via the car park, as my road was straight home afterwards and into work at six the following day, unlike most of the other folks who get to overnight for a second one. Bah. Damned be the job. The problem was of course, this involved a trip to the car on the way in; which meant to find the guy and gals again I had to hitch up with them inside the arena which turned out to be impossible. All mobile phone commss in that arena are dodgy at best; text's tend to stack up and only come through ten minutes after you've left; or delay by hours and direct voice comms just don't happen. I presume it's down to overload on the masts, or something equally techhy. Anyway, it meant another day mooching on my own which was a bit of a bummer; solo at festivals is no fun, I always maintain that any experience is lessened if there's nobody there to share it with. Add to that the fact that I'm never generally at my best when I'm hemmed in fifty deep just in getting from A to B, and the fact that I really don't like the smell of cannabis, and damnit I was sober; I was getting a bit grouchy at times. Felt pretty alone, and damn these drunken festival'llers who all want to use MY bit of air as a thoroughfare - get there on time or stand at the back, you bastards. More time to get grumpy at the commercial rip off nature of V compared to Croppers, or even the Isle of Wight.

Buy, buy, buy, buy, buy.

Bye!!!

Not my scene, that. The phrase "too old and maybe even too wise for that sh*t" springs to mind. In fact by now you'll be getting the impression that I don't much like the V festival. You'd not be far off actually; it's just the excellent music and mates that brings me back. Which lets face it, is the reason for going there in the first place, so hey ho.

So.... the day's entertainment.... best T-shirt of the day, a draw between "Finish your pint, there's sober kids in Africa" and "London smells of piss", both of which drew a chuckle. The music for me kicked off with Marc Ronson, the latest wunderkind who's ticket to A list fame and fortune is a covers album and a Smiths cover. Ronson himself? Middle class, white, amazingly self congratulatory and up his own arse, probably likes to think of himself as a hip-hop Jools Holland with a big band. I'm afraid I took an instant and major dislike to the bloke. A "re-imagining" of Sulk by Radiohead doesn't help. Leave "The Bends" alone. Step away from the classic album. Nothing for you to do here. Mind you, the vocalist on the "Stop me if you've heard this one before" cover is excellent and deserves a future somewhere in soul.

Ain't no way I'm going to see McFly, so strolled over to catch a bit of the Fratelli's, another new big thing that's getting lots of airplay. Jolly songs, nicely played but they're not really flipping my switches for me in any big way; I stroll across to the Channel 4 stage and it's time for Mika who should at least be interesting. Well, for starters I approve of his inflatable plastic pal. Didn't I once date her?

Apologies for the awful picture quality, I was down to using digital zoom and that's always dreadful. I also approved of the supersized dancing girls in identical costumes to Rosie here who came on for "big girls, you are beautiful"; I approved of aforementioned dancing girls coming back on in pink dresses with bunny ears, complete with about a dozen dancers in animal costumes, giant rabbits and the such dancing around for the incredibly camp finale, the predictable "Grace Kelly"; I approved of our squeaky singer; in fact, oddly for my tastes, the whole show which was as camp as a row of tents gets a "Mike came here and said it was good" rating, bloody good entertainment. Maybe a watchout for more live shows.

And onto Lilly Allen. Look, I didn't set out to see her set; I just bought a plate of noodles and had to sit down to eat them as it was a plastic fork job, not chopsticks as I was hoping. I'm aware she's very popular with some folks and who am I to criticise that? But lets be clear about this; a posh voiced rich girl singing about bedsit life and crummy boyfriends in lager pubs on housing estates; in a mockney accents is fraud. "Everybody at the front dance, I've never had a mosh pit before". Awwww sweetheart, wouldn't daddy buy you one? I've been in proper mosh pits, if you saw one you'd shit yourself. What's that Morrissey lyric from Reader meet author?

"You don't know a thing about their lives; they live where you wouldn't dare to drive; you shake as you think of how they sleep; but you write as if you all lie side by side"

Anyway. I think she's false. I don't like her. At all. Competent enough show, I just think her act stinks. And she swears way too much and that also feels false. I smiled when the yank passport control banned her; wish ours would too.

But that's OK, I finished my noodles and was able to scuttle off to watch James who were different in that I actually WANTED to see them. "Sit down" is on the list of songs to be played at my funeral, it's just that cool. For some reason I consider Tim Booth a very very very cool human being indeed; I loved his Judas in the Manchester Passion a year or so back, even though I was shouting the old Suzanne Charlton joke "eat some FOOOOD" at the TV whenever he was on. I can't explain why he appeared to be wearing a skirt at V; but I can confirm he was thumbing noses at the fun police all over the place; with a spot of very forbidden crowd surfing, and breaking the imposed ban on inviting the audience up on stage during their set to dance by sneaking out before their set and inviting lots of them backstage in secret to do it anyway. Heheh. That's my sort of rock star. And I love their songs. All in all a very cool set indeed. They've only done a few, since reforming in a limited style and I think they're going to be well worth looking out for, hope they keep it up.

So the day's ending. Most of these guys here are staying for the full setlist but I don't have the option. For starters, I don't really care for The Killers who are headlining on the main stage; Basement Jaxx could tempt, but the bottom line is I need to be on the road and heading north by half nine; at the coalface for six in the morn'. Two hundred miles to cover. I watched a little bit of Kasabian who seem to be one of the acts of the moment, who were competent enough but didn't really ring my bells; then strolled over via the Manic Street Preachers who did their thing and did it well... although it's a little bit of a question why this famously anti militaristic band are all wearing forces surplus in some way shape or form; then onto my final act of the festival, and the rocking'est is saved til last.

And the oldest. If I'm still giving out that sort of energy at that age, I shall have been downwind of a cocaine storage warehouse explosion at some point. I don't do it NOW! I've never done it! Iggy Pop. The guy's a freakin' marvel, and a very good use of an hour of my time. Spray on jeans still at half mast; still not wearing underwear; still can't seem to afford a shirt (put it away man, you're sixty one!); still roaring about like a punk monster generator on amphetamene; climbing the stage structure, and "Iggy fishing" going on as the roadie's desparately up on stage trying to feed him mic' cable for yet another foray into the audience. I'm stood there with a shit eating grin on my face fully realising I've not seen a commited performance to match since I saw Ozzy in '91 at Brixton; Theatre of Madness mini tour, before he turned into a fat shaking "clown prince of darkness". There and now, I was aware I was watching genius at work. Songs, not clever. Brutally effective, not clever, but they don't need to be more. The whole package is very very cool indeed and it's the right way to finish, because it's time to go.

Then the stroll out of the site and the drive home; just water and sweets to sustain me; a better route selected. In fact the usual route from Ipswich to here; just with the A12 from Chelmsford thrown in, about two hundred miles. But hell, I was tired. I seem to have set a "falling asleep at the wheel but not crashing" record of some kind; there were two separate occaisions on a route I've driven so many times that I thought I could do it with my eyes shut that I realised I actually had. Two "Where am I and how the hell did I get here" moments. And with one of them, I still don't know!

Damned if I can work it out . Back in one piece though, and nobody died so I guess that's alright then. Ahem!

Bad news

And still it comes.

The big cat on my back... and forgive the old style fat lardy body, it was a long while ago; is Ken, my mates Jon and Shezza's cat. Looked like Felix on steroids did Kenny. Cute black and white shorthair, built like a brick shitehouse. Scars on his nose from previous scraps, basically the neighbourhood enforcer; he lived with a pack of five cats and he kept the territory clear for them; any cat that didn't live in that house had be pretty damned careful on that territory. But a really, really nice cat with people for such a bruiser; always remembered his Uncle Shadey when I went down that way for a visit.

Died this morning after a growth in his throat started causing serious problems.

R.I.P. big lad, give Hamish a groom from us.

Cropredy tales.... for those visual people

Well, I've come to the conclusion that my Olympus ain't cracking what it aught to be for stage shots any more; the new generation of Canon's have it licked in all respects so static shots are where it's at here in the main.

The Cropredy Tales

OK, that's our piss-poor Chaucer reference for the day.

It seems an eternity since that almost completely stress free weekend. In fact, it seemed like an eternity a day or so after it, but we know the reasons for that now. What's a Cropredy? To be precise, the "Fairport Cropredy Convention". Croppers is a village in Oxfordshire where the thing's been held for years; and the "convention" bit refers to the fact that it's a big folk festival, run by the band "Fairport Convention". Aha. Makes sense now, doesn't it. Now, I'm not a big folky (whaddayamean, I'm eighteen stone) - but a whole bunch of my best mates ARE and it's always a jolly trip down for big beer, a lovely venue, a nice festival atmosphere without a lot of the old toss that goes on at other places, pleasant musak to fill the time with and did I mention the beer?

So.... one rubbish journey. Loaded the Kwakker up for bear and headed south, but the roads were rubbish; the M1 appalling. Unusually, this one starts on a Thursday but I was pushing it to get there in time to see anything. Luckily the roads opened up enough for me to give it a certain amount of beans towards the end of the journey and make up jolly time, but as I arrived I noticed the engine was running rough. Hmmm, a bit of a concern, this. BUT.... probably the rest would do it good over the next couple of days, clear the fuel out of the carbs and it'd all be fine for the trip back. More of this later....



Got in touch via the joys of SMS with the long established beer buddy, good buddy and all 'round good egg Mr Ginger Chris who came out of the gig (a nice friendly "in out" security policy here, no hassles or oppressive security) and sorted me out with the important business of the day, somewhere to place my tent in a crowded field and something brown and nice to put in my tankard. To my shame, I can't actually remember what this was, mainly due to the fact that once we ran out of the stuff, they were selling Hook Norton Old Hooky in the cricket club at £2.50 a pint, and the festival organisers don't mind you taking your own beer into the arena. Delayed as I was, I arrived in good time to get a tent up, get a couple down my neck, change out of sweaty riding clobber and stroll into the arena just in time to see the headline act. Yay! And what an act. Jools Holland and full entourage. How cool is he? The answer to that is very. I'll forgive him monopolising new year television since Pontious was a pilot; I'll forgive him trying to look hard in RayBan Aviators, leather jacket and cigarette in the Cool for Cats video and I'll even forgive him the one bum note all night. Hell, he can play. And his band are no slackers; Lulu on solo vocals; Ruby Turner defying physics and gravity... I've never seen a woman with so much knockers in comparison to the size of her body, must have got depleted uranium heels on her shoes to handle the balance. Ahem. Good singer too.... Incredible brass section, didn't realise they made so many kinds of sax and trombone; speaking of trombone, he's got Jamaican legend Rico Rodriguez playing, and incredible he is too. Anyway, cheers for the heads up information that he's a fine night out to where cheers are due; a very fine set was played and we adjourned back to the camp for beer, schnapps, silllibitch and discomfort. This is where Millets of this town get a minor bum note, as the battery powered air pump they sold me for the airbed that I bought turned out to be totally duff - literally a non starter - so hunker down on the flood distorted fields of Cropredy I did, comfortable they are not.

FRIDAY... So the morning arrived. I couldn't stop it. You'd call it waking, if you'd call that sleep. I didn't. More like dozing and turning over every fifteen minutes when you get sick of the ground poking in bits of you. Not fun in any way shape or form. Neither is the fact that I'm camping fifteen yards away from the camp bogs, but they are in far far far better state than most festival karsey's you'll ever see, regularly maintained and the smell you get is only one of chemicals if the wind's blowing in the right direction. Resisted getting up until I heard familiar voices; SouthernSophie had dragged herself over from her tent and was chinwagging with the ever lovely Sal; GC's lovely other half and another all 'round good egg. Pulled on a vintage Corps T-shirt and dragged myself out of my pit and made my morning greetings; GC was moving too which was quite amazing considering he used to be hangover king in my social group... was great to drink with, because you knew when you saw him in the morning, you'd feel better about yourself 'coz there's not any way on earth you could ever replicate the walking dead look that he had. Clearly a settled life is good for him! Bacon brekkie, cups of tea and first degree burns from kettle splash for a couple of people courtesy of the hospitable camp, and then off to the cricket club for the first beer of the day, and a mass flagon refill before we strolled in for more of the jolly stuff, which duly kicked off with an American trio called Mad Agnes... I find it hard to hold any prejudice against three folks who kick off by saying "Hi, we're from America but please don't hold that against us". Possibly a little over gushing of their new found love of England - they've been here a month to stay, and are based up in the Yorkshire countryside - but then, if they love Yorkie' they're fine by me, let's be honest, I'm not completely unbiased about that place myself. Wobbled over and picked up a couple of their CD's; which to my shame as Mr Far-Too-Cool-For-Such-Nonsense. I duly got signed by the band. Oh well, nobody need know. Except my mates. And the entire Internet. Oh damn. Is it too late to stop this post? Ah.

Other highlights of Friday... Viva Santana; difficult to get excited about what's basically a tribute band but credit where it is due, they really are excellent, exciting and get a crowd up. That's a tick in the box for a band to go and see if they're ever in the neighbourhood. It would appear that Hispanic guitar rock is just what the doctor orders to make fat women shake their arses in sunlight.

Oh, and onstage, Onslow was the the compere for the day. Weirdness. No, really. The ac-TOR from Keeping Up Appearances. Does it every year, the man's a fan.

And then Show of Hands. Pretty much regarded as gods in the British folk world, and very excellent they are too; two guys, the multi-instrumentalist Phil Beer who is by all accounts a grounded and excellent geezer, and has far more ability than it's fair for one man to have; and a chap called Steve Knightly who managed to get on my tits very quickly in this set by being over-preachy, over political, over-liberal and then had me grumbling for the rest of the set... the dual position of "shite, these songs are excellent" with " I don't give a TOSS what your opinions are, jam them down my throat NOT, sir !!". Duality of approach, don't you love it. "An artist is a bloke who can hold two fundamentally opposing views and still function." Scott Fitzgerald, was it? Plagiarised via John Le Carre of course :o). To demonstrate the fundamental hypocrisy of my position, loved "cousin Jack"; "country life" and the one about the tin miners..... while "Santiago" and "Britannia" made my teeth grind. And the one they encored with? Something about roots? Need to know what that one is too. Damn, the duality of it all. And more "little bit of politics" from Richard Thompson, origional Fairport member and left flank radical; but he's a total guitar god and I spent most of the set filling my face anyway. Remember the Dave's Insanity Sauce reference? Think that was today. Anyhow, the good news is that thanks to the strange bloke called James who moved in to the patch of grass next to me - a very odd chap with a goatee and a banjo who also had an air pump; I now had a fully functional airbed and no longer had to make combat with the undulations of the Cotswold countryside if I wanted to get any rest....

SATURDAY... Who left that dinosaur roaming loose in the campsite that crapped in my mouth in the small hours? Distinctly unhealthy start to the day, basically woke up dead. Revived significantly on the promise of tea, and once sat down was fed raspberries for brekkie and Private Eye to read so that's an improvement than the cat's arse in my face and works coffee to start the morning with. A visit to the karsey's made me wish I hadn't, then returned to the village shop where they were queueing twenty minutes to obtain mineral water, orange juice and bog roll. Back in via the cricket club bar to raid the last barrel of Old Hooky... another flagon full and another tankard to get the first drink of the day down my neck. Hooky's one of the better ones for that; overstrong as it is, it's always fresh enough to taste and always pleasant to drink, no matter how many tyrannosaurus dangleberries are stuck in between your teeth.

The thing with croppers is that it's full of old hippies, new hippies, wannabe types and alternatives without making it as in your face as say, Glastonbury. It doesn't feel forced. Where else do I get chilled / drunk enough to lay on my back in the middle of a grassy field, lay back and and simply think and say "I like that cloud"?....

..... (that one actually)

.... and get away with it? Where else could I get away with such appalling punctuation? And where else could I be still on my feet after drinking this much beer in two days?

Highlights of the day; running into the Saints mob in the crowd and playing the "pegging game" with them and having all kinds of strange wines and spirits forced down my neck; "Giveway", a new Scottish folk band made up entirely of nubile young sisters, mmmmm; The Strawbs... massive "old hippy" rating for this bunch and a massive bit of North Easterness quality and fun from Billy Mitchell (former Lindesfarne bloke) and Bob Fox (all round folk singing god) who've duo'd up for a couple of summers now, before the traditional Fairport Convention headline spot. Yeah, I know it's a bit samey to have the same band every year but it's their festival and they'll star if they want to. It's a very together experince for the regular Fairportisti of which there are thousands, and it predictably finshes up with the finale of "Meet on the Ledge", a gratuatously sentimental folk anthem about the solidity of old friendships, and lets face it, everyone likes that sort of song, especially those folks who've got old friends who are just brilliant.

Wouldn't catch me singing along to that while holding hands with a big bunch of mates in a big ring, oh no.

Ten ton day

We interrupt these folk festival ramblings, because today's quite heavy, I could use some venting space and it's my blog and I'll whinge if I want to. N'yer. Extremely heavy in fact.

Problem one. My bike's in bits. Very expensive bits. Started running rough and smoking like a Red Arrow, literally, from the left exhaust on the way home from Croppers. Pulled over at Leicester services, got a recovery wagon out and had Baz the Bike take a look at it today.... head gasket failure would be a LUXURY here. We're not sure yet of the extent of the rebuild necessary yet. But there's oil everywhere there shouldn't be, there's a squashed, chopped, smashed up thing that used to be a spark plug.... quite amazing really, Baz hasn't a clue how it happened and that's from forty odd years of spannering. Maybe a piston bearing coming loose and whacked it? Who knows. The bike limped on for mile after mile before I decided to spot the problem, then check it out... amazing engine. But it's all bad news. Well, nearly all. Half my bike is in the shed in bits, and I shall take advantage of this to clean the bits I can't normally reach.

Problem two is even less funky. Got summoned to the hospital. The chest thing. I've fooled every ECG test known to man, but the big radioactive camera test they gave me a while back is less than happy with me. Abnormalities. Possibility of coronary heart disease. Big invasive tests, minor surgery are on order and a ton of chest drugs until then. Worst case scenario will be heart bypass. At thirty six. I cannot stress enough how much I do not want to be sat up here on my own tonight. And I do not know how the hell I'm going to tell my mum.

Lifestyle hints and tips.....

Condiments for burgers, ah yes. I've discovered an important tip to enhance your enjoyment of meat based products; in this case very tasty buffalo burgers. Not the first time I've had buffalo and I enjoy it; they grow it... ahem... in Yorkshire and all good meaty home grown things are to be found in that fine food county. Anyhoo.... back to the condiment advice. IF you happen to encounter a small bottle of red liquid marked "Dave's Insanity Sauce"...... LEAVE THE F*CKER ALONE !!!! NOTHING TO SEE HERE !!! WALK AWAY !!! NOTHING GOOD WILL HAPPEN !!! Thanks to that god awful stuff I had to have two dinners in quick sucession, one a very nice buffalo burger, and the other the veggie pitta, humous and apple juice I had to have immediately afterwards to reboot my mouth, immune system and pain receptors.

More tales from the Cropredy Folk Festival to come....

Fallout from old explosions

A tad annoyed at the moment; off camping late today for the weekend; secured most of my gear. EXCEPT, importantly that nice blue inflatable mattress of mine and associated electric air pump. Been all over the house, no sign of it, and I haven't used it for about a year. Pretty sure in fact I've not seen it since I loaned it to FLoH for her damned cursed house party thirteen months ago.

I was an utter grouchbag that night, crammed in a house with a bunch of folks some of whom I didn't much care for; a few that I actively disliked and at least one of which I'd promised a bang in the chops a month or so previously but had to withhold as .... well, you just don't do that sort of thing at your other half's bash, no matter how creepy the little bastard is that's earned your ire, how much he really, really deserved it and how much even now you bear a grudge. In fairness it wasn't her fault; on the face of it, it was a good party, she'd worked her arse off to make it excellent; it was just that I was expected to be pleasant to people I could't abide, and I've never been able to master that kind of duplicity. I hated it, as off colour as it's possible for me to get. A no win situation; the right thing to do would have been to bug out and go into town on my own, but I felt under pressure to support so I just sweated it out and apparently inadvertantly insulted almost everybody there. Heheheh, with hindsight that's not a bad track record.

ANYHOO.... the upshot of this is that I'm almost certain that that my nice comfy dark blue mattress and yellow air pump is still over in North Yorkshire. If anyone reads this that passes on messages, I'd quite like it back.... gonna have to lay out fifty quid or so for new gear, but that's not the point.

And now the damned Police helicopter is hovvering over this part of town; have they no shame? People want to sleep ! I want to sleep ! I'm off to work on the ten foot long banner with "F*CK OFF PLOD" written large on it.....

Wisdom; and nite shift tales

Know what folks, there is a school of thought; and quite a wise one at that, which says that it's folly to mix beer and wine and past experience has taught me that it might well be correct. It certainly may a bad idea to finish it up with Pizza and garlic mushrooms at this hour of the night. But since when have you known me go with any form of conventional wisdom? And I ain't startin' now.

Other things we; or specifically I.. have learned this week is that if you've got to do the nocturnal 100 metres sprint then the combination of steelie boots, body armour, gortex camo jacket and well loaded rucksack aren't the ideal gear to be doing it in, and ingrown toenail is not the best body adornment to have for that occaision. Methnks I'm really going to have to reconsider my "out on foot, waiting for people" gear for the future. Not that we've done that before, can be excused for getting it wrong and we caught the bad guys anyway so all's well. Two lots in two nights, healthy results and everyone's happy for once. Except the bad guys. And I'm ok with that.

Kevlar's in this season, don'tcha know

The hottest days of the year so far, and humid evenings. Where am I? Sleeping through the day and spending the nights in dark places expiring from the heat wrapped up in an, erm, really tight protective jacket with a gortex camo jacket slung over the top of it. Last night was professionally "interesting", and I'd say I'd lost about half a stone in sweat if the big lardy barstard in the mirror didn't tell me better. Usual drill, no names, no pack drill but in the sticks, climbing things, sweating lots, having success but the usual price, utterly knackered today. A pity, as the body clock had adjusted fairly and this spell of nights was going better than others.

No time to run the bike in the weather which is a shame, but I don't have the energy or the inclination. Too much to do here, a bit of cleaning started yesterday daytime, should be doing more but too sweaty and tired at the mo; need to get a wash on to deal with my greasy trousers that weren't greasy until last night - don't ask - before work tonight. One day I shall tell all in my scurillous memoirs, read it then in bits in your Soaraway Sun.....

Life affirmation

Ah, going for a fast drive, late a summer's night, all the windows and sunroof open and the Foo Fighters "Colour and the Shape" album cranked up as loud as the stereo'll take it. Reminds you why you draw breath, I tell ya; as much fun as it's legal to have in a ten year old Vectra anyway without getting the disk cutter out and making an instant convertable.

Need to get a fix of that, the fun factory have switched me on to four ten hour night shifts at short notice; my project workload's been doubled at a stroke and I'm a little miffed with it all. And speaking of fixes of clean air and better beer, received a text from FLoH last night; apparently I'd hate Slovenia now... the Euro's come in, the beer's gone expensive and the food's gone westernised. Well sorry, you'll have to work a damned sight harder than that to make me hate that country; apparently Roman's still there running his naughty bar and how he's doing lethal cocktails. If I can still get a heart-attack burger and onions somwhere in the country, sights set for autumn. I can't get a superior bottle of Sillibitch in this country.