crackerwax

I do, I really do. It just makes no sense.

Why would anyone want to spend three days in Somerset knee deep in mud and piss just so they can watch a few achingly cool indie bands or some washed up old has been that all of a sudden, due to students across the country thinking they’re ironic, has become cool again?

Not only that but you have to pay £150 for the privilege of getting a ticket that you can’t then sell if you don’t need it because it’s got your fucking photo on it, plus if you’re going with friends you have to take a gamble as you’re only allowed to buy two tickets at a time anyway. All this from a website that crashes more often than Lindsey Lohan behind the wheel of a Mercedes.

Then when you do eventually get there, after being stuck in a traffic jam the length of the M5, you have to find a place to put up your tent. A place that regardless of how well you choose it is guaranteed to be beside a complete bunch of arses who appear to have been part of some secret government experiment into sleep deprivation, that means they only need two minutes of sleep a week.

And before anyone dares question me, no I haven’t been. So how can I know, you all might ask? Well I’ve never eaten a dog shit sandwich but I don’t need to do that to reason that it would be a pretty unbearable experience.