Binliners. Wellies. Plastic ponchos. Tins of corn and curry. Plasters. Ephedrine. Oxygen. Arcade Fire. A pink flowered tent. A reunion of rats. A selection of negligees. A red feathered hat. Storms and rain forecast. Helen as my manager. Beave’s number in my pocket. Some nautical el-wire. A faux fur coat. 12 hour shifts. 900 acres full of brits off their faces. On their faces in the mud. A costume made of playing cards. Gritted teeth and a fluttering heart. K-lashnekoff in the dance arena. Vodka and e-coli.

It must be Glastonbury.