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Once darkness descended, being on my own, I was a little unsure what to do with all the stuff. I pretty much decided I’d store it all in the car, and hope any thieves stayed away. I’d more-or-less decided that this first night I’d just “stay in”, and leave the partying to Saturday night, but the necessity of getting my sleeping bag from the car meant I was going to have to get up. It was then that I realised I couldn’t find my keys. A frantic time was spent searching for them in the tent, before getting out to search around the car, in vain. A bit more searching and I was getting worried. I decided to ask the security, who had the innovative idea of using a brick. It was also suggested I speak to some people elsewhere on the site, so I left everything to do this. This proved fruitless. I was actually worried I might have left them in the boot of the car, which locks after just being closed, ie. without having to use the keys.


Well, then I decided, sod it, I’ll go and have a dance. Being camped pretty much right next to the two dance tents meant I was unlikely to get much sleep anyway, whether or not I had the keys, so off I went to boogie, my new wind-up torch in hand which served as an amusing prop. I chanced upon a gentlemen who informed me he’d taken some ketamine. Why is it that whenever someone mentions the word ketamine, they always feel they have to add the words “it’s a horse tranquiliser you know”? I mean really, this is probably common knowledge to the extent that, when interviewing mental patients to test their sanity, psychiatrists might as well ask, after the question, “Who is the Queen of England?”, “And apart from assisting people get off their tits, what is ketamine also used for?”


After a shortish bit of boogieing, and after bumping into Barry again, I sauntered back tentwards, only to find the keys instantly, nestled under the airbed (even though I must’ve looked beneath it probably 6 times previously), and with drum’n’bass booming in my airs, I settled down to sleep.


The interesting thing about camping is that, were it not for the necessity of getting up to go for a piss, you would probably stay in your tent for a lot longer. So, with my bladder as alarm clock, I got up pretty early, went to a local shop for a paper, some water, a Mars, and some batteries for my ipod thing, before once again setting up shop.


I needn’t have worried setting up so early – around 9.30am – as once again, punters weren’t due in for another couple of hours, so I cracked open the first beer of the day, put my feet up, read the paper, and contemplated a day of hard selling ahead.


The weather was good, as forecast – I even felt the need to apply suncream at one point. Sales were slow, but steady. If I’d had a pound for everyone who asked if the magazine was a programme for the festival, I could have retired to a small mid-Wales cottage, and had enough


28


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