Last day of the festival and I’m pretty much over it, which is so not me. It’s been stressful and too much like hard work for my liking. The radio has totally monopolised the whole thing and my feature has proven to be a small nightmare saved only by my cheating and my friend’s willingness to help me cheat. Bless them. Doing a good job and not fucking up was always the main priority of this weekend and I'm determined to not walk away a loser.
I am so all about getting it wrapped up and getting out of there today and so crack on with the job at hand.
Where had I left off yesterday? Ah yes… the blow up guitar signed by Lips from Anvil gets swapped for a necklace, which is also a bottle opener and has written some random “funny” statement on it. Because the group who did this swap were drunk, had a flag, had covered one of their mates in marker pen cocks and were all pretty rowdy and up for pissing about on radio. Score.
Then I find a young girl from Scotland who is celebrating her birthday who swaps the necklace for a dozen sheets of bog roll. She is ecstatic to be on air, and bog roll is gold dust at a festival right?! I am on a winning streak.
I meander on back to the artist area to see how the signed poster is coming along and it’s not. One person has signed it and it has been shoved under a desk, clearly it will not be covered in band names after all. Whatev’s I don’t have time to stop and worry, that will be a winging it situation for later. I have a potential swap in my sights and she is strolling right on over to me. Rita, the late Dimebag Darrell’s missus is about to save my arse the good sport that she is. After explaining my quest to her she agrees to swap my humble bog roll for three Dimebag guitar picks, now we’re getting somewhere.
Imagine everyone’s face when her voice comes on air, fucking genius surprise! After that it’s a straight swap for the poster and off to the Jager tent with my mate to finish up. I nearly cried when he passed me that bottle and I passed him back the “signed” poster. I fell to the ground in mock exhaustion and screamed my head off.
Soon as I can I run back to the radio station and stash the end prize in my bag so that no one knows if I succeeded or not till the end feature. This didn’t get nicked which looking back is a wonder ‘cause my fucking ipod nano did.
I had some time to kill before the end show on Sunday evening after finishing off the recordings for my feature and so managed to catch some bands but alas missed seeing a whole heap of goodness due to running around trying to get my job done.
Sunday was definitely the day for good music. Bands like Trigger the bloodshed, God forbid, Volbeat, Clutch and Karma to burn were all noted down for my viewing pleasure/interest when I first saw the line up. I don’t think I actually saw any of them. I hung with a few of them in the artist area which was pretty rad, but due to work commitments and In part due to the fact I am utter shit at remembering that there are bands playing that I really want to see I missed them all. Twat. I had wanted to see Motley Crew on the Friday and hadn’t even realised I had missed them cause I totally forgot and still didn’t realise till Saturday afternoon when some kids I was interviewing for the feature said they had watched them. See how focused I was on work though eh! Check it!
I can recall hearing buckcherry and Papa roach. Missed Stone gods. Heard Dream Theater, watched some of Journey, had a dance and listened to the rest of the set from the backstage bar while chilling in the sun. And then the darnest thing happened. ZZ Top walked past me. I shit you not I nearly fainted. I nearly peed myself. I saw stars. Mother fucking ZZ Top as I live and breathe. I sat down and spent about 20 minutes craning my head around to where they were being interviewed before forgetting and wandering off somewhere else. Wow.
Needless to say I managed to catch as much as I could of ZZ Top, caught some Whitesnake and some Def Leppard and got drunk, all this before, during and after the final radio slot. The final radio slot came and went where I proved triumphant and unveiled the bottle of Jager and scored major points with my Rita inclusion. Unfortunately we got hurried off the show well before the end due to yet another organizational fuck up and stormed off to get drunk and spend the last couple of hours with our mates and have a dance. The bottle of Jager never got finished cause we were done and dusted and hit the road first chance we could.
We got out of there around 1 am when the traffic had died down as the site was being dismantled and packed up and hit the big Smoke at just gone 4 am. Sleepy, subdued and done for I opted to get a cab from Talita’s to home rather than sleep on the floor and have to face public transport in the rush hour dressed in festival clothing, with mild sunburn, eyes that can’t stay open and disapproving looks from the Suits because I’m radiating booze from every pore.
Fuck that, Suits, don’t hate the player hate the game. While you were eating at some tedious gastro pub before visiting the in-laws and trying to convince your partner to give you head during your once a week set aside sex hour and then musing over the Sunday Times, there was a handful of fields boiling over with out of control fuck up degenerates who rocked their hearts out and lived the dream you are too scared to even contemplate. Coldplay isn’t rock love. Jokes on you!