GLASTONBURY ‘99 - Sunday

I dreamt Courtney Love had tried on Becca’s flip-flops. The purple ones with the flowers by the toes. And had decided that the two of them should walk around the festival together, wearing one flip-flop each, and try to convince people they were a two-headed entity. By the time Elaine & Charlie return, I’ve swapped my trousers for the non-peely pinstripes, and have moved Becca & Claire’s tent. They’re chewing over the significance of that which spews forth from my mind. ( Becca reckons Courtney wants to be in her shoes. Whaddaya think? ) We call Fraser & Vicky in to the tent, and then present the birthday girl with her birthday cake. No Placebo this year for her - the past two Glastonbury’s they’ve played on her birthday, but she does get the Fun Lovin’ Criminals - and a Piglet badge from me - so things aren’t looking that black. Particularly as the weather soon perks up around the edges, the drizzle dissipates, and by the early afternoon it looks set to be another sizzler. Smashing.

Today’s Front Page News: the Manics yesterday had their own toilet backstage. This is hilarious. On the one hand, I completely understand why - if you were going to make any one thing at a festival better, if you could have one small luxury, it would be a toilet you didn’t have to cross yourself before entering. But then, festival toilets are a leveller of human life, and as Billy Bragg pointed out, it’s not a particularly socialist thing to do.

Missed Coldplay, Snowpony & Merz - and Electrasy, though I meant to do that - for the sake of an extended sit-down and then a birrofa wander. ( I still have a substantial amount of money left. I want to spend spend spend. Because I can. So... ) I got some Ben & Jerry’s ice-cream. And made a complete mess of eating it. Caramel Chew Chew and Phish Food. Liquid caramel drooling over a vanilla and chocolate base that’s intermixed with marshmallow pieces and tiny chocolate fish. It wasn’t completely frozen when I was handed the tub ( Indian Name: Running Mess ) anyway. And then eaten in the sunshine with small wooden paddles ( what’s wrong with spoons ? ) it lived up to its’ spectacular dribble capabilities. I get out a wallet-handy wet-wipe. Oh, but I have fantastic mum-potential. Grin.

And then there was the bright-white suited AL GREEN, bringing a little soul & reverence for our Lord into our lazy Sunday afternoon. He’s worked his way up from the ‘Chitlin’s circuit’ to be with us today, all the way from Memphis, Tennesse. We were treated to a spot of witnessing, a smattering of preaching, a little charm, and a lot of style. But what really got me dancing was his medley of soul classics - The Temptations, Otis Redding... He’s The Man. Oh yea, my brothers.

Now then. By going to see the funk soul brother, I missed the hoo-ha on the Other Stage. I think I should have gone to see Dogstar. Just to see if they were crap. Just to see him. Just to see. I have a particular soft-spot for people I fancied when I was twelve ( Jason Donovan & River Phoenix as shining examples ), and besides, it’d have been funny. To see the entire crowed lined up before the right of the stage. To see how the band deal with it. Oh, and to see if Keanu Reeves really can play bass. Particularly ( given today’s conditions ), while being pelted with fruit & other miscellanies, as a cardboard cut-out of yourself wearing an over-sized pair of pants as head-gear is paraded through the crowd. But I didn’t. So all I can do is tell you that Dogstar were described as being ‘alright, actually’ (, while Keanu himself merited um, slightly higher praise... ).

Past regrets left aside, and it’s onwards and upwards to the Cabaret Tent. Ostensibly to see Lee Mack. Though he seemed to be stuck in traffic. Or something. So I didn’t see him. And to think I sacrificed the chance of ( throwing household objects and stunt mice at ) The Corrs. Tcha.

Sometimes, if you get to the Cabaret Tent ahead of schedule you get to see something really good. Like rubber-suited women juggling fire. Or Boothby Graffoe encouraging a group of knee-highs in a sing-along. Today I got a greasy old man with a guitar fellating the microphone. Niiice.

My attention turns to the Select paper by my feet in the tent. I read it. Apparently, the Portaloo-lost mobile phone has turned up ( in one of the suction machines ), if anyone wishes to claim it. Niiice.

And then, just to bring up the tone of the day ( ahem ), we are given MITCH BENN. And his droll guitar tomfoolery. You want songs about realising yourself a ‘scarey weirdoooo’, or stealing the heart of a girl in the mortuary ? You got ‘em. You want a discussion on the general state of the festival toilets ( consistently disgusting ) or the rising death toll in the world of entertainments ( inc. the spectacular death of Rod Hull ) ? You got ‘em. You wanna laugh until you cough up your spleen ? Well, then you’ll probably have problems, though he’ll do his darndest to help you out...

‘Well this morning, I finally did it. I could hold out no longer. I had a poo’.

He’s astute, colourfully dressed, and knows the power of a good rhyme scheme. And he knows his mud. Mitch Benn was also here last year. He knows that when you went to walk around last year you had to leave your friends with a contigency plan and emergency contact numbers. How the mud seemed to be whispering ‘slobodanmilosovich’ as you squelched your respective ways through it. How if you fell over, you’d just be trampled into it. And how grateful you were when you found a solid bit to stand on - little realising it was probably a dead hippy. Those are reasons to love him. But I personally went for his end-number; he did a one-man take on the BBC’s ‘Perfect Day’. With all the voices. Including Heather Small. Rock on that man.

And from the Cabaret Tent, back to mine, via the 2nd hand cllothing stalls. Just for a bit. Until the rain became a bit less thoughtful, and a bit more enthusiastic. In the inbetweener, I tried on a gorgeous white floaty dress ( true faery material ) with diamante on the bodice and lace all over, that wouldn’t quite zip up the back and tried to break my heart because of it. I’m trying to put it out of my mind now. I don’t need it. I have other loves. Oh yes. Like the 2 cheap lace-effect shirts / comfort-purchases I bought 2 minutes later - that’s in-yer-face proof, and no mistaking.

Purchases wielded, I went back to the tent, for a bit of a lie down. But then had to move. Had to. The Other Stage is calling. As is my red jumper. And my devil horns. But mostly it’s THE TINDERSTICKS. Who were gorgeous. Just to have that voice blanketing out. Everything it touches turns to gold. ( S’just a shame my favourites are the - oh so unlikely live - duets. But still. ) Gorgeous.

Oh, and I wasn’t squashed. No-one was boinging up and down. Everyone was just standing before them as you would a sunset. It was lovely. And the same reverent adoration was in place for MERCURY REV as well. Who were damn good ‘n’ all...

Grasshopper - ‘There are more of you out there than there are in my home town. And in the three surrounding towns’.

They started on ‘Tonite It Shows’. That was nice. The whole thing was nice. A lingering caress of a set. Lovely...

I left after ‘Goddess’. During ‘Delta Sun’. I’m meeting Charlie before the Sneaker Pimps, at 22:00. And I’m being felt up from behind by as very very VERY drunk young lady. Vroom.

I’m just going up the path to the New Band field, when I see Charlie coming down. He has to leave. Now. Pack up his tent and meet a friend to leave at 23:00, else he’s lift-less and stranded. We see James & girlfriend ( who had fanTAStic eye make-up going on... ) also heading Pimp-wards. They offer to be his last resort if he does get truly stuck, and keep going up the hill. Hugs all round and then he’s off into the distance, and so am I. Ready for a gentle come-down to the weekend.

The New Band Tent is reasonably full. ( As in; there are quite a few people in there, but I still manage to sneak myself & the mogwai a place on the barrier. ) SNEAKER PIMPS people are my kinda people. It’s really sweet to see that folks still remember them with affection. And that they stayed. Despite the band’s almost total reliance on new material. ( They only played 2 of the old songs - guess which... c’mon party people... - and those very close to set end, but people stuck with it. ) And despite them now having lost their female lead vocalist.

( Heckler before 1st song - ‘Where’s the bird ?’ )

Kelli has left. It’s now just ickle pixie Chris taking full responsibility for the vocals. And the pouting. He explains this to those unaware members of the audience. And swiftly wins them over.

( Heckler after 1st song - ‘You’re better than the bird !’ )

For me it was the big-farting bass line that kept coming parping out while he was trying to do a snuggly close acoustic number. The Sneaker Pimps have still got it goin’ on. Oh yes. And if you never heard them before, you’ll like ‘em now. If you did, you’ll be impressed. You can throw words like ‘maturity’ & ‘layers of sound’ & ‘exquisite’ at them - now they’re more’n just funky. They’re more’n just a pretty face...

And then that’s it. I found Becca ( who, judging by the alarming repetition & volume of the phrase / exclamation ‘ ooh fuck me’, had also enjoyed the gig ), and we set off homewards bound, pausing but twice. Once for wigs. ( Wigs are my weakness. ) I bought a candy-floss one. Which makes me look like a pepper-mint Suzi Quatro stick of TV rock. From a woman dressed up like Marge Simpson. ( The lighting was such that it took me quite a while to realise she had a yellow face. ) And then we paused for the Portaloos. For Becca. Whom only entered one having first checked every single one to see which was the best ( safest ) bet. And would only enter if I promised to stay outside to make sure no-one tips it over / sets it on fire. In a fit of high-spirits. Or whatever. All of which meant that I got to end my night watching a tiny bit of MOGWAI ( look mogwai, there’s Mogwai... ) who were, irresponsibly, under very bwight lights. When we get back to the tents, we find a couple of things missing from Becca & Claire’s tent ( including the cheapish stove, weirdly ). But that’s not how I wanna end the weekend. Cos that, while it was shitty, didn’t discount everything else we’d done. How this year far outweighed the last ones. Lovely lovely lovely.

N.B. I didn’t take the Al Green picture.

Someone substantially closer to the stage than I managed that one.

>>> Monday

Last revised: 27/07/01