And whenever you see a real victim at Glastonbury, the people who think it's a good idea to strip down to their undies and mud surf; those who unzip their flies and start urinating into the slime that is the field in front of the Other Stage; those who in the middle of the afternoon can be found lying prone in the mud, face down - they always have a green cup next to them.
Most of the time, I value my sanity. One of my favourite phrases that I have ever coined in my writing, which I try to use as often as possible, is "surely the best nights out are the ones you can remember." For all the drinking I did in Three Sheets, I was only ever properly pissed about three or four times. For these reasons, I've always given the Brothers a wide berth. But on Friday at Glastonbury 07, when we realised it was going to be yet another mud bath, having never missed a muddy Glastonbury but having missed most of the nice ones, it all became a bit too much.
Christopher Gittner, doing the dance of the Green Cup
I don't remember writing any of this. Some time later, I've attempted to write in hieroglyphs I can just make out:
"African fellas on the jazz stage. It wouldn't be quite the same if we went to Mali and played them On Ilkley Moor Bah't 'at, would it? Is it just that it's diff? Or is it just better?"
I think we know the answer to that one.
The last thing I wrote that afternoon was:
"Wake me up when someone gives a shit."
I guess it was only a few seconds later when this photo of me was taken:
Kids, just say no.