There are probably few feelings worse in life than standing in a confined, stinking plastic box, attempting to answer the call of nature whilst simultaneously trying to avoid dysentry, when the sound of an MC saying "Ladies and gentleman, please welcome to the stage...Broken Records!" floats from the stage, some hundred yards away, to your ears. You are then faced with a dilemma - to arrest mid-act and risk having to carry a pair of piss-stained jeans to Germany and back, or to take the extra minute to finish up, which will necessitate a sprint to the stage doing up your trousers, to the amusement of the backstage crew, as Ian and Rory play the loop at the start of Nearly Home over and over again on an otherwise empty stage. I opt for the latter.
Continue reading Festival Diary - Part 3.
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