By the end haute cuisine is a paper plate of greasy noodles washed down with a slug of Jack D smuggled past security in a plastic bottle.
By the end you V sign the army of sexist comedians in the not so Alternative Tent, but love Tim Minchin's bigot - blasting mirth and mascara. And love that he draws the biggest crowd.
By the end you have danced to the Strokes' entire set in your wellies and collapsed in giddy giggles whilst the kids walk on by.
By the end the mud smells like slum and the entire site looks like your son's bedroom. But you can look into the long-drop toilets without gagging.
And in the end you laugh in girl-eyed wonder at the fireworks flowering in the sky as you leap up and down in shouty synchronized ecstasy with 70,000 others, yelling ' SUPER-MASSIVE -BLACK-HOLE '. You have covered your face in diamante studs and your wrists in glowstick bracelets. You are high as kites with only music in your veins.
And the words 'Grow up!' only prompt the reply 'What for?'
Sod 'growing up' if it means missing out on that!! :D
ReplyDelete