After finishing work on Friday, I picked up the G-man from the station and we began our pilgrimage to Reading. As every f**ker goes down there on Friday night we decided to go via Playstation and Meanwhile for a skate, meaning that we arrived at about 11pm. Our plan was to meet up with the Plumber and his crew of social misfits in the camp site, however old Fat Cheeks had lost his mobile phone and was therefore uncontactable. Me and G decided to head into town for food, drink and mischief. I was absolutely knackered after driving King to pick up his lady friend from Stanstead airport the night before, but as we walked this was added to by a general feeling of unwell-being. After a bite to eat at the local shithole we headed to the Purple Turtle, which we were told by the kebab shop owner was free to get in, open til 2am, and had a range of 3000 beers - PERFECT.
The G eventually fluked our way there and proceeded to force whiskey down my very unwilling throat. I was, by this time, convinced that I had only a few hours left to live and was going downhill fast. After a fair few whiskeys and a run through of the whole Lock, Stock script I started to feel the life returning to my half dead body.
Our favourite quotes of the night were:-
"If the milk turns out to be sour, I ain't the kind of pussy to drink it. Do you know what I mean?"
"Will everybody just stop getting shot!"
"They ain't got no muscle, their just a bunch of public schoolboy pricks"
"Chill Winston"
"I'm a geezer, aint I"
After a bit of the usual drunken dancing, singing, and general abuse hurling I went upstairs to chuck up my dinner and we left.
When we got back to the festival G decided to get into the campsite using guerrilla warfare commando tactics, whereas I couldn't be arsed and opted for sleeping in the back of my GTi.
On waking from a semi-sleeping state I saw G standing outside in the pissing rain, the day was not looking good. We queued in the rain to get a day ticket and then made a beeline for the back of the Plumbers van to get a bit more shut eye. A few hours later we awoke and the weather was no better so we headed into the town for a feed.
The rest of the day was spent sloping from one tent to another, mainly to and fro between the Bacardi tent and the dance tent. By about 5pm morale was at a low and we were discussing the fact that we'd just done £40 to stand round in the rain, and then the sun came out! We headed back through the campsite to meet up with Chins and crew before seeing Gomez. They ruled, they're one of my favourite bands and are brilliant live, they played some mean tunes including Whipping Piccadilly, Rhythm and Blues Alibi, and Get Myself Arrested. The smile had returned to our faces and I felt the need to get very pissed indeed.
I went to the car to pick up my bottle of cheap shit Stag whiskey and got back in time to see Beck. I had been looking forward to see him play, but I have to say that I wasn't that impressed, nor was G. We stood through a few songs but decided that the dance tent was the way forward. We strolled in near the beginning of Slum Villages set, who were seriously doin' it. By this time the Stag was taking effect, so me and G set about dancing like crazed rude boys and freestyle rapping (much to the annoyance of everyone around us). Slum Village were going off and we were going mad. Luckily I'd thought to wear my hip hop jewelry and was waving it around for max homeboy effect.
When they finished the DJ played a back to back set of Hip Hop classics - J5, House of Pain, Run DMC, Big Daddy Kane etc. This just added fuel to our fire, I reckon I sweated about 3 litres getting down with my bad self to this shit.
Next up Black Eyed Peas - Live Hip Hop at its best. Absolutely amazing. More frenzied dancing, gang signs, medallion waving, Stag drinking and rapping. Then it was over.
The others headed back to the tents, me and G decided on going for a drunken rampage.
Our first victim was the Komodo stand where my old friend Jamilah (probably spelt wrong) was working. I met her a few years ago when she reluctantly let me and Pete stay at her house while we were in Birmingham, a decision she probably regretted.
Before I continue this story there are a few things you need to understand:-
1. G has got a mesh-backed cap and long hair which makes him look like the kind of person who would drive a Monster truck.
2. Drinking The Stag had sent me mad.
Once in the Komodo stand I kicked over the stereo (by accident) and began hurling abuse at anyone and everyone. I remember a particular favourite being "I hate her, I shall call her mini s**t c**t!" (in a Dr Evil voice and aimed at no-one in particular). After inviting all at Komodo for a lift in our Monster truck we left / got thrown out. After a drunken stumble round offering various sluts lifts in our Monster truck, trying to persude some Welsh bird to sing Catatonia's "Road Rage", and dishing out quotes from Lock,Stock we got involved in a game of frisbee. The aim of this game appeared to be to hit the other players as hard as possible with the frisbee at very short range. I copped one in the throat and I think G got hit in the head, girls can be so vicious! G headed into the medical room (full of OD cases) and enquired whether they had "Got any fuckin' gateaux", they didn't find it as funny as we retards did.
We carried on stumbling until some fool offered us "pills, speed, weed", G asked whether he had any gateaux, the fool replied "Nah mate, I'm outta gateaux, but I got some Dairylea", in response he was bombarded with "F**k off mate, we don't want Dairylea we want f**kin' Sara Lee you c**t!".
Our final adventure was bizarre to say the least. We were approached by some dude with an afro wig and stereo on his shoulder playing Cypress Hill. He had a small posse with him that he urged us to join. I showed him my jewelry, let him know that I was the O.G., threw up some gang signs and we went our separate ways. A while later they come back the other way stating that their not Cypress Hill anymore but are now Grange Hill. This game consisted of performing a comedy strut behind the dude with the stereo playing the Grange hill theme tune. The situation was made more humorous by a dude wielding a broom in the style of a bandleader at the head of the procession. Every time the tune went into the final section everyone stopped strutting and was hushed by the leader. When the tune finished everyone cheered and we were off again. This went on for about 1 - 2 hours until we began to sober up and headed for the van. By this time the crew had grown from 10 to about 100 - 150 people. It was one of those things that I will remember for the rest of my life and will crack me up every time I think of it. THANKYOU TO THE GRANGE HILL CREW.
After half dying of the cold in the plumbers van, I headed back to my car to finish off my sleepless night. We drove home Sunday morning and I spent the rest of the day in bed with suspected pneumonia. Once I started feeling a bit better I realised that I'd had a f**king great time. Reading Rocks DUDE!