|Best Acts of Reading 2000
Hank Williams III
Queens of the Stone Age
Daphne and Celeste - for just having the guts to do it
|Click on pics to see 'em bigger|
|Why did the ticket have a picture that looks like Flanders on it? Surely a picture of a field of empty paper cups and half-eaten burgers would have been more appropriate?|
Not exactly a classic year in terms of the music at the festival, but the lack of on-stage distractions made it a damn good one for the important business of getting lashed and talking shite.
Things got off to a slightly annoying start however when, arriving bright and early for once, we found that, despite the tickets stating the camp-sites would be open from 10am, they weren't letting anyone in through the Richfield Avenue Industrial Estate entrance until noon. The reason? They claimed they'd lost the key... lost the plot, more like.
We got a good pitch in our favoured Camp-site X behind the Pot Noodle stall and settled down for a weekend of sunshine and lager.
Then we discovered how much Vince Power wanted for a bag of soggy bark. Six quid?!?! Arse!
Friday saw some of our party take a trip into Caversham, rather than the centre of Reading, in an attempt to find somewhere serving better breakfasts than BHS - not too difficult a task, all things considered. Dan and Fat Reg stayed on site and ate tinned veggie breakfasts warmed on a couple of firelighters. The others returned full of good food and beer from the Baron Cadogan.
The weather is glorious - perfect for lounging about drinking lager and talking shite. Sadly, the weather is also good enough for Wigg to don his sarong...
At some point in the day, Wigg reveals that his festival hygiene routine consists not of deoderant, like normal people, but of talcing his nads. And, bizarrely, his nipples. This, combined with his sarong and ladies' pants is far, far more than we really need to know about Wigg.
We even saw some bands - Foo Fighters (average as usual) and Primal Scream (pretty good, mostly).
Darkness saw the first rain of the weekend - during Oasis. The lightning striking behind the stage certainly improved their show however... which seemed to consist (to me, anyway) of them just going through the motions. We retired to the camp site for more lager - fortunately before they massacred Neil Young's "Hey Hey My My".
|Quayley does a very good impression of being a decent, law-abiding citizen. This, however, isn't it||It's Wigg's damned sarong again. Ladies' pants fortunately not pictured. Be grateful for small mercies||Paul, who we met at Phoenix in '97 just happened to be standing next to us in the arena. Paul is a teetotaler who runs a pub. Weird|
|Quayley, Graham and Wigg relax and smoke cigars while watching Wigg manfully taking on three cans of lager at once. Well, when wearing a sarong, you've got to compensate...|
|Dan says he doesn't remember being this drunk, but when you're this drunk it's pretty hard to remember anything...|
|Dan retreats to his tent for an afternoon nap, like a big girl, only to be on the receiving end of a hail of empty lager cans|