Tuesday, July 28, 2015
So dear diary, here we are at the end of another day where the dream of tomorrow and the reality of today meet in an uneasy meat sandwich of potential veganism and Mocha coffee. I'll pay no attention to those stray thoughts and just mump on about the weather, internally and stare over the acres of Wickerman dirty laundry that has fallen upon us from outer space via muddy field. Already I'm missing those great green, dung covered landscapes, the fags and beer, the endless junk food and questionable coffee, the sound checks and that deep, almost abstracted bass tone that rises up through the ground and robs you of sleep and sanity to the point where you just want a tea, a wee and a bacon roll. Sadly next year I plan to be elsewhere.