My god, wasn’t Glastonbury boring this year? I always tune into the coverage and enjoy a mix of old and new talent, but this year it was crap. I am sooo sick of four-piece guitar bands who think it is 1979 and have nicked all the spikey riffs from XTC. I am sick of the DJs who play records, wave their arms above their heads and then collect their cheque. I am sick of the dance bands who perform solely to a backing track. I am sick of the drug-addled, pathetic snotstain that is Pete Doherty pretending he is street. The sooner that piece of human waste flushes himself away on the end of a dirty needle, the better. Frankly, the quality of music and performance was the pits. There were no great headliners there – even an appearance from clodmeisters like Oasis would have lifted spirits. It came to something that the most enjoyable group on their was Coldplay, a band so bland that I have to pinch myself everytime their records come on. I was almost enjoying their set until Chris Martin called me a knobhead through the TV screen for being cynical about Live8. Hey, it’s called democracy and free speech, buddy. Go liberate some of those poor people you bleat on about and give them the choice of free speech too (without being fed feet first into the woodchipper). Just think, if he had kept his mouth shut, I might have been convinced by him and his cronies that Live8 was a good thing. But now I am with Noel and Damon on this one…wow, those are unlikely bedfellows, ain’t they?
The most endearing performance was The White Stripes. I said to The Missus, “You’ve got to see this.” And we watched as those two muppets howled their way through a set. On Meg White’s drumming, the Missus commented: “It’s like me up there. It’s like someone has said: ‘We need someone to play drums at Glastonbury and you’ll do. Just try and keep the beat going'”. Indeed, it was the most amateurish performance I had ever seen. How the fuck these people make a career out of music, I do not know, but the kids eat this shit up because it is “trendy” it is “retro” it is “American”. No, it is tuneless pap. Try getting the drummer to a fricking drumroll…it ain’t gonna happen, baby.
The rest of the weekend I’ve been doing some DIY around the house. Armed with a paintbrush and some white paint I have been destroying the scourge of the universe. You probably think that the universal colour for depression and misery is black, but you are wrong. It is a light shitty brown. How do I know? Because the previous owners of Chez Lock painted the doors and wainscotting a light shade of diarrhea. You know, that kind of excretion that comes after a dodgy meal out or that burger you bought from that stall at 2am in the morning after too much to drink. Yes, that kind of diarrhea brown. Anyway, it’s going, going, gone. Darren and his magic paintbrush is setting to work. I could get used to this.
In the post: junk mail.

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