I used to go to the Stone Henge rock festival, before they closed it down. It was more of a drug festival really, everyone was just so totally trashed. It was wonderful. I once saw half of Motorhead play with half of Here And Now because the band members were so wasted they couldn’t find their way to the right stages. Alpha, beta, gamma, hubba-dubba.
I never took to Glastonbury: way too commercial. The Henge was free and wild. The police left us alone, the Hell’s Angels took it on themselves to do the security. I watched once as they repeatedly rode, bumpily over someone’s tent. “I hope there’s no one in there.” I said to the guy next to me.
“They think I am.” he told me.
I spent my 19th birthday in my birthday suit. I met this Welsh girl called Alex and she taught me how to do back flips and stand sideways on a lamp post and how to juggle. I can still do all those things today but not very well. We painted each other’s bodies, and she painted double yellow lines on my dick, to stop anyone double parking. We were in love all afternoon. She had the most amazing boobs.
There used to be a sign, at the entrance, it read:
“its never too late to have a happy childhood”