Tennants in the Park: An atypically Scottish name for a festival

Posted on July 15, 2011

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Grohl-meister at T

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I have returned from T in the Park (after my reality check it appears to be several days after it ended), not triumphant nor happy, just alive. Nonetheless I am starting to feel normal again. I am afraid to admit I overdosed… not on E, cocaine or glue but on diarrhoea tablets.

I didn’t pass stool for half a week. Half a week. 72 hours. Too long. Much too long.

Never before had I experienced such a plethora of emotions. From getting trapped in a My Chemical Romance set lasting over an hour (ironically I was the only person there not trying to kill myself), to squeezing a warm, double-bagged poo in order to gain the approval of my fellow campers (I did). I experienced the lot. And I would do it again.

“It is all about the music guys”, I would say to anyone who would listen before the festival (few did). I was naive before I partook in the pilgrimage.

One thing I learned quickly and with gusto is that alcohol is a necessity at a festival, no one wants to face the prospect of pooing into a bin-bag sober.

Let’s face it, T in the park is a post-apocalyptic Butlins/Mozambique refugee camp cross-over but it works (unlike  Butlins and Mozambique refugee camps).

Available for purchase were “Refresh” bands. You paid £25 for a band which was supposed to grant you access to clean toilets and shower facilities. However so many people bought the bands that the queues were long and cumbersome, the toilets well used and smelly. It amused me from a philosophical standing point. The people flocked to the “clean” toilets and in doing so, made them worse than the free toilets.

Nothing is really free at Titp though, is it? It is the only place in the world where a £4 roll and sausage doesn’t come with a drink and a digestive biscuit. The prices are extortionate and for good reason. People pay them.

My momentous journey into the camp was so long and inefficient. It took over four hours to get in. I was carrying a backpack my own weight (which isn’t light). I have a theory that the organisers deliberately make the journey lengthy and physically taxing so we cannot bring in our own normally priced food and drink. Just the necessities.

Entering the camp I met one of my old friends, the guy had nine crates of beer on a trolley. I hid the fact I only brought two crates.

I feel like a Vietnam veteran nowadays, I saw a man get thrown through a tee-pee, a tee-pee. He survived but tent lovers everywhere will be shocked to hear that the tee-pee didn’t.

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This is an artists depiction of the destroyed tent

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I made it to the front row for Pulp, a unique experience. Getting spooned by a stranger whilst standing for several hours isn’t an entirely unpleasant incident.

Not that I would give him or her my number for another spoonfest however.

Jarvis Cocker wiped his arse with the News of the World, it would have been my highlight of the festival had not everyone there been wiping their own arses with newspapers all weekend, albeit out of necessity, not to make a political statement.

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Front page, Jarvis Cocker's ass

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The Foo Fighters were on top form, they were truly amazing. Dave Grohl captured the entire crowds’ hearts. Even the drugged up lunatics emerged from the woodwork to bask in the ambience (or sing “here we, here we, here we fucking go.”)

During the lengthy solo of Monkey Wrench, a steward got owned by Grohl, instead of laughing or dancing along however he acted like a royal palace guard with a bayonet strategically rammed up in his digestive system.

Here’s the video here.

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I finally met two of my girlfriend’s aunts during the Foo Fighters set. After basically grabbing my girlfriend and forcing her (with help from strangers) onto my shoulders, I proceeded to dance violently for ten minutes. On the Gf’s return to earth I earned the seal of approval from one of the aunts.

Had I left it there that would have been all fine and well, I didn’t, of course I didn’t.

I started dry humping my gf frantically, in the heat of the moment, whilst the aunt watched partly in amusement, partly in disgust. Thankfully I never told them my boner was testament to Dave Grohl’s awesomeness and nothing to do with my gf’s physique.

So whilst Tennants in the Park is a crude, coarse name for what is essentially a thing of beauty, us Scots who host the festival are also crude, coarse and straight to the point. At the end of the day we are drinking Tennants in a park. It’s concise, it’s apt and it rocks.

Rock on T, I will see you next year 🙂 (the first and last smilie I will use in this blog)

Well the good news is there will be no more personal accounts published on this blog. It will be completely devoted to the ripping of current events and news. Or maybe it won’t. In fact I feel there is another long-winded, personal account coming on…

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"In my day..."

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Posted in: Humorous, Opinion