Showing posts with label festival. Show all posts
Showing posts with label festival. Show all posts

Friday 28 June 2013

Glastonbury: Ist Nations of a festival tipi encampment..

A guest blog from Jan Nieupjur. Tribal name: Dances with vowels.






Glossary of 1st nations of the Glastonbury tipi's:  


NATION                     Description

Indig
The easily Riled people of the shared loo
Fulmi
The short tempered loo queuers
Stag
Dwellers of the mud
Sali
Dwellers of the saltmarshes
Pug
The fighting tribe also known as the Angels of Hell
Conster
The puzzled people (chief Kevin Conster)
peregri
The wanderers who cannot find their tents
Desti
The people who have arrived
Predesti
The people who know they will arrive
Assassi
The back stabbers
Rumi
The thinking people who stayed at home
Procrasti
Those who dally in the mud
Emi
The great tribe in the VIP encampment
Abomi
The awful people (in the next tent)
Insubordi
The tribe that heckles in the poetry tipi
Impreg
The successful fuckers 
Resig
The people without tickets who sigh
Indoctri
The brainwashed people who think it is fun
Artificialinsemi
The petridish people
Contami
The tribe that is unclean (All become members of the Contami by the end of the festival)
Imagi
The fantasists who watch at home then pretend to have been 

Monday 12 July 2010

Kimberley festival Norfolk, drugs and the Notting Hill promise.




















It must be Kimberley weekend coming up: there isn't a drug dealer to be seen in Notting Hill and the Hillbillies are all dressing alike to be different.  It is of course the lead up to the time of the year when 30 and 40 somethings die in their sleep due to excess drug use but their wives/mistresses/family put down to work or depression or not being understood!

It is however the perfect occasion to shag someone  while their partner is off his/her face on horse pills and MDMA in a tent.

Shhhhhhh... Don't tell anyone. It's secret!



The jeweller to the stars.

They are waiting in the cafes
the restaurants and bars
or parked on unlit corners
in expensive cars
they are waiting for the snowman, the blow man, the let's go man
they are waiting, waiting, waiting
for the jeweller to the stars.

He is the closest thing to royalty
their business is all his
with his bags of herbert sherbert
(the silly rich mans whizz)
he makes them feel quite special
and just a
little
bit
show biz
they are guaranteed to talk the talk
walk the walk as well
he is the pied piper
the piper at the gates of hell.

White christmas is his ringtone
on his prepay mobile phone
his sole visible means of support
the long suffering wife at home
he is the king of the powder rooms
his shit it smells of roses
to the vacuous trustafarians
born
with
silver spoons up their noses.

He is known to each and every one
the jeweller to the stars
he hasn't got a friend on earth
and there ain't no life on mars.