It's the summer, and if you're the vintage I am, that means jangling geetars, perfumed smoke and stupid trousers.
This year I'll be attending the thoroughly middle class festival of Camp Bestival, where all of these things will occur. Bestival is so lovely, unlike the piss riddled rock festivals which featured leather dudes covered in studs and drinking meths with food colouring of my youth. Now there are cash machines, mobile phones, and facilities. You can buy the Times at a festival. That's a head spinner when previously you were supposed to read the Socialist Worker. One year at Reading when I attended you were required to piss into a trench.
Most important on the way to a festival is the music you put on when you're getting there, and this track happily accompanied me to a few Reading Festivals. Kirsty MacColl was one of the coolest singers I ever heard.
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