It looks like I might get a review of the Reading festival published on DogmaNet after all, so I won’t bother putting anything major up here. The notes and wry, chirpy asides that comprised my diary might also end up on my vanity domain, if only for completeness.
I will mention my two celebrity spottings, however, discarding in advance an unverifiable sighting of The Raveonettes’ Sune Rose Wagner on Friday morning by our campsite. Crown Prince Jughead, The Man With Two Critical Faculties, Steve Lamacq himself was standing with the proles who aren’t lynchpins of modern music in the NME tent on Friday, shortly before DJing a reasonably decent set. He looked very old and ashen, like John Hegley in that ill-advised grey suit, or maybe the John Major puppet from Spitting Image. On Sunday we saw the trenchantly humourless hack Simon Price wandering round the twatty-clothes stalls at the back of the arena. This was a shock in itself. Anyone would have thought that he’d have enough twatty clothes to last him at least until his untimely death (freak extreme-poi incident, 2026). Maybe he was buying them for a friend.