Benicasseemed like a good idea at the time

I’ve just returned from Benicassim festival quite a few spondooliks out of pocket, rather windswept and pretty downtrodden to say the least. It was my second outing to the Spanish festie, the first being in 2007 and oh what a difference two years makes. The sheer thousands of ‘Brits on Tour’ meant you could of been at any dime a dozen 18-30′s chlamydia-pit in Europe. Gaggles of swamp-donkeys wearing “Benicassim 09 – The Girls” T-shirts trundled through packs of burnt shouldered geezers (twats) sporting “English and Proud” tattoos. Oh the joy. Memories of an easy-going, laid-back festival in Spain were destroyed. Attendance to the festival in the last two years has ballooned and with that has grown the infrastructure of the sleepy Spanish coastal town. Granted there are now more eating and drinking establishments but when they start selling English Breakfasts, it’s a sure sign that the festival has been infested with cretinous disease-bags. Next year I’m putting money on an Only Fools And Horses bar opening up with Sticky Vicky doing a turn in the evening. In fact I might suggest to the organisers of the festival that they book Sticky Vicky as a back up act for next year, seeing as though they managed to get hardly any bands to play this year.

Okay so that maybe an overstatement but on the first night the stupid sods managed to have Oasis playing at the same time as The Walkmen and then the sound during the Oasis set was the wishy-washy equivalent of Liam Gallager doing a pathetic girl-fart through a Tomy ‘My First Microphone’. Oasis were followed by Glasvegas who’s set also sounded like a cassette recording from an antique radio. With Glasvegas comes luminously dolled up glaswegian birds, naturally on the hefty side of slim, roaring their lungs out for their ‘idols’. At this point I’m contemplating getting aboard a lilo and floating into the sea until I find land or a high speed ship willing to drive into my face. Alas, there’s three days left.

Day two was a friggin disaster. It was cancelled due to gale force winds meaning thousands of 18 year old girls didnt get to see their beloved Kings Of Leon or “KOL” if your down with the kids (not in a paedo way) and I didnt get to see The Horrors perform their new album. Bollocks. Queue a mass exodus from the festival site and return to the campsites to find that the hurricane (let’s just call it that for effect) had blown a load of stupid peoples tents away, bonus. Mainly those pop-up tents as well, bigger-bonus. “Thought you were smart with your pop up tent didn’t you eh, laughed at me erecting my conventional loser tent. Well in your face gobshite”. There is a god after all. By the Saturday night the sound had improved considerably. Elbow and in particular Franz Ferdinand played excellent sets going a small way to making up for the previous debacle. The final night highlights were Friendly Fires and a rare coherent set from Pete Doherty. I didn’t watch The Killers, it would have been detrimental to my health, the final straw, I would of spontaneously combusted, my blood washing luminous paint from the chubby, burnt faces of blonde girls.