Go on, honestly - which of you clicked on that title with a secret glee, safe in the knowledge that you hadn't got a ticket to England's annual all-in mud wrestle cup? Because I know I'm chortling like a vindicitive little shit while I type...* It has transpired that, as ever, Glastonbury is set for a deluge of heavy rain. The BBC is calling storm time as 4pm, and as anyone who's ever trudged from the Stone Circle to the Pyramid Stage knows, it only needs to rain hard once for the site to turn into an impassable bog of stench mud, trench foot and despair.
Legend has it that the site has been cursed by a particularly vindictive druid after the clashes between crusties and organisers that characterised Glastonbury in the early 90s - bearing in mind that the festival takes place in a county where a local landlord recently posted a £2,000 reward to catch a wizard who 'cursed' him via postcard - this doesn't sound completely unfeasible, and the regularity in which sunny weather degenrates to shit almost exactly as the festival starts is quite remarkable.
Those at the festival are in for a treat, with a mainstage line up of Ransom Note favourites Kasabian, Lana Del Rey, Ed Sheeran and the greying corpses of Metallica proving once and for all that there is no God. Or if there is, he's a bastard.
*plus, I didn't get asked to DJ there this year. Definitely not bitter. (views expressed here are by Ian Mcquaid, the rest of us in the office are just crying into our pints of tea that we're not there even if it is absolutely pissing it down)
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