Your Reaper hasn't been paying that much attention to what's been happening at Glastonbury in the last few days. As it comes to a close this evening, I only have two observations that I'd like to make. The first is that the line-up sounded pretty tame. I thought that the Glastonbury festival was meant to be about promoting new music. Yet who was headlining this year? U2, Coldplay and Beyoncé. All of these acts can certainly hold a note - and yes, I even include U2 in that despite Bono being in it - and I'm certainly not complaining at the chance to look at Beyoncé. Far from it. Thing is though, none of these are especially new acts, are they?
Coldplay have been making music to commit suicide to since 1996, and U2 have been producing tunes since 1976 - hardly new acts, by any definition of the word. As for Beyoncé Giselle Knowles, to use her full name, she has been singing in bands and solo since 1997. The second is that I have honestly never understood what the appeal of festivals is in the first place. I've never been interested in attending one.
Undeterred by that, Miss Reaper bought two tickets last year for the Slane festival which took place in May. This is a yearly festival which takes place in County Meath in the Republic of Ireland and has done since 1981. Headlining this year were Kings of Leon, with The Whigs, Thin Lizzy and Elbow providing support. I went along with an open mind and a warm coat - the Irish weather can be notoriously unreliable.
There were some good and some bad memories from my experience. The second best one was, on one of the security staff spotting myself pushing Miss Reaper's wheelchair, told us we would be allowed to enter through the VIP area. Very nice. We got a lift in what looked eerily similar to a golf buggy and were led into the venue. As she was a wheelchair user, we got to sit at the top, away from the hordes below.
So far, so reasonably good.
The best memory from the experience has to be the Kings of Leon concert. It was reportedly the longest gig they have ever done. Altogether, there were over 20 songs in the space of roughly 2 hours. I'm sure someone better informed about this band will be able to tell me if that's correct. The sight of 80,000 people all singing along to "Sex On Fire" was breathtaking. That was one of those moments that no amount of money could buy. Even I know the words to that song, and I listen to almost no rock music at all.

Sadly, the rest of the experience didn't exactly win me over to the festival spirit. Thankfully, it didn't rain, so we didn't have to endure the scenes of miles and miles of mud like in Glastonbury. Yet I really don't see what the appeal is. Take the toilets, for example. They were bad, and we were using the ones in the VIP area. I daren't imagine what kind of state the portaloos were in amongst the 80,000. Where's the appeal of using a filthy toilet covered in other people's piss and shit?
Getting food was a bloody nightmare. Myself and Miss Reaper went down to see what was available. We decided to go for Domino's Pizza in the end. It took around fifteen minutes to get there, and it was no more than about 500 yards away. This was mostly because of fucking morons standing around pointlessly and blocking paths that would have kept things moving had they been clear.
Anyway, we joined one of three very lengthy queues after choosing what we wanted. I wanted a 12" ham and pineapple pizza and Miss Reaper wanted a quarter slice of a pepperoni pizza. As it happens, the pizzas were delicious and the total cost (€18 or about £15.80, when you include a small bottle of Pepsi) wasn't too bad. Though I would have eaten just about anything after waiting over half an hour for it, having not eaten for about seven hours.
Similar enough experiences were heard elsewhere. We had taken a bus down there, as I didn't fancy the pandemonium of driving home afterwards. Once the festival had finished, there was a long walk in the dark along the N2 to get back into Slane village. The bus driver had reliably told us in advance where he would pick us up. Miss Reaper thinks I have a fairly good head for direction, so I pretty much knew where we had to go. Just as well, because on attempting to call the driver again later, the network was completely jammed. Much like on a New Year's Eve when all those Happy New Year messages block up the network.
The bus was in the queue for two hours before a police farce officer (or Garda, as they're called in the Republic) helpfully informed the bus driver that the road ahead was blocked up and we had best head down towards Dublin, then take the M1 back up towards Monaghan direction. Sitting in that bus for about five hours altogether was not an experience I am keen to repeat. Especially not when I spent a good chunk of that journey with a rather large woman sat down on me. More on that shortly.
One of the blokes told pretty much anyone who'd listen that his lasting experience was going to get some beer for himself and his friends. It took over fourty minutes to get served - this was due to the fact there were only two bars to serve the 80,000 or so people present - and by the time he had got the beer back to his friends, most of it had been spilled onto the floor or onto other people around.
All that horrendously overpriced alcohol, and most of it ending up on the ground. The organisers must have been delighted at how much money they could have made out of that arrangement.
My other lasting experience, as I alluded to earlier, was having a rather large drunken woman sitting down on me. This wasn't anything kinky, before you ask. This was a very small bus and I was sat at the front with Miss Reaper - she was at the window seat. Next to me on the right-hand side was a man sat next to a crate that had been full of alcohol at the start of the day. The woman in question was his girlfriend, and she was somehow able to sit using one of his legs and one of my legs as a seat.
How was it having a woman sitting down on me that night? Well, let me put it this way. As I say, I only had one cheek of her arse pressing down on my leg - I dare not think how bad she would have been at full load. It's not an experience I'm keen to repeat any time soon.
There was also the woman who had somehow gained access to the VIP area who annoyed the hell out of your Reaper. This person insisted on telling me endlessly that she was from Derry. Nothing wrong with that, you understand. She tried telling me some other things, but I honestly couldn't understand a bloody word she was saying. I do hope not everyone from Derry speaks like that. Otherwise, I'm going to have to bring an interpreter if I ever go up there.
And come to think of it, as much as The Grim Reaper dearly loves Miss Reaper, he does not relish the prospect of once again having to push her in the wheelchair down around five miles of the N2 because buses weren't allowed to get any closer to the venue. I'd do it all over again if I had to, though.
Festivals? I think I'll pass.