Leeds - Day 3

My bones ache today. I feel like I've been tenderised by a hundred miniature hammers. My head is also complaining about the lack of sleep. If I was at home then it would feel like a warm hug tempting me into unconsciousness and I could snore and drool away the day on the sofa. Yet, because of the annoying bank holiday arrangements here, I am at work. Even though bank holidays are often tedious affairs, I feel like I'm missing some sort of fun. I can't handle the feeling that I'm missing something exciting. I hate being left out.
Yesterday was fun. It was sunny as well, though with wind which made me resemble Matthew Hoggard as the day wore on.
Day 3 of a festival is when unwashed punters start to smell of vinegar, and the sight of a festival toilet can bring about lengthy therapy sessions. I'm just glad I'm a boy as I can do a man-slash anywhere. It must be annoying for women having to brave the festival toilets to see chaps all too eager to prove they can urinate anywhere they like. Advertising hoardings? Piss on that. Side of a takeaway van? Piss on it. Tree? Take my piss you wooden whore!
Anyway, I didn't have any moonmince pies yesterday. I had curry, noodles and cider though. Hmm, maybe I'm slightly hungover today. I genuinely never considered that until now.
Again, there weren't many bands I wanted to see early on. We were sat around outside the tent where Nine Black Alps and The Cribs were playing. I think that 16 year old Glenn would have loved Nine Black Alps. It was the sort of thing he enjoyed.
I also tempted Paul onto a fairground ride, a 100 ft pole with a small carriage on either end that rotated at 70mph as your carriage span. It was quite fun but not worth the seven quid it cost to go on.
The first act that I had wanted to see was Roots Manuva. Even though it's not generally my choice of musical genre, I have enjoyed his album and thought his set yesterday was great. I suppose it helped to be sat in the sun drinking cider, but Rodney is just what was required on a Sunday afternoon. He charmed the crowd as well by thanking Yorkshire for its puddings. It's great to see a genuinely talented and innovative British rap act. The compere Colin Murray neatly summed everything up, by praising Roots Manuva, whilst also slagging off 50 Cent (who appeared here a couple of years ago with not overly favourable results).
We then sat in the sun to watch Dinosaur Jr. For a while I thought I was back in my sixth form common room again. The amount of arguments we had over whether Dinosaur Jr, Faith No More, The Pixies, some rave shite or Ned's Atomic Dustbin would play on the common room tape player. Eeeh…
Anyway, Mascis looks like Saruman from Lord Of The Rings! He always seemed rather worn but now he resembles an aged Ian Beckwith dressed as a wizard. It was nice that after all these years that my reaction to Dinosaur Jr hasn't changed much, some I like yet other stuff seems to pointlessly drag on for ever. Alright Old Father Time, stop this guitar solo now!
The Charlatans were on next, and whereas I'll always enjoy seeing them live, I wish Tim Burgess would smile a bit. Whenever I see him at festivals he's moaning about being on in the afternoon. He didn't even say bye when they left. That's just bad manners.
After a poo inducing half-hour where I frantically tried to follow the cricket on the WAP, we made our way over to see The Arcade Fire. I knew the tent would be ludicrously packed (and it was), but we found a pretty good spot just to the side of some guy over seven foot. Unsurprisingly nobody stood behind him.
Fuck me, what a performance. Anyone who has seen The Arcade Fire will know how exciting they are to see live. Repeatedly I could feel the hairs on my arms standing on end as the band charged through a rapid set, ignoring the calls from the organisers to get off stage as they knocked out Laika and Rebellion with barely a pause in-between. There's something you have to love about a band where the percussionist attacks one of his fellow band members with a cymbal in order to get his guitar off him. The frenzied crowd reaction was deserved.

I was quite giddy then and really up for the rest of the bands that we saw. Sleater Kinney were up next, and considering they seemed to be having a good time, it was surprising when they sloped off stage 10 minutes early. Especially as they stretched every song to about 8 minutes. Maybe they wanted to watch something on the tele. I've heard that they're big fans of Monarch Of The Glen..
The Raveonettes were good, and it was nice to see that they didn't make me ill. When I saw them supporting The Super Furry Animals a couple of years ago, the level of distortion and feedback coming off the speakers broke my internal organs.
I did nip out halfway through for a beer and wee-stop, and was pleasantly surprised to see that the tent for The Babyshambles was at best three-quarters full. That pleased me, as I really didn't want to see any more twats in trilbies during the weekend. Doherty has a lot to answer for, this is but another thing for which he will be put on trial for.
Oddly, I wanted to see all four stage headliners. Paul wandered off to see The Foo Fighters, Marie and Julia went to watch The Go Team, whilst I travelled back to 1993 to watch The Tears. I was also sorely tempted to travel a couple of years further back and watch Bad Religion.
But, The Tears it was, and my joy at seeing that Babyshambles had attracted far less than expected turned sour. The tent for The Tears was less than a quarter full, and even though I really enjoyed the performance it was a shame that nobody really turned up. I guess everybody had gone to see one of the others, yet it was a shame that there aren't more people in their twenties or early thirties who get excited at the thought of seeing Anderson & Butler back on stage together.
Somebody did shout 'Can you play the Drowners please?' which I thought was a rather polite way to ask.