I was at Reading Festival a few weeks ago. It was the last day and me and some friends had been watching bands. The sun had just come out and we started to really fancy some ice cream, but they were all skint, and all I could afford was scabby-looking chips. Charlie and Ben persuaded me to get some to share with the promise of cider back at the tents. The chips turned out to be nice but the cider was warm and flat, so shotgunning it seemed like a good idea. Me and Finn searched for some sharp objects around the campsite; this turned out to be pretty hard because it was such an absolute mess. There was a lot of burnt stuff, custard creams, Tesco Value lemon curd, empty cigarette packets, abandoned clothes and shoes, laughing gas et cetera. There was a huge puddle next to us which had morphed into some kind of swamp full of litter and with tents falling precariously into it; some people were floating around and pushing each other on rubber rings. Anyway, we found a penknife and some keys in the end, so Charlie and Ben got ready. At the last minute I decided I should take a picture, so I got my camera out and counted down 3... 2... 1!
