And what will she do with Thursday's rags when Monday comes around?

I’ve hardly seen S since the debacle of the Green Man Festival so we haven’t had much of a chance to conduct a proper post mortem. Chatting yesterday, we possibly came up with a cunning solution to the age old ‘enjoy festivals, hate mud’ dilemma and that is to plot a dramatic return to an All Tomorrow’s Parties weekender. Four years ago, a crack team of five cats travelled laconically down to Pontin’s at Camber Sands, stayed in a functional chalet, and enjoyed three days and nights of challenging modern music. The bars stayed open until the early hours, we caught The Tindersticks, Sonic Youth, Stephen Malkmus, Dizzee Rascal and many, many more, we played air hockey with vigour and ate a few doughy and delectable pizzas. Did it rain? It may have bucketed down but I don’t recall because the only time I spent in the great outdoors was strutting peacock-like between our Hi-di-hi homestead and the cheesy ballrooms that acted as arenas. Was Pesky (see here) there? He may well have been but any drunken and foolish ululations would have been muted by bricks and mortar. Somehow, it all adds up to a dramatic return. All Tomorrow’s Parties now host their festivals at Butlin’s in Minehead which not only is nearer to Gloucester’s metropolis but also hints at slightly more up-market slot machines and novelties. Discussions may, I fancy, prove ongoing.