The Brits 2014

Evening! I'm continuing a seven year tradition of sitting through something I hate just to slag it off - actually, that's my entire social life. James Corden is doing the same thing I see; trouble is, both he and I are running out of jokes for this fucking sorry mess - and at least that fat cunt's getting paid for it. The pressure's on as I read last year's blog today and there were at least four or five funny jokes in it. Shit. Have I lost my touch? Has James? Take my hand. Let's see what's what. Maybe they'll surprise us all and put on a glorious spectacle, a feast for the eyes and ears, a magical evening of wonder? Come on! I know it's gonna happen someday.
OK, back to reality. I have a drink here. I am watching half an hour behind. So I'm starting off in a good mood. Then I see James Corden and wonder, why have they booked him the past three or four years in a row? I have fresh beef with Corden this year, which is actually my own fault, but for some reason I decided to listen to his Desert Island Discs at some point last year - to laugh at his taste in music, I suppose. Imagine my abject horror (and I was trying to go to sleep at the time) when one of the songs he chooses is Bright Eyes! I was wide awake (it's morning) for the next three hours (there was a joke there, but only Bright Eyes fans like me AND JAMES *grits teeth* will get it.) True enough it was First Day of my Life, the dullest Bright Eyes song you could ever choose. Why not a Poetic Retelling of an Unfortunate Seduction, James? Why not that? But still. The thought me and the Michelin man are both chirruping along in our cars to hackneyed lyrics like 'I'd rather be working for a pay check than waiting to win the lottery...' was enough to turn me cold and give me a good bout of insomnia. So yeah, I got beef. I got previous. You could say I brought it on myself. But I didn't KNOW. I thought my tastes were so goddamn counter culture (Placebo and Morrissey are still cool, right?) that James Corden would NOT KNOW. But he did know. And now I am the same as him. We are fans together.
But at least I'm not taking the dirty money of The Brits. How can a publically-declared Bright Eyes fan stand there in front of 1D and Ellie Goulding and pretend to look cheerful? I see you, James! I know your game. I see you. *taps head, Limmy-style*
Anyway. I'm lying because I haven't even seen James Corden yet. I can see dude from Arctic Monkeys though. I know they're meant to be good and everything but I could never get behind them. Too much hype and NME hype at that. I feel like the singer takes himself too seriously, and look at them all in 'uniform'. It's like Coldplay. But let's face it, this tuneless dirge is probably the high point of the night. I thought it was The Killers at first. No such luck.
Oh James Corden is on fire. *insert joke here* Oh he is looking fat again. I thought he'd gone skinnier. He looks like he's got fake tan on. I put my fingers in my ears when he said what was coming up because if I knew, I would smash my TV to pieces with a hammer.
The Brit Awards statue looks like motorised saw. Saws. Fire. We could have a dead James Corden on our hands yet, as long as health and safety procedures have been sloppily applied. Here's hoping.
Can I fast forward yet? No. Wait for the adverts.
Who the fuck are Third Eye Girl? I thought Third Eye Blind were bad enough. Aw, there's little Prince. What's his deal? James Corden is making me cringe, interrupting Prince. Who does he think he is? Hold on, I hate Prince. Ok, the nominees are for British Female Solo Artist. I won't bore you with the nominees but this year instead of Emile Sande we get Laura Mvula. Only one black person at a time, for God's sake. Don't want to scare people. No need to worry, as public schoolgirl Ellie Goulding won. Who votes for this shit? She has got the most enormous face. She should be on the side of Mount Rushmore. I kind of gave up insulting people's looks a bit, as people can't help how they're born and all that, plus I'm getting fatter and older, but for tonight I'll MAKE AN EXCEPTION because I'm having to suffer through this bullshit. Buyer beware!
Fucking hell man, who is writing James's jokes?! 'Going to the toilet in pairs'?! Is that the best he can do? He's worse than last year, I swear.
Hold up, Katy Perry's just turned up, don't tell Andrew Sachs, he'll probably call the Daily Mail complaining about Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Oh it's one of her songs with no tune. Oh, wait, there's a dancey bit. Bring out the washing machine. Don't make her hit a high note, though FFS. She's got a pyramid on the stage *cough* Illuminati. I think I'd be 'going to the toilet in pairs' ie. snorting coke with my fingers in my ears (is that physically possible?) whilst this shit is on, too.
I actually feel a bit sorry for Corden at this point. His jokes are so bad they aren't even arousing anger, just pity. I mean this blog is bad, but making jokes about wearing the same outfit as Katy Perry? Oh, Lord.
Kylie and Pharrel have turned up, having a smug off. Best international male artist. Surely Pharrel himself is in the running, genius that he is? I can't spell his name. I'm not looking it up. Fuck him and Daft Punk. Eminem's in the running. I'm guessing he hasn't shown up, so he's not going to win it. Ah, it's Bruno 'I'd catch a grenade for you' Mars. Apparently he likes tweeting about The Jeremy Kyle show. I'm following someone on Twitter called Semtex who also likes tweeting about The Jeremy Kyle show. I'll find one of his tweets for you, as it's more entertaining than listening to this 'speech', ah, here we go: 'Why give this lumpy shitsplat the time of day? Nothing is going to be resolved here.' Kind of how I feel about The Brits.
I'll give that cunt Corden one thing, as least he can pronounce David Bowie right, which is more than my James who lives in this house can do. 
Oh, Tinie Tempah and Fearne 'Fame Skillz' Cotton have just turned up. The Daily Mail ran a full page article this week about how Prince William shouldn't have high fived Tinie at some event or other. I'm against high fiving myself, but they seem to think shooting boar is JUST FINE AND DANDY. Just don't make physical contact with the 'rappers'. They're introducing Best British Breakthrough Act. It's Bastille. Congratulations to Dan, Chris, someone and Woody. Yeah, well done you. You're the new Mumford and Sons. Hold on, the lead singer looks like Jack 'Shilpa's a cunt' Tweed. In fact the band seems to consist of Jack Tweed, Roddy Woomble, Nick Grimshaw and the singer from Elbow. Bastille bloke: 'this time last year I don't think anyone thought we would be here.' This time two minutes ago I didn't know who the fuck you were, even though I remember you being on the godforsaken Christmas TOTP, but am not admitting it.
I was just going to go and get another drink, but then I thought, no, I'm not wasting good (well, Glens) vodka on this shit, so I'm drinking a Diet Pepsi instead. How's that for rock n roll?
One Direction seem like they're having a blast. James Corden plugging Nectar points. This gets more anarchic by the minute. Have 1D been paid not to smile? The second ugliest one is wearing a Stone Roses t-shirt. I bet even Ian Brown can sing better than that joker.
James Corden just described Bruno Mars as 'the greatest showman performing anywhere in the world right now.' What about CONOR OBERST, James?!!! He's even looking up from his keyboard nowadays! You TRAITOR. I just fast forwarded through Bruno, so that's one ad break lost. Fuck. I'm gonna catch up, aren't I? This is like some sick race. I feel like Jesse/Aaron Paul (same thing) in Breaking Bad/Need for Speed, clutching my steering wheel and screaming. WHEN WILL IT END!!! Take me back to the meth lab!
I still don't know who Rudimental are, but some people I know went to their gig last week. They look like they're dressed entirely from Shop Jeen, which is no bad thing. I love Shop Jeen. 'If people are going to remember this record in 20 years...' Un-fucking-likely.
Oh god, did James Corden REALLY just make THAT joke (mixing up Lily Allen and her baby)? Even my blog wouldn't stoop so low (not true, I make those sorts of jokes all the time). Lily Allen looks skinny. I hope she hasn't been starving herself on Katie Hopkins account. Best British group. Two of the nominees were Disclosure and Rudimental, neither of which I'd heard of before last week. So Arctic Monkeys have won and are making a joke about One Direction. But are they really so different? It's all just pop pap. Props to the sparing us the 'list of names read out' though. At last, some mercy.
Who's this dude who looks like James Arthur with the dude from Arctic Monkey's quiff? Doesn't he get to make a speech?
I am not even commenting on this 'something for the fans' patronising bullshit because it's just designed to wind me up.
It must be nice to be the 'stunningly beautiful' Rosie Huntingdon-Whiteley (except for having to sleep with Jason Statham and all that). Funny how no man gets introduced as the 'super sexy... blah blah' isn't it? Sigh.
One Direction are winning the Global Success award. What's that when it's at home? Harry Styles isn't even bothering to go on stage. 1D are reading out a list of names, against Chief Arctic Monkey's specific instructions. Harry was in the loo. Is he sniffing? One is on crutches.
I think this might be the most boring Brit Awards ever, and I forwarded through Bruno Mars. I'm not even angry. I'm just cowed, like Corden. We're both too old for this game. We're like old war horses that need taking out the back and shooting.
Oh, lock up Tom and Jerry, top ranking lizard 'Mrs Carter' is gracing us with her heavenly presence. No human looks that attractive; she's definitely on the babies blood. She's a good advert for it, too. We are truly blessed to even have her on our TV screens; who could forget her back catalogue of killer lyrics like 'do you pay my automo-bills?' and referring to herself as 'it'. Bow down to Queen Beyonce, who isn't content with an outfit unless she endangers at least 15 species in the process. She probably ordered the killing of that poor fucking giraffe Marius just to make her next pair of baby booties.
To be fair to the horrible, beautiful Cruella De Ville Illuminati princess, this has been the best performance of the night, but then she hasn't exactly had much competition. It was probably in her contract that everyone else had to be crap. 
Did they write James's 'Beyonce - shit' line? GENIUS. Oh, James. Come with me, just come this way. I've got something to tell you. Beyonce wants you skinned and made into an ugly rug. Just stand against this wall and close your eyes.
Katy Perry is plugging her tour and giving out an award for best British single. One option is Olly Murs. I'm not even joking. Rudimental have won. I do know this song. I just don't like it. It's not even drum and bass, it's like drum and bass for old people who can't dance that fast. It should have been Olly! At least his heart skip, skip, skip, skips a beat.
Oh, piss off Arctic Monkeys, you've had your five minutes.
Performing together now, are Disclosure and Lorde. I don't know who these people are. Oh, just what we needed, another Florence. Brilliant. Nicola Roberts solo work is preferable to this. Dance music you can't dance to - it's the pits. Oh someone else has just come out who seems a bit more lively. Perhaps this is the Disclosure part. Disclosure makes me think of conspiracy theories. Oh, this is like some sub-rave, electro rubbish. It's better than Lordes, or whatever she's called, but only just. The 'disclosure' is, she's miming.
Bastille are dressed entirely in t-shirts from Topman. Has no one got one with an eagle and the number 69 on it? I'd rather cut my own fingers off than listen to this meaningless shit.
FUCK, James Corden just nicked my Nick Grimshaw joke. GREAT. We really ARE fucked together. I made it like, an hour ago, but no one knows because I'm blogging and not tweeting, like a modern person. The benefit of blogging of course, is I don't have to argue with people about my opinion, I just give it to you, and you can lump it. Everyone's a winner.
Nicole Scherzinger is nominating the best International Group. Finally, James, Bright Eyes are going to get the acknowledgement they deserve. Oh no, it's Daft Punk. I think that new Daft Punk album was possibly one of the worst albums I've ever heard in my life. And I used to have the second Bros album. Actually, that's a good album.
James Corden is mentioning Lassiters to Kylie. I mentioned Lassiters just this week. I think I am turning into James Corden. I'm the new Matt Horne.
Oh fuck, I just caught up. I'm now in 'live play'. I think I did quite well really. Maybe it will let me have a new go on Candy Crush now (I love jumping on a trend just as it dies a death). What sort of sick fuck of a game bans you from playing it for half an hour; and you LET IT? Mental.
This Disclosure prick just said 'everyone on blogs and websites were getting really excited about our album and we were just like, settle.' OK, I'm settled. Your album is horrible and your live set is crap. Is that better? Fuckwit.
Ellie Goulding is singing now. She's in her bra, but she's not sexy in any way, shape or form, even though she's pretty with a good body. I don't know why. She's like a robot. I don't think she has feelings. If she did, she would spare us this.
WTF why has Noel Gallagher just turned up? Are they paying him? He doesn't need the money. At least he had the good grace to call it 'shit'. Kate Moss has turned up to collect an award for David Bowie. JARETH. Don't speak again, Kate. Don't ever speak.
Ugh, the real Nick Grimshaw has just shown up and snogged James Corden. Emetophobics beware.
I've had to turn down the bit where James Corden is talking to Pharrell because it was making me cringe too much, then Keith Lemon popped up, so there's that.
Jimmy Carr just showed up. Another joke about drugs. Zzzzz. Doing drugs is a lot more fun that hearing jokes about them, that's for sure.
Video of the year, as voted by Twitter: One Direction. Great trolling, Twitter. Thumbs up.
I had to turn down that Nick Grimshaw/ Rudimental bit as it was so dreadful. But it did give some time to read through my blog and relive the whole fucking nightmare.
Running out of steam? Me? Never! Ok, album of the year. Emile Sande has shown up (presumably Laura Mvula has left). Arctic Monkeys have won. Maybe now they'll name everyone at their record label. The moment we've all been waiting for. One at the back looks embarrassed. This speech is worse than the record label one, really. Glass ceiling? I don't see too many women rockers onstage. Well, any. Since Courtney. The microphone has been dropped. Super. Is it over now?
I'm turning off this last bit. I've suffered enough. This is like a final punch in the face. Same time next year? See you there, James. It's just you and me, kiddo.

Glastonbury 2007 Review: Heaven & Hell

I wanted to write this review before I looked at a clip of it on TV, before I read one word about it in the press. I didn't even read the Glastonbury paper at Glastonbury so I this is completely cold, completely from my perspective. And whilst I'm queueing for the bath, with mud still under my fingernails, now seems as good a time as any.
I was fretting about the mud for a long time. I don't really go in for all this happy-clappy mud-is-fun bullshit, because it isn't. It's disgusting. I have had two or three really bad experiences in the mud before- once as a student at Homelands, off my face, when I lost my friends and ended up covered in tinfoil at the train station with blue feet. The other most prominent time was at Glastonbury, the year Paul McCartney played. Despite Morrissey playing the Sunday, my boyfriend of the time and me packed up our stuff and fucked off. We'd had enough.
This time, my boyfriend and I got the coach, so an early exit was not an option. And I can't lie to you and say I didn't pray for one at times. The coach thing in itself was a nightmare, we were penned in, our coach left an hour late, had a kamikaze driver, then stopped for 45 minutes about an hour after we got started, meaning we got to Glastonbury in the dark, Thursday evening. Luckily, it wasn't raining (then). But there wasn't much space left at all. We had to pitch our tent by a path (never wise!) near the cinema field. We just had a chance for a brief stroll around the site before we zonked.
Friday morning, it pissed it down. Luckily, due to an email I got from the Bright Eyes site, I had a heads-up that they were doing a 'secret' acoustic set in the Guardian Lounge. Actually, it must have been quite a well-kept secret because when we got there, we managed to get right to the front. How weird was this- sitting down on a carpet, in a small cafe/tent to see our favourite artist. I was absolutely convinced he wasn't going to turn up. It just seemed too exciting to actually happen. But he did. He was there right in front of us, and we were still sitting, we were virtually looking up his nose. I was the closest person in there to him. We got some great pictures (which I will post if I ever get my laptop back) and the setlist was short but fantastic. They opened with Cleanse Song, and did Southern State and A Song To pass the Time, amongst other acoustic numbers that i cannot remember at the mo. It was really beautiful, incredibly exciting and one of the best moments of my life, because I know I'll never get that close to Conor again. I am really grateful that I got that email because I would have been heartbroken to miss it and it was wonderful for me and my boyfriend to see. Have I mentioned we're avid Bright Eyes fans? At the end some people said to the violinist 'who are you guys?' How funny!
And then we came out from that protective bubble, into the rain zone. My boyfriend wanted to go see Modest Mouse so I went with him, as I like the odd song and of course, they have Mr Marr on their team now. However, just as we were getting near the front two mud people decided to try hugging us and I got annoyed. The rain was also getting seriously heavy, so I stomped off. I could see from the position of my umbrella (being carried by my boyfriend, not by me) that he wasn't moving, so I thought, fuck this, I'll go see Emmy The Great.
In between walking up to the acoustic tent, I got wetter than you could ever know. I had no umbrella, and the crappy poncho I'd bought did NOTHING! I was not happy. Managed to get to the front of Emmy, although they had a few technical difficulties I really enjoyed the set. Her voice is fantastic. She looked so little and young and her band looked really young too. Oh, I'm getting old. They sang Edward is Deadward which is one of my favourites, so I was happy, especially as the rain outside was just ridiculous. The weather forecasters should be shot, by the way. This was not a couple of showers, it actually felt like the clouds were shitting on us, it was so hard. I have never known rain like it. Shepton Mallet seems to have an entirely different weather system to the rest of the planet. It's horrible. I don't care about getting wet, it's just the mud. There's the mud that makes you slip. There's the mud that tries to eat your wellies, it is so thick and sticky. There's the mud that is like soup, and goes almost up to your knees. Having mud all over everything for three days is just disgusting. I will have nightmares about it.
But at least on Friday it did stop eventually. In fact, just in time for Bright Eyes on the main stage, which by the miracle of my acuvue contact lenses I spotted my boyfriend at the side near the front. How spoilt could I be for Conor-ness? He still hadn't washed his hair but he and and the band were decked out in mud-inappropriate white suits. I was a bit disappointed with their performance at Koko earlier this year but they really put on a great show here. The setlist was better (The Calendar Hung Itself, No One Would Riot For Less) and the orchestra was really cool. Weirdly, Conor seems less self-conscious on a grand scale than an intimate one. There was a big crowd there too, they seem to have really grown in popularity since I saw them at Glastonbury three years ago. Happy bunnies all round, although ending with Lime Tree isn't exactly a rip-roarer.
After this we saw Bloc Party, who I think were excellent, although I missed most of them because I was having a mild panic attack about the mud. On the slope going up to the Pyramid Stage it was a complete danger, so we battled backwards a bit. Kele looked very happy and like he was loving it. The sun was out then, too.
After this we gave into the mud a little and bought some fold up chairs to sit on whilst we watched Rufus Wainwright on the imaginitively-named Other Stage (although we were waiting for Arcade Fire). He reminds me of John Barrowman, I think it's the clothing. I find the music a bit bland, though. Arcade Fire were alright, but I don't like their second album and they were pushing it hard. The woman is shit too, and the lead singer looked like Christopher Walken. The crowd visibly picked up when they played Power Out. That's the only one I like anyway! One hit wonders. Then they played the other good one. Unfortunately it was too late: we were on our way to see the Arctic Monkeys.
I don't like them myself (they are far too popular!) but my boyfriend does, and I have to say, they put on a good show. Of course everyone knows all the words whether you're a fan or not, so it was good fun to sing along, and they seem like good blokes. (All the songs do sound exactly the same though, but it's one good song, so it's OK) Diamonds are Forever was a much better cover than I expected. Blessedly, we couldn't hear Dizzy Rascal when he came on cos his mic was fucked.
On Saturday morning I woke up to the sound of rain, rain, rain. We took our chairs to the Pyramid (we're such grannies) and watched The Pipettes whilst waiting for The Guillemots (and spotted Pixie Geldof- the dizzy heights!). The sun was out for The Pipettes, The Guillemots brought a storm with them. Made Up love Song and Trains to Brazil are probably in my top twenty of perfect pop songs of all time; unfortunately, The Guillemots also have several thousand dirgy, jazzy numbers that they insist on forcing upon the soaking, unwilling audience. Boo.
After this I lost the will to live and went back to the tent whilst my boyfriend went to go watch CSS and The Klaxons. You can see why I'd rather eat a packet of crisps and read my OK magazine, right? I was of course tempted out again for the delights of Patrick Wolf on the John Peel Stage. Oh, how I love Patrick. Also bumped into an old friend there, who I tried (and failed) to convert to the Wolf charms. Not sure why Patrick Wolf was on the John Peel stage, has he not proved his worth now? Would have liked to see him on a bigger stage. Still, it was a great show, with an intriguing outfit as usual, and he played all the hits and none of his quiet ones. He seemed genuinely pleased that so many people had turned out for him.
After this we headed for the Pyramid to go see The Killers. Unfortunately we had to go up the 'bad' side of the Pyramid stage and the mud there was just disgusting, really sticky and deep and people were losing shoes and pushing and shoving. I get a bit claustrophobic in crowds so I felt a bit panicked. We got up the hill and could see the stage well, but when they came on the sound was completely fucked. We couldn't hear it at all, it was so quiet. Everyone started chanting 'louder, louder, louder' but I don't think Brandon heard us. Then everyone started booing which I also don't think he heard, but it's still a shame cos it wasn't his fault. It was absolutely shit for us though, as I love The Killers. Half the people where we were left. We were so disappointed. I only saw them this year at Wembley and it was an amazing gig so I was so looking forward to seeing them again. It really was an unforgivable fuck up on the part of the festival, thousands of people were left annoyed by it. We couldn't all cram down to the front, and the mud was making things almost impossible anyway. When we tried to get out there were more pushing and shoving. There really should have been more straw put down to try and alieviate the problem. Glastonbury is overcrowded, and gets more so year after year. It's all very well making loads of new areas and letting more punters in, but when The Killers are on, everyone wants to go see them, and people get crushed. I really believe it needs to be looked at, especially with the mud issue.
So, with heavy hearts we gave up on The Killers and went back to our tent to get our trusty chairs, then went to the Cinema field to watch Borat, which was, of course, genius.
Sunday. More rain. More rain and more mud. And the worst part, no good bands on! So we took the chance to go and explore the site. I've been to Glastonbury on non-muddy years and it IS beautiful and magical. Unfortunately, once it rains, mud covers everything. Every area it was just trudge, trudge, trudge and kind of depressing. I hardly ate and didn't look in any of the shops. I was sick of the sight of mud. People who say they like the mud can just fuck off. People who prefer caking themselves in shit (because it does have shit in it) to lying in the sun are just sick.
The rain didn't really stop at all on the Sunday. My boyfriend wanted to go watch The Horrors, so we did. The audience was full of kids watching someone with a huge conk bent over and screeching like a crow. Wonderful. We went to watch the Manic Street Preachers, who I really enjoyed. They remind me of festivals, and being a teenager. I liked Nicky's red hair and the set list was pretty good, they didn't overplay the new album and they played Faster, which was ace. My boyfriend wanted to watch The Who, so we had to stand through the Kaiser Chiefs set which was quite an interesting experience! We marvelled at how shit it was and how everyone seemed to be lapping it up. It's funny because that Kaiser Chiefs dude has the opposite problem to me, a fat face and a thin(ish) body. But God, what a fat face it is. Topped off with lobster red skin and white patches for his sunglasses where he'd obviously been off on a package holiday to Spain recently. Also wearing the number one of fashion crimes (see Seany from Big Brother): a waistcoat. Each song was like a nail being driven into my heart. Pure and utter mediocrity, how could they be so massive? Simple answer, it's moron food. Well, eat it up, morons, you deserve it.
I didn't actually make it to The Who because it started tipping it down even heavier and I was cold and annoyed (and needed the loo) so I trudged back to the tent (spotting Bill Bailey on the way). I hate The Who anyway, so fuck them. We got picked up by coach at the wonderful hour of 1.30am and it was like trench warfare trying to get on that coach. I'll be having flashbacks of the rain and the mud for years to come, I'm sure.
All in all, the Bright Eyes secret set alone was worth £150 for me. I could have touched him. The music was brilliant, and would have been more so if we could have actually heard The Killers. I've since heard (I've been writing this review a long time!) that they turned it down because the neighbours complained! Fuck the neighbours frankly, we forked out ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY QUID. They are the headline band, for fucks sake. Monumental fuck up. Bad for the band too as they had waited a while to play the Pyramid. We listened to them on the way home to make up for it.
But the mud, oh the mud. I'm just not built for it, baby. Maybe I'm just too old for festivals. Maybe I just need to move somewhere warmer. Whatever, I'm going to watch The Killers I taped.