King of summer

Dunno if you know this or not but last year I was the official king of the UK Summer.

True.

I've been planning my festivals for this year recently. Working out which ones I want to go to and where/if I might want to perform at any.

So far it looks like going to 5 performing at 2. Good ratio I think.

Anyway, it got me thinking about this thing I almost wrote last year about

sex at festivals. 

See I didn't have a blog then so I'm gunna put it up here, now.

Yu know it all seams very romantic,
You meet a girl at a festival, 

Everything seems magical,
Yu feel like you’ve really connected,
You take her back to your tent, or you go back to hers,
Smoke a spliff together, or drink a little whisky or something,
You both get in your sleeping bag,
And just start exploring and discovering each other,
Yu know just mutually experiencing and sharing in this perfect festival moment of loveliness,
It’s a beautiful, romantic, idea,
Beautiful,

The idea that is,
But then when it comes down to the actual reality of it,
And its about 5 o clock in the morning, the sun’s already come up and now it’s really pressing against the outside of yu tent, turning the inside into some kind of stinking, humid, sweat-ridden, claustrophobic, slow boiling, canvass oven,

When yu find yuself slumped across the back half of a girl you never really found that attractive, 

a girl who's been becoming steadily less attractive in the last sort of twenty minutes,
And yu repeatedly bashing your hips into her hips as you struggle unsuccessfully to thumb a semi-flaccid, festival-weathered penis into a well-used yet surprisingly arid and unyielding vagina,

And as yu gasping for breath, and the mucus your sweating falls from your face into the small off her back and the nylon of the tents clammy innards cling to your weary shoulders,
And as yu look down at the business end it becomes obvious that there is no way your gunna be able to push your increasingly indifferent windsock of a penis into what now looks like a necklace of human ears and bacon fat,

And yu just trying to cough up enough saliva to be able to swallow even though you know it’s a lost cause, and the stink of piss and sweat and shit and cum and blood and earth and nylon and baby wipes and stale smoke and cock and feet and vagina catches the back of yu throat making yu retch and gag almost choking you on yu own dry tongue,

Yu just got to say tu yuself,

Ah god

This is awful.