We’ve just been robbed. We’d both been looking forward to coming to Big Chill for months as it’s the only holiday we’re getting this year, with the purchase of The Heap and all, and some half-brained fuckwit has come into our tent whilst we were sleeping, in the pouring rain, and stolen both my and LL’s jeans.

What kind of cunt nicks someones trousers? Especially soaking wet, mud encrusted ones. Luckily there was nothing in them…except the car keys, LL’s contact lenses and both our belts. I’m gutted about the belt, it was my silver leather one: pretty much irreplaceable.

We’re both really worried about the car keys as the fuckhead will know which car park we’re in and, if they’ve got half a brain, would easily be able to fathom out which car it is. I’m going on the assumption it’s some semi-literate cretin off their nut on class A’s who on the look out for opportunistic wallets so 10 year old Volvos aren’t really of much interest.

So that’s it for me as far as festivals go. Glastonbury and Bestival were a total washout the last time we went, it’s been pissing down here too. The bulk of the people are cocks, and now to top off the shit-cake that we keep trying to convince ourselves is devils food we’re now trouser, and possibly car-less.

Utter, utter wankers.