Down Low on a Sunday Morning

When I woke up with a fuzzy felt faux moustache stuck firmly to the top of my right arm my initial terror at seeing it – thinking it was a spider – was sluggishly replaced by the dawning recollections of the previous night, which ended barely two hours before, in full daylight.

The stick-on ‘tache is the entry ticket for the New York Downlow, a mobile gay man trannie-shack disco that’s set up shop in Trash City at this year’s Festival. It was one of the few remaining places open at 4am when we were convinced that the thing we wanted most in the whole of Glastonbury, was more lager.

We economised on time by avoiding the field-long queue – the club hadn’t yet been reviewed for GlastOnline, so we needed to get in there pretty quick – and entered the hazy dry-ice-filled world of topless male disco bunnies. We got our beer and I got some sideshow entertainment by watching my two (male) friends cling to the bar, cautiously observing the other side of Glastonbury. While I wandered off to explore – break dancing jump rope; lots of horny moustachioed men mauling each other; and a few lost hippy-trippers – they escaped to the food van outside.

Every year at Glastonbury I try to be a vegetarian. This is partly because I refuse to eat field-cooked chicken and partly because the home cooked veggie food on offer looks far more appetising. Burgers hold a certain appeal, but I don’t like to do things by halves so they’re also outlawed for the five Festival days.

There is just one animal that thwarts my foray into the wholesome underworld of self control – pig, in the smoked, cured and rashered format. When alcohol free it’s pretty tempting, after too many pints of lager and two hours sleep, it’s irresistible. It’s also like the solid version of Berocca – an instant hangover cure.

So, today, at 10.30am, I broke my meat ban.



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