There's no such thing as poultry

said the actress to the bishop. It was a freezing cold January afternoon and the trough favoured by the greatest pigs in Lincolnshire had toppled over, it was a fucking nightmare. Michael Eavis wandered over, laughing, he’d seen it all before, until his wellies got stuck in the mud and he tearfully thanked every name under the sun and declared it the sexiest Glastonbury he’d ever seen.

Cornflakes divided the nation as a party political broadcast sliced the motorways in two, lorries ploughed confused into the roadside forests and then came to a standstill atop mountains of Kronenberg cans, parties and new lives off the grid etc.

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Glastonbury is in June, not January…

Shutup

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