something for the weekend

Was over my illness by the weekend and had recovered sufficiently to probably risk doing similar damage to my body yet again.

On Saturday I went to the Future Music Festival at the Randwick Race Course, and on Sunday popped along to the celebrations for the 75th anniversary of the Sydney Harbour Bridge.

I only got hold of a ticket for Future Music - a typical all-day dance tent mash up thingy - at 10.30am on the Saturday, just a couple of hours before it started. After appropriate preparation in several drinking establishments, I finally got my arse over to the venue only to be greeted by an almighty storm. By the time I enter the festival, I look like a drowned rat from a tsunami.

The event itself is alright. A bright sunny day certainly helps at things like this, and so therefore a rancid dark and horrible one does pretty much the opposite. I try and convince myself that the more Smirnoff Ice I drink, the more fun it will be.

Ok, let's be fair here. It is a fun day. I'm not at work, so that's a bonus. But, I dunno, there's something missing here from the equivalent events I attend in the UK. It begins with E, that's right it's, erm, Eucalyptus Oil. Yes. That's the one.

One of the things that really fucking annoys me about festivals is twats stood next to you at the bar boasting about how wrecked they are. I get myself into some pretty interesting states at these events, but I never - and I really do mean never - feel the urge to turn round to somebody and make some kind of announcement about it.

"Mate, are you as fucked as me? I'm fucking wasted. Tell you what, I'd fuck that barmaid."

Next day I attend the anniversary of the Harbour Bridge. It would have been a great occasion, but again the weather is lousy. Plus, there's only so much looking at a bridge you can do...

Miserable cunt, aren't I?!