“Y’all know the Doctor? Doctor John? Mac Rebennack?” Robbie Robertson’s famous Last Waltz introduction was not necessary this evening as everyone here knew who they were coming to see.
Arising in the campsite on Sunday morning, having successfully negotiated my way in on Saturday night sans wristband, I made the conscious decision to get out as quickly as possible. The place was like a scene from Mad Max 2, feral children gnawing on remnants of food and scouring for the last drops of alcohol [...]
Arising in the campsite on Sunday morning, having successfully negotiated my way in on Saturday night sans wristband, I made the conscious decision to get out as quickly as possible. The place was like a scene from Mad Max 2
After a much needed kip in my own bed, I ventured back up to Balado, with surprising ease, on one of the many shuttle buses. I was fully expecting long queues on my arrival at St Andrews Bus Station but thankfully my fears were unfounded.
Arriving to my first ever Friday at TITP following its introduction last
year, we encountered the usual troop of Laaads guzzling Buckfast, simply
shouting “TEEEINNNTHAAPAAARK” - as if to remind people of where they are?
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