Is Birmingham really some kind of Sim-City like simulation?  Played by a confused soul who laid down all the wrong foundations, and now just kicks down random buildings and replaces them in a constant panic to give us Brummies some order?

You’ve heard the music, seen the bands, smelled the toilets.  But have you seen a giant metal spider spit fire out of it’s back, while simultaneously carrying Fat Boy Slim in it’s belly?

A year off.  Just long enough to forget that the previous Glastonbury was a devious trial.  In which the highlight for pop loving drunkards was struggling through quicksand-like mud in a vain effort to capture a glimpse of the miming…

The plan was simple:  Get in the campervan and head south for a week of hopping around the Cornish coast.  

You know winter has gone too far when the Bailiffs are kicking the door in for their heating money and you’re still desperately trying to turn the Economy 7 dial past maximum.