Wales was absolutely fuckin' mental. There's something glorious about being stuck in the middle in the middle of nowhere with tonnes of drink, drugs and headcases. Far too many people were taking their lives into their own, rather shaky, hands and doing all sorts of wacky shit. Explosive rockets, unicycling down treacherous hills, Super Soakers filled with paraffin (ok, that's a lie, even in our state we knew this was a bad idea), Mushroom tea, stunning sunshine, cows, dogs and enough Grolsch to take down George Best and his army of livers - it was all good fun. I've been back for quite some time, and I still don't feel like I've recovered.
I've been haemorrhaging money recently - as well as the usual 'social expenditure', Futurama Series 3, Jim Jarmusch's 'Coffee & Cigarettes' and Chris Cunningham's (slightly disappointing new short) 'Rubber Johnny' have just crashed through my letterbox and two seconds ago I ordered a suave new Zippo from eBay.
I don't even fucking smoke.
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