Living it up when it's pouring down

Any lingering desire to attend Glastonbury and its inevitable mud-bath has been firmly quashed by the relentless deluge which accompanied our sojourn to Hyde Park to see veteran rockers Aerosmith. With Loved One and Rocker/Rockette in tow, we establish ourselves in our traditional spot in front of the sound desk, and settle in for the evening. In order to insure we didn't lose anyone from our party we built a lager, er, laager around ourselves, which lasted about a minute before it was trampled carelessly into the mire by myself. Undaunted, we bought another forty pints and prepared ourselves for former Soundgarden front man, Chris Cornell, to ponce about on stage. Since mowing off his locks and starting up Audioslave with the former Rage against the Machine crew, Cornell has lost it IMHO. The nadir of his career being, as any fule kno, the utterly wet Bond theme, for which he should be brutally coshed. I, however, am man enough to overlook this descent into naffdom, especially as he does a smokin' rendition of 'Jesus Christ Pose' - my all time favourite Soundgarden choon. Temporarily placated, I went on the first of many grueling journeys to the portaloos to download urine. There will be a nobel prize for the first person who perfects festival ablutions, but probably not in this century. I opt for the cover of the trees and irrigate an oak in the company of an extremely inebriated man, who appeared to be weeping while he wee'd. Asking no questions I waded back to base, tramping on endless feet and receiving hearty abuse from all and sundry. I return in time for Jet to come on and ask me whether I'm going to be their girl, which I have to politely decline. These Aussie boys do good and the crowd are well primed for a hard n' heavy dose of the 'Smith. We've been joined by T n' E who've miraculously found us in the human storm and look both fresh, dry and sober in comparison to our sodden, sozzled selves.

So on to the main course and here is Steve Tyler in a fetching 10 gallon hat and traditional mike scarf, belting out the classics like he'd never taken every drug in creation and drank most of the Jack Daniels in America. These ancient rock gods must have some truly unique DNA to allow them to recover from a life of debauchery sufficiently enough to be able to do it one mo' time for the fans. I'm hoping to osmotically absorb some of this magic elixir, as I feel a monumental hangover may be in the offing. Rocker has taken on the wild eyed mentalist look I know and love and abandons us suddenly to go off in search of rockette; that's the last we see of them then. This us unfortunate, because 'Walk this way' is brilliant to hear, as are all the old faithfuls, and Joe Perry lashes his machine with his usual lascivious intensity (You can just make him out, leaning back on the drum stacks above.) Hell, it even looks like Gerard Depardieu has joined the band, tho we may be mistaken. My trendy jacket has confirmed that the term 'shower proof' means exactly that and not a drop heavier, and I seem to have inherited Rockette's leather stockman's hat. Praise the Lord for sober friends with a car, as we inch towards Hyde Park Corner and the sanctuary of a Mini Cooper. Thanks for making it out there kids and even more thanks for getting us home. Now, has anyone heard from Rocker?

B