The killer is the waiting. Waiting between bands .You sit around, listening to records but you want a band on. There were two stages ,one being on wheels, but it still takes a couple of hours between bands. The poor devils out front are covering them selves with anything that keeps the wind out- and that includes polythene sheets already filthy and wet. You don't realize how hard its raining until you look through the beams of the floodlights .And there it is ,thick, silver.
Some poor guys are in terrible states.
You can't even light a bloody cigarette. Those messages you hear Dunkley read over the mike. Somebody lost, or starting a fund for those busted and who can't afford a fine. There s nothing joyous, nothing great about it. Its horribly sad.