Last summer we went on an adventure to Glastonbury. To say the weather was capricious would be an understatement, we all somehow managed to be completely impoverished* for the duration of the trip, and I ended up missing my flight home and having a mortifying mental breakdown. Nevertheless, our festive period had its advantages. Having disposable barbecues whilst listening to Bruce Springsteen in the distance, watching the majority of the 1997 sci-fi parody film "Starship Troopers" starring Denise "I haven't had a purpose since being mastubatory fodder in 'Wild Things'" Richards.
Now, every time we're in the car and Florence & the Machine comes on Phantom FM, Jamie Fox and I try to see how quickly we can change the station. But last summer, when we went to watch her set at the festival I was blown away by her performance. The stage was wreathed in flowers, she was dressed like a water nymph**, and Florence was dangling wrecklessly from scaffolding whilst singing ornately instrumented songs with a voice that was soulful and ethereal in equal measures. One of the problems I encountered with Glastonbury was the sheer size of the place; the fact it could take one hour to get from one stage to another meant I ended up missing a lot of acts I had quite wanted to see. Florence and the Machine was one of the few gigs we managed to make, and I loved it. Her vocals were insanely forceful; it was sheer delightful spectacle. And then she fell victim to merciless over-exposure.
Day seventeen is a song that you often hear on the radio.
Florence and the Machine- Dog Days Are Over by peesmith
* spending my last five pounds on a box of cigarettes from a haggard lady riding down a hill on a bicycle only to find out they were counterfeit was possibly one of the most crushing moments of my life.
** albeit it one who looks like a partially melted waxwork that's hardened again.
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