I got home from this weekend by mega-bus on tuesday morning; separated from my band, cold, wet and covered in my own blood. I tried to hide my blackened fingernails from the real-people who worked in shops and cafes as I tended my scarred & battered hands, pulling out the occasional splinter of metal or wood while I slurped at some hot tea. That was what I call a fucking weekend. Jesus Mother of God. I want to go back. But maybe first a shower and a wee lie down.

We started off in Leeds on Friday, early. On stage at 12.45pm, which means beer 'o clock is about 10am. I'm not going to pretend its the first time, but I'd rather it wasn't a Carling. Ug. We weren't expecting much at that time in the afternoon, but the dance tent was packed. We started with a new one, '3D Sex Show' and it went off its tits. There was almost immediate crowd surfing and a rather interesting mosh-pit that at one point had people sprinting around its diameter as fast as they could. An innovative new way to enjoy music. We were overwhelmed by the crowd reaction, it was on-par with any gig we've ever played, (minus some of the house parties) And I enjoyed every fucking second. We staggered off back stage and laughed our heads off. Fucking amazing.

We continued to drink the Carling, but it didn't get us pissed. It just gave us indigestion. However our 7ft roadie and good friend Larry had brought some Buckfast, which proved to be the medicine required, although he did start feeling ill after the third bottle. I tried to convince him to go and vomit on The Kooks, who were getting photographed nearby, but he couldn't muster the strength. To say I was disappointed would be a fucking understatement.

After that I saw Vitalic, who was class, but I couldn't dance with a belly full of warm beer and our attempts to find pills were fruitless, (that was until a nice man gave us a bag of 100 to share between ourselves. Thanks nice man!) Then we found 2 Many DJs and Soulwax's dressing room, resplendent with its own cocktail bar, and after two cocktails I was pissed - at last. We danced at the side of the stage to Soulwax, who blew me away; seriously, fucking amazing. Then joined the party on stage for 2 Many DJs who brought the cocktail bar along with them. That has to be the high point of the night. After that I spent the early morning wandering around the campsite talking to mad bastards, catching a few hours of sleep before we had to leave for Reading the next day.

I can't remember that much about Reading on Saturday. I bumped into Farris Horrors, who was emaciated with booze. Saw the Arctic Monkeys who were actually terrible, stole a mega-phone from a steward and had a campfire by the van till the early hours. The come-down was palpable, but we had a pleasant evening at any rate.

The next day I woke to screams and people shouting for an ambulance, something to do with a fire. I'd rather not know. We drove to the dance stage and drank our breakfast. They were running late so our line-check was rushed, meaning that Joel's bass didn't go through the PA for nearly the entire gig until half way through disco blood. That alone meant it wasn't as good a gig as it should have been, but those who where close enough to hear the bass coming through the stacks were dancing & seemed to enjoy it anyway. I met up with some friends from London and we battered cocktails of K & 2Ci, while the rest of the band prepared to go back to Glasgow. I couldn't face the van and decided to stay. Im glad I did. I saw Klaxons & Larrikin Love before running back to catch Soulwax again. Their drummer deserves a medal. Then raved it up on stage with 2 Many Djs, out of my tiny little mind.

The arena closed and we went out into the campsite. There was loads of people battering out drum beats on upturned oil-drums and it was too tempting to resist. I got myself some snapped pieces of metal as sticks and banged along with several groups until I found my own oil-drum and started hitting the living fuck out of it. Something somehwere between the beat of I Know Kung Fu mixed with drum and bass, samba & gabba. People were dancing all around me and some joined in, hitting metal poles with metal poles, it was an impromptu dance-up in a wet muddy field. I got pretty into it, I have to say. It was only after about an hour, that my friends pulled me away and I realised my white t-shirt was covered in blood. I looked at my hands and they actually dripping with the stuff. I learnt something that day; Metal - it cuts your hands.

I'd sent my tent back to glasgow in the van cos I couldn't be arsed carrying it, but soon regretted it as the rain battered down and all we had for comfort was a capfire burning wood chippings. We huddled as close as we could, with only the K to keep us happy. I had to be saved from falling asleep face first into the fire about 5 times, and I burnt my trousers by holding my legs too close. I stayed up all night, all be it in a drowsy half-consciousness that left me feeling worse than having no sleep at all. We got the train back to London, I had a shower at a friends house then got some booze and went to the Nottinghill Carnival. Its the first time I've been and it was fucking mint. I had to leave it at about 11 tho so I could get my mega-bus back. But like I say, what a fucking weekend.