Mess. Definition please. A state of confusion and disorderliness. Welcome to my life.

Last Saturday confirmed all my suspicions. It’s 2:30am and the music has stopped, the lights are on and I’m as hungry as a size-zero model in a McDonalds for the first time in their life. I step outside the Forum and it’s raining cats and dogs. My fancy dress plan was initially going to be a crude attempt at my role model and idol, Captain Morgan. It didn’t work out that way though.

I had dug through the end of my wardrobe and eventually rustled up a Death costume from yesteryear. It was nothing to get excited about except for the hood that covered your entire face to create an air of mystery which admittedly granted me the freedom to dry hump (amongst other things to be fair) everyone in sight, all whilst remaining anonymous. Hoods are dangerous though.

Cats and Dogs are bouncing off my face and the only thing on my mind is a chicken burger freshly harvested by some Polish slave worker in Hill Billies. My friends are all creeping about outside the Forum, either catching up with old friends or going in for the kill on the haplessly unaware! I wanted no part of such debauchery though and instead opted to pull over my hood, put my head down and run into town where I could get all the breast I wanted. And then I could go get chicken.

I probably got a hundred meters before childhood memories suddenly came flooding back. See, when I was about 3 years old, and this is one of my earliest vivid memories, I was oddly environmentally aware. I had just finished a Loop The Loop ice-lolly and wanted to dispose of my lolly pop stick in the safest possible way so I broke away from the tight grip of my mother and ran down towards the nearest bin at the bottom of the street. Proud of completing my civic duty, I turned around to my mother to wave in delight. My mother got quite animated, obviously immensely proud of me. I woke up twenty minutes later.

As it turns out, the only thing between me and the bin was a lamp post.

In retrospect I think I got away quite lightly. I did kill a tooth though. How do you kill a tooth? Simple really. You run as fast as you can towards a bin, turn around and wave to your mother and then look back just in time to wrap yourself around an iron pole and knock yourself unconscious and sever the nerves in your gums.

Fast forward seventeen years and I’m once again hurtling towards a pole only this time I have a fucking black veil across my face which gives me the same eyesight as a 90 year old World War II veteran. I know the road though and manage to maneuver my way around a few obstacles. I think I’m in the clear and put the proverbial foot down. I notice three people eating chips outside the Ballybricken Chipper. It’s the last thing I notice.

“OOOOOOOOOOHH” is all I hear in chorus as I suddenly come to a stand still. Actually, a “stand still” is a very generous description of myself. A collapsed mess would be more apt. I pull the veil back over my head and see a pole standing over me. One of the avid chip eaters from across the road comes over to see if I’m okay while I can still hear the unmistakable ring that’s created when Pole meets Skull. Either that or they were going to rob me. I’m conscious though and they go back to their fish and chips.Bastards with their food. I send a text to my friend which simply read “fucking Pole. I’m in a bad way”. When he arrived, fists clenched, he demanded to know where the dirty foreigner had gone. I should have saved face and cut my losses by admitting that some greasy Pole started on me and attacked me for no reason. Instead I told him the truth. To summarise, it pretty much went like: “I’m a fucking retard who runs into iron poles for the craic”.

It’s then that I notice I’m bleeding. I’m so preoccupied with with wiping my face and trying to keep up with my friends (who I was ironically running away from in the first place) that I then walk into another pole. If I was trickling blood in the first place, I was pumping at industrial pace now! I was bungled into a taxi and sent home. It was probably for the best but I ended up not getting any food which was the reason why I turned into a unsighted Usain Bolt in the first place!

I took a photo of myself which kind of made me look like some kind of rape victim but thankfully I got a text the next morning that said I wasn’t raped but went into a Pole instead. Had I finished that double Morgan’s and Coke that was knocked out of my hand before I left, that text probably would have been appreciated much more.

It’s now Thursday and most of my face has healed. After about a day of washing, I managed to get rid of all the caked in blood to reveal the actual size of the cut. I probably could have done with a stitch or two but I think I can live with another scar. It’s not like I was going to become Nivea’s next big thing by brandishing the man tan on national TV! To compound the idea that a stitch would have come in handy is the fact that I now have blood trickling down my face again. Apparently random people love picking at random peoples scabs. They should just get their own to be fair.

I can’t get away from the fact that it’s another scar and another embarrassing story to go with it! The last scar I earned goes about halfway down my shin after I mistimed a jump between two walls while running and took a healthy chunk out of it. I swear that the next scar I get is going to be for something heroic like falling out of a tree after rescuing a blind cat. Knowing me I’ll probably just clock another pole – I’m an expert at this stage!

Okay, I know that part two of my Oxegen trip report is still “due”. The first half of it was far too long, so I’ve conveniently decided to wait a few months so that I’ll forget all the non-important stuff and only include a mind blowing account of the remainder of the weekend. If only.

For now I’ll skip forward a few weeks to the present time. I’ve just made it home after waiting half an hour in an Indian take away for my end of night food. Indian food is world renowned for it’s unique flavour and it’s interesting to note that Indians are far more popular than Chinese in England, in restaurant terms, which is perhaps the result of the Chinese getting to Ireland first and getting a firm grip of the place before the Indians eventually came to our shores.

“I’ll have a Vindalloo” would usually be my instinctive request if I ever found myself at an Indian takeaway as drunk as a wino on Dole Day. I had a brief look at the menu though, and was overwhelmed with the numbers. Options 1 through 60 all looked the same to me until I caught glimpse of the big notice underneath the conventional menu which offered a Doner Kebab roll and can of coke for €5. Yes please.

A half an hour passed and all my friends got their food – traditional Indian curries and the like. I was still sat there talking about cricket of all things to the sole member of staff. I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if Ali at the counter sent Mohammad in the kitchen over to the Istanbul across the road to get a few slices of Doner meat. During this time I wondered what the hell Doner meat was. I’m glad I was too drunk at the time (and probably still am) to even begin to comprehend just how little meat goes into this “meat”.

I eventually got my meal, and I use the term “meal” extremely lightly, perhaps to the point where I don’t even classify it as a meal and more so call it a challenge to the stomach. My stomach passed. Thusfar.

I’m back from the temporary bog that is currently Punchestown for almost 24 hours now and even though that should be ample time to recover and really appreciate the whole thing, I still can’t figure out and decide if it was the most breathtaking and electric weekend of my life, or if it was the most depressing and boring crock of shite that I’ll ever have the privilege of spending €250 to see. This blog will mostly be me trying desperately to recall the highs and the lows of the weekend and is more for my own benefit in helping me make heads and tails of the entire experience. Hopefully you might be able to muster up an awkward smile or chuckle at my expense at some point though.

The “fun” all started on Wednesday when I went into work and realised that I was rostered to be on until 5am which would be cutting it fairly tight to catch my 6am bus had I been ready to go but was borderline pisstake given that I hadn’t even found a bag to pack my stuff into! I managed to swap a shift with someone else which gave me a few hours packing time to play with but meant I was forced to pull an all-nighter on the eve of Oxegen. Probably not the best of starts I could have hoped for.

I just about managed to catch the 6am bus after spending my last moments at home desperately trying to transfer my chosen poisons for the weekend of Vodka and Buckfast into plastic bottles. Once on the bus I had to fight with myself to stay awake. An odd slap every so often to the face seemed to do the trick though. The journey did get that little bit easier to cope with once Gift Grub came on the radio with their Oxegen special and all the weather reports and commentary on the radio seemed to indicate that it would be a great weekend with little to no rain. I think I came off the bus with a smile as wide as my face, thinking my decision not to bring welly’s would be vindicated.

How little I knew.

While I was standing around in the freezing cold in Enniscorthy waiting for John to come chugging along in his overloaded Zafira, I thought back to a flyer that I saw in Waterford Bus Station which advertised a special offer of €10 return to Naas. “That could have been useful”, I thought to myself as I happily paid €10.80 for a single journey down the road. I really wished I opted to travel by bus the entire way when I saw John pull up in his people carrier that was practically bulging at the sides, like a fat child who gorged their way through 7 hamburgers, thanks to the tents, sleeping bags, clothes and beer that was packed inside it. I struggled to get into it and there was still 4 people left to clamber in!

If ever there was a moment where I honestly thought “fuck my life”, it was when I sat in the back of that car with a can of Tubourg practically half up my arse and a bag of cans falling onto my head every five minutes which always woke me up from whatever little sleep I was getting and meant I saw the two people in front of me with their tongues down each others throats. I nearly got sick.

Once we found our way to the venue (and believe me, it was no mean feat after passing through the same village three times), we looked for a suitable spot to set up camp. Thankfully – but at the same time frustratingly – one of the guys who I traveled with was a camping expert. I was thankful because I’d never pitched a tent in my life but frustrated because every prospective site we went to was inspected with Ray Mears-esque precision. We eventually set up shop a stones throw away from the Thursday Night Stage and the Xbox Live Stage. Hmmm, the site may have ticked all of Ray Mears’ boxes but his checklist obviously didn’t have anything that asked whether you have the slightest fucking hope of getting some sleep throughout the whole weekend! We were there to stay though as none of us fancied lugging our gear around for another 2 hours while watching him roll about the grass checking for thistles and shit.

As it transpires, pitching a tent is embarassingly easy.

Anyway, once we had our “settlement” up and running there was nothing left to do other than open up the cans, sit back, relax and wait for the music to start. First up was a 80s covers band from Germany. Hearing some of Rock and Rolls greatest ever productions being sung in a distinct German accent was a bit disappointing though, but a few cans later the sound of “Highway Star” was enough to draw me out from our makeshift courtyard with my 2L bottle of vodka and coke and into the chaos that was unfolding in the mosh pits in the field opposite us. I came back with my arms lovingly wrapped around my bottle which had somehow survived the madness unscathed which was more that could be said of my body that emerged with a cocktail of bruises.

On my meandering path back to my tent I couldn’t help but notice that a 6 man tent was being pitched across the way from us in what was a “No Camping Zone”. For some reason, I took particular offense to the fact that I couldn’t now walk straight from our tent to the stage and instead had to take a light detour around this gigantic tent. I figured that I should send them a friendly message… by running through their tent. It wasn’t pegged down, so I thought that I could run straight through it. I’m pretty sure it will materialise as a video on YouTube in the near future, but basically I sprinted across the road and jumped into the front of the tent in the hopes that I’d carry on and come out the other side. Unfortunately for me, there was someone on the other side of the canvas and and I just bounced off them and sent them flying. I stumbled away without a clue of what to do because I didn’t for a second think my plan would fail. There was some awkward moments as I first claimed I couldn’t see the tent due to it blending in with the grass and then changed my story to simply wanting to come over and make an entrance and say hello. We shook hands and somehow I was off the hook. We were to receive poetic justice a few nights later though…

The rest of the tribute bands were pretty decent. There was an AC/DC band that did a great cover of “Let There Be Rock” that once again saw me in the middle of some madness with my bottle of drink being clung onto for dear life! Later on there was a strange band that was playing hip-hop and rap songs from the 90s. Rocking out to an all-white band who are pumping out the likes of MC Hammer with disturbing accuracy was pretty entertaining, not to mention surreal!

When that was all finished, we went off to the fun fair where I haggled with this girl who was selling tickets to a ride she didn’t want to go on. I kind of shot myself in the foot when it turned out that no-one I was with wanted to go on it either! My bottle had very obviously depleted at this stage as I not only went on it twice by myself, but then went and spent another €10 to go on it again. I’m such a weirdo. I can’t really remember how I got back to my tent but was somehow perplexed by how I managed to neatly fold my clothes and put them in the corner yet can’t remember how the fuck I got back to my tent!

I didn’t have time to worry about such anomalies though because it was Friday and it was an early start! The first band I wanted to see was God Is An Astronaut, who were playing in the Green Spheres tent. I wanted to get there early and ended up catching the last 20 minutes or so of the Dirty Epics set. They’re a fun little band who I’ve seen play in the Forum in Waterford a few times before. They play infectiously catchy indie pop songs and try their best to get the crowd going, which is more that can be said for some of the other bands who were playing over the course of the weekend! I managed to wriggle my way up to the front for God Is An Astronaut and they didn’t fail to impress. I’m pretty terrible at remembering the names of songs of sets so all I can say was that I was blown away. It served as the perfect gig to pump me up for the rest of the weekend and I came out of that tent thinking that not even the rain was going to get in the way of me enjoying it! Is it too far-fetched to suggest that this unstoppable feeling that God Is An Astronaut brainwashed into me was what kept me away from the Welly Exchange stall??

Our next stop was over to see James play on the Main Stage. All of their songs seemed pretty alien to me and because we were over to the very right of the stage, sound was quite patchy and the volume ultimately depended on what direction the wind decided to blow in. I was told that they were some big band in the 90s but it wasn’t until they played Come Sit Down that I started to get into it. It also happened to be one of their last songs so it was one of the less enthusiastic performances that I saw over the weekend but they’re a great band to kill time with… if that’s of any compliment at all. It probably isn’t though. I also thought they were a bit gay. Just an observation.

I then went exploring and happened across Therapy? who were playing on the O2 Stage. I only caught the last twenty minutes of their show but I immediately wish that I had told James to fuck off and left earlier to catch the entire show. I hadn’t listened to much of their stuff in quite some time and admittedly a lot of the stuff outside of Troublegum would be as familiar to me as a fist up my nose. I tried my best to fit in around the hardcore fans by humming riffs every now and again as I shimmied my way as close to the front as I could. I’m actually surprised at how well this worked throughout the entire weekend. I shimmied my way to the front of pretty much every act I saw and no-one seemed to mind. Of course when I did get up near the front I’d have nearly bitten the ear off anyone who even dared get past me!

I caught some of Lily Allen on my way back across the arena but told myself that I’d only stay and watch if she was either having some kind of wardrobe malfunction. She wasn’t. I managed to catch the last few minutes of Fight Like Apes who were playing to a pretty full tent. I know that the pissing rain probably had something to do with some smaller bands playing to massive crowds. Fight Like Apes are basically Ireland’s answer to the plethora of electro-indie bands that have been imported across the shores over the years. I really did enjoy what I saw of the gig and was surprised that even people near the back knew the words to the songs. I was creeping around back there in anticipation of Mogwai who were due to play right after.

To express how disappointed I was with Mogwai, I think I’ll talk a bit more about Fight Like Apes, the band I only saw because I wanted to be early for Mogwai. I think they have a very bright future ahead of them. Their music is catchy and upbeat but if I’m allowed one word of criticism it’s that they try a bit too hard to be “random”. I’m all for getting the crowd going but they all they achieve by climbing scaffolding and banging chairs off barriers is distract us from their music – which is quite good.

It was around this time that I had to use one of the toilets. I had managed to get over to the arena when it opened at the beginning of the day when I had to use the ATM. They were spotless then but fast forward 7 hours and take into account that the only food that could be bought comprised of nothing but fat and grease and you have a completely different story. I decided my best course of action was to just queue up behind a girl. Guys only use Portaloos for one reason, and it’s never pretty! My hypothesis was somewhat proven when I saw a guy come out with a big dirty grin on his face and have a girl go in after. Within seconds she ran out and got sick all over the ground! The girl in front of me was armed with bleach and baby wipes, so I was safe as houses. I did leave with a big grin on my face though. God only knows what happened to the poor soul who went in after…

All that was left to do for the night was try get in a good spot for the two headlining bands, Blur and Snow Patrol. Snow Patrol were up first and it was the third best gig I’ve ever seen (right after Tool in the Point in 2006 and God is an Astronaut in Electric Avenue last year). The atmosphere was electric with the entire arena packed with every single fan singing along to every song. I was so caught up in the experience that I even threw a girl up on my shoulders and somehow managed to not drop her even though she was trying her hardest to kill us both. As for Blur, I was torn between seeing them or 2 Many DJ’s. I’ll admit that I was more of an Oasis man during the 90s but the very fact that this could be my only opportunity to see Blur live meant that I chose to stick around. I wasn’t disappointed.

On our way back to our tent we were absolutely gutted to find that someone had set up a tent in the 4ft wide empty square in front of us. Just like that our courtyard was ruined. When we woke up the next morning though, the occupants were to give us all the biggest surprise of the weekend…

(Jesus this is a long post, I’ll try have Sat and Sun’s blog up soon)

Yesterday morning was one of those days where I vowed never to touch a drop of alcohol again. With bloodshot eyes and with what felt like a hammer pounding against my head, I somehow stumbled into the chaos and madness of work for a torturous 8 hour stint. It wasn’t meant to be like that though! I wasn’t meant to meander back to my house at 4am and cling to my covers for dear life, for fear of falling! Oh no, I had it planned all differently; a few drinks back at the house, followed by maybe one or two when I went out. I don’t roll that way.

I had tonnes of drink left from a small house party earlier in the week and found a website called WebTender, where you simply select what “ingredients” you have and it lists all the possible drinks you can make! Some experimentation was in order and the ensuing hours consisted of me knocking back all manner of magical concoctions! I felt fine when we (thought it was imperative to point out I wasn’t drinking alone!) left the house, well, certainly better than I would have felt had I been drinking cans!

Cocktails have a way of making you forget though. They make you forget just how many you’ve had to drink and they make it all to easy to forget that they’re absolutely laced with alcohol!! One of the nicest ones I “sampled” had double shots of Vodka and Southern Comfort and was topped off with milk! It tasted like those old Mily Ice Lollies that were around years a go. So when I arrived at the forum, I was under the illusion that I didn’t have much to drink! So in what originally started as a way to save some money and try new drinks, quickly turned into a one-tonne night!

Pizza and Vomit. The only two things I remember after the forum closed. I remember the pizza because there was evidence of the meal deal I had bought beside my bed when I woke up… and stood in it! I remember the vomit because I tried to login and blog. Trying to focus your vision on something when all it wants to do is make everything blurry and distorted isn’t a smart thing to do. Even in my dunken stupor, it only took two visits to my good friend, the toilet bowl, to realise that blogging wasn’t happening.

Yesterday morning was one of those days where I vowed never to touch a drop of alcohol again. I’ll see you out next week!

Haven’t had the chance to update this in a long time because I’ve been working my cotton socks off! I have one day left to work in what’s become an 8 day working week! When I’m not working, I’m trying my hardest to enjoy what precious spare time I have which usually ends up with me in a pub of some shape or form. Last night I dedicated my time to the cause of Tequila… it made be happy but not before almost throwing up on everyone in a fun new drinking game that I call “Race to the Ribena”.

It all started when I saw Barry with 2 shots of tequila… all for himself, so I decided to make things interesting by buying four shots of tequila, three for me, one for him and see who could down them first! Two guys downing tequila for nothing more than pride is pretty much a text book case of degenerate alcoholism, so in order to make it all acceptable, there had to be a prize! A lonely looking pint glass of Ribena was in the middle of the table and so the drinking game “Race to the Ribena” was born. The only thing that stood in our way were hurdles… hurdles of tequila that is!

I personally think it’s an ideal drinking game – the winner is rewarded with the one thing that will stop them getting sick while the loser is left there gagging, much to the entertainment of the onlookers! Why not try it yourself? In fact, why stop at three shots of tequila? I’d almost pay to see footage of people attempting something like 5 shots!

Oh and for the record, I won the inaugural event!