Monday, 31 August 2020


I am at the Flea Festival in Fleagh(?). The reformed Stone Roses – although they seem to be in their '95 era, Ian Brown wearing his shades and a loose white shirt – are stuck there (having played a single set?). Or are they refusing to play (again)?- 

Myself and 3 others, one of whom is my old schoolfriend Enn Eye, are sitting relaxing outside in an approximate square, a chair at each corner. I have 4 cans of beer (to myself) and am drinking them, worrying about getting or appearing too drunk. I am having a discussion with one of the others, an earnest tall guy, about whether I saw The Stone Roses the first time around. I say that I did not but that I am not interested in the reunion and its nostalgic overtones. I have about half of my last beer left, swirling it, weighing it in the can. I feel drunk, having reached my limit, and want to try and secretly pour the beer away without insulting the others by means of my hoarding and wasting-

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