Tune Recommendation - Number 1

Andy Durkan played this track for me there a few months ago, it was the wee hours of the morning, everyone needed a whopper tune that was going to lift the spirits of the party, to say the least, it worked. I thought it was kick ass, Check it out

Recommended Movie - Number 1

If you are looking for a sweet ass movie at any stage this week, check this out. Sean Penn's last movie, Into The Wild.

Video Project

Today, myself and my bro, Max, start our long talked about video project that is going to talk our lifetime to complete, we are finally getting the finger out and actually starting it. It is going to take a full life time to do, but I reckon it will be worth it, even if we don't get to see the finished product ourselves.

This also means that some of the people that I know and respect will not get to see it either. In fact, now that I think about it, the only people that are really going to give a bollix about it, is some wanky generation that is yet to be born. I will be there, on my death bed, dying of some horrible incurable disease that has yet to come along and it is really, really painful, some arty little shit will be in my face telling me how deadly the idea is. I will be unable to talk because this disease will probably effect the mouth, but I will be thinking very cynical thoughts at that moment.

Lets Go! Hope the little shit is out of bed

Oscar This

After a nice weekends sessioning that began with the Man Utd - Wigan game on Saturday afternoon in Coffeys gaf, myself and Shocko found ourselves 2 pubs and 3 gaffs later on my couch, surrounded by passed out mates and we were engaging in some seriously in-depth chatter about this year's films. There we were, feet up, chilling, after spending 45 euro on nine Cobra beers from that Indian in Portobello, awaiting the announcement of this years academy awards.


I didn't want this year to be the same as every other year, me sitting there, awake, scanning the internet for the Oscars live and failing miserably. I don't know, why is it I get so frantic about watching them, I have to see them and I have to see them live. I hate those edited hour long versions on RTE the next night, they always get someone who has had a lobotomy to edit the thing. The funny thing is on the rare occasion where I actually get to watch them live; I do nothing but roar obscenities at the TV or bitch to whoever it is I'm with, about how shallow and crass the whole fuckin thing is. I can’t explain it, I just want it, I don't want to miss it, I can’t do with out it. So what did I do, I ring up Sky

'Hello, Sky.'

'Eh, Hi . . . how much is it to get the movies.

'It is thirty one euro a month.'

' . . . . . . . . Do I have to take them for the whole month?'

'Minimum a month, sir.'

'Okay, fuck it, give them to me.'

31 euro, . . . . . am I insane? . . . . Ah, to hell with it, I'll have the movies for a month aswell as the Oscars, so not all bad. I’ll finally get to see the Human Centipede after all.



As always I tried to see as many of the films nominated as I possible before the faithful night and I didn't do too badly this year, everything bar True Grit & The Fighter. This year, the awards themselves looked to be bit obvious, very little surprises, Best Film & Best Director between Social Network & The Kings Speech, with the latter being the favourite and would end up taking it, weird because my money was on The Social Network.



First off, Tom Hooper has very little to his name if you ask me, The Damned United, one of the Prime Suspects and Eastenders and that’s about it. Not much to warrant a best director award, even if the Kings Speech is a quality movie. Remember this is the award that Kubrick, Hitchcock, Altman or Sergio never got, a disgrace. I believe the Best Director award is the only award that is given in the ceremony that past work kind of comes into play. It cant be flukey first movie, if it is to be your first movie, it better be pretty fuckin savage, and the Kings Speech certainly wasn’t that.



This brings me onto my second point, The Kings Speech is a quality movie, it is solid as a motherfucker, you can’t fault it. It's just a bit nice, but nice is good. It is also very lovely, but lovely is also good. It just didn't blow my bollix off if you know what I mean, but I do remember leaving the cinema with a spring in my step, thinking to myself - 'Yeah, that was worth the fiver (I know, a fiver, I love being a student). The film didn't give me that Best Film, Oscar buzz, the only Oscar buzz I got off it was Colin Firth which was a given, seeing that he gave the performance of his life in 'A Single Man' last year and missed to Jeff Bridges in, what I thought was an average performance in an average movie.



Another thing about The Kings Speech that made me doubt it, was that it wasn't The Social Network. To me, The Social Network had Oscar written all over it, it was the film of the year. Firstly, Fincher, it was to be Dave Fincher's time. Seven, The Game, Fight Club, Zodiac (I'm not going mention Benjamin Button, even though it's the only one he's been nominated for, coz I just thought it was muck) so that, if you look at it, is some back log of movies, and I'm afraid something tells me that Captain Nemo isn't gonna earn him another nod so this is gonna be the only nomination for a while.



Something else that had me waving The Social Network flag was the importance of the movie, the importance of Facebook in today’s society. Facebook, only over the last few weeks, had been the centre of communication for 3 Revolutions in Africa for fuck sake. Its existence has changed the world for the better and no one can deny that and something was telling me the Academy was going to give it some notoriety.



Also I believe the film was a better movie, and believe it or not, I couldn't stand it when I saw it first. It took the second viewing to realize, 'Holy Shit, this is a quality fucking movie.' The reason I hated the movie to begin with was the same reason I hated There Will Be Blood to begin with, I simply despised every character in the film. When I see a film for the first time, there is something in me, I don't know why, I have to, kind of, like the protagonist. Even if it is Patrick Bateman in American Psycho, for some reason, I kind of like him . . . . . . . . . eh, I think like is the wrong word . . . but you know what I mean. Just like Daniel in There Will Be Blood, I hated Mark Zukerberg, I hated Justin Timberlake and I fucking hated those twins. After the film, I didn't give a fuck about any of them, they were all so rich, they were all so talented, it angered me, I left fuming. For the next week, I'm waxing lyrical to everyone how I didn't like the movie and every where I turned, I was told to shut the fuck up and watch it again. I did, and guess what, I really liked it, in fact, I've watched it several times since including just before writing this blog and I love it. It is a quality ass movie and I was very disappointed it didn't take the the Oscars home in the end.



On the upside, as a massive West Wing fan, it was great to see Aaron Sorkin take the Screenplay award home, although I think he had that in the bag as Paddy Power had him at 1/20. Another award going to The Social Network was to the lead singer of a childhood band of mine, Nine Inch Nail's Trent Reznor for Original Score which a quality series of music, I downloaded the fuck out of it last week and it is kick ass.

Anyway, myself and Seamas skulled our extremely over-priced Cobra's, there was a hint of morning light through the window and as the ceremony came to a close so were our eye-lids, a fine way to end a 2 day bender if you ask me.

21 days in

Okay 21 days in is a bit of a lie, but since New Years I have only smoked and drank on one occasion. I was very proud of the fact that I lasted 14 days, 2 weeks with out touching a drop or sparking up . . . . . or even getting one into me. Then, of course, Kate Brennan's birthday slash going away party comes along, this was going to be impossible to get through.

I said to myself, Fuck it, I would reward myself for being so good up to now, 14 days, I was very impressed with myself, it is funny that even in my thirtieth year I still manage to impress myself. How would I reward myself? I would go on the fucking rip. But this was all on one condition, that I jumped back on the wagon as soon as Sunday hit. Kate's party was on the Friday so I waited until that clock hit twelve midnight, it was Saturday, officially, lets get stuck into it for the next day. 24 hours, 80 smokes, 30 beers, 8 little fellas, a 2CB and a bag of weed later I pass out in my own bed, in my own place would you believe. That was the fucking craic!


Me in the middle of having craic - 15th Jan '11

I wake up back on the wagon again. I go another week and here I am, at the forefoot of another weekend. I really don't want to do anything mad because I'm going to London next week and I will certainly be drinking there.

'Then just don't drink or smoke or give it the big boy shit this weekend' I hear you saying

Easier said than done, it's my mate Paddy Canada's going away thing in the Sugar Club on Saturday night, we're all checking out Ali Shaheed Muhammad from A Tribe Called Quest and I have no doubt in my mind that by the end of Saturday, we will be throwing our hands up in the air and wavin them around like we just don't care. First weekend in February doesn't have anything . . . i think . . . does it?



I hope I can hold it together - wish me luck!

Documentary of the Year

As we enter into award season, I love checking out some of the potential nominees. I always start on the Best Documentary catagory, what docs are more than likely going to be in the short list for accolades over the coming months, the first I checked out has blown my mind. It's the documentary directed by Banksy, 'Exit Through The Gift Shop', fucking quality. You enter into it expecting a simple doc which explains and delves into the rise of Street Art but the film takes a completely turn. Just check it out - here is the link to check the whole film and a trailer to get you aroused.

http://watch-movies.ro/movie/exit_through_the_gift_shop_(2010)

I Have To Hit The Showers

I really don't want to get talking about this with anyone, but I have to, it is irritating me so much to even think about it, but I have to get it off my chest. I feel a painful strain on my shins and my back as I'm writing this but what the fuck else can I blog about after tonight. It is a series of things really.

I need to get the fuck out of dodge as soon as I finish this course, that's if this course isn't on the chopping block on the December 4th. I need to get out of this shit hole for a while, I'm getting cabin fever. As the weeks go by I feel less and less association with this country and the cunts that are within it. Everything about the place just annoys me and I feel like I'm on a completely different page than the whole lot of it. The place is just boring the fucking arse off me. There is nothing exciting going on here and it's only going to get worse over the coming 4 years. I bored, I'm bored, I'm bored, and trust me, I've tried to entertain myself.

It's not just all the political fuck up's. To be perfectly honest, I don't care about it that much anymore. I knew they we crooked cunts years ago and I'm not surprised they fucked all that shit up. It was going to happen to the greedy pricks at some stage, it was only a matter of time. You knew just on the look of them, the physical look of them that they were dodgy. Did the people of Ireland not realize all this after 'shirt-gate' with Charlie? All these guys were young fella's in the party when all that shit was going on. By the look of them, I knew it; they looked like baddies and I felt that every time we voted them in. They looked like the type of dodgy idiots that were capable of all this. They looked like the cast of Dick Tracey for fuck sake.





Whose Who?

I don't get the whole attitude in the country, Dublin especially. I just watched an episode of Prime Time, getting the news that the country is going down the swany and after the show, being advertised, watch Fade Street, next Thursday. Are you serious, The Irish Hills, are you for real. I can’t wait, I truly cannot wait to see how those upper-middle class idiots get on in their fake MCD internships, I really cannot wait. Will they be late again, I wonder? How will that one with the black hair get over the fact she is going blow one of those Peter Mark hairdoed band members. 'You've got to pump it up. You have to pump it up', she certainly is. For real, are you messing with me or shall I stab myself in the eyes with my own knob now or later. And you know what, lads, Irish Television, it's only gonna get worse. You think that Irish Television is bad now, wait until the next budget. RTE see you later - you’re gone.

The Arts as well, you thought it was hard to get arts council funding for your theatre company in this country last year, well, you ain't seen nothing yet. You must be fucking joking. There was really good campaign in motion there for a few minutes, to help promote the importance of the arts in every aspect of society. That is pretty much nil-in-void now if you ask me and it is back to the drawing board. I suppose the Abbey Theatre will actually have to stick to their brief now. They will have to actually use Irish actors & directors in the national theatre, we won’t have the cash for the likes of Alan Rickman and Co. for the next 4 years, they'll all have to head to the Gate next year.



I saw a great interview there with author & historian, Tim Pat Coogan, and it really hit home how morto this whole thing is. We are a young country, an extremely young fucking country. The Republic was proclaimed less than a hundred years ago, The free state, where we started actually making important decisions about the running of the country began in 1922, under ninety years ago and the republic itself, only officially came into recognition in 1937 so we have, as a Republic, only been going for just over 70 years. Less than the average life time expectancy for people in this country. What a banana republic we have created in such a short space of time.



I often wonder what motivates people like revolutionaries and historical figures in their own time, to lay down your life like that, to make the ultimate sacrifice. Did they really mean all of it or was it just the cool thing to do back then. They didn't have tabloids or fashion industries or TV3 or any of that shit back then to tell them what to do, so, maybe, dying for your country was the going on 'X-Factor' of their time. Was Wolfe Tone the Mary Byrne of 1798? Was Robert Emmet's public execution the equivalent to Westlife turning on the Christmas lights in 1803? And were the Pearce Brothers, the Jedward of 1916? Who knows? To fight in open war on your doorstep, it seems . . . . harder, less craic. Thank god, I don't have to do that. Does anyone want a dab?

When I look around today, I don't see how we are even remotely related to these men and women. Any nationalism or republicanism I see these days is so forced and fake and ignorant, i.e. that idiot wearing a Celtic jersey, brandishing a sign stating 'No Foreign Games' outside Corker that time. I see people who go on about it all the time as complete charlatans and I see through their visad. I would actually put myself and my peers into the shoes of these historical heroes and truly ask myself and my fellow Irishmen the questions. Would we do that? Would we have the passion? Would we have the patriotism? Would we have the balls to do anything even remotely like that? or would we just rather get stoned and watch Fade Street again. Would we just simply say, 'Ah fuck this, I'm off to Copper's to get hammered and wear some nurse home as a hat.' I am truly terrified of the answers I may hear, I really am.



Getting back to my initial point. I need to get out of here for a while; I've been here for too long. I go to Berlin & London and I feel like I'm in an actual city. That there is a real buzz there, people are not naf. I talk to people I know in these cities and they are loving it. They feel like there is something going on there, there is a completely different buzz in the places. They don't miss Dublin that is for sure. The more I think about it, the naffer Dublin seems

My eye is on New York, I'm gonna jump on that year visa you can get from USIT and see you later, I’m off. My mate, Russell, just got back there. He said it took him a few weeks to get into it and as soon as he felt like he was settling, he had to come home sadly. It just seems like a completely different world to this. I'm gonna finish this course and I'm off. January 2012, I reckon. I'm gone



One last message to anyone political out there, who I would say are reading this in their droves, are you listening - get your fucking shit together and stop being so fucking conservative, open your mind to new ideas that might save us, you are all so fucking scared to try anything different that might help the economy - here are a few ideas that might actually help morale & the economy - just consider these, talk about them, see what they might do for the economy - Extend Pub Licensing - Extend Off Licence Hours - Legalise Weed, seriously consider it - and please cut that 'Cheque Cashing' payment from the Public Sector before I go on a killing spree up there.

To end on a positive note, that Irish performance against the All Blacks on Saturday was the first feeling of Irish pride I've had in ages - Fair fucks to you, lads

That's it I'm going to bed - I'm tired and so is he, below

I'm Not A Celebrity, Giv Me Some Mo

Okay, it has taken a week in bed with the worst man flu ever and watching the first week of 'I'm A Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here' to get stuck into another blog, my first blog in the month of November. . . . and October. I have realized that this show is one of the greatest shows since 'The Grand Knockout Tournament' when comes to fucking up real celebrities.



Some how a group of producers have gotten a handful of quite well known celebrities this year, I will never know how. I know normally they are a group of nobodies and has-beens that I never know or never have much interest in but, this year, we have Linford Christie, Shaun Ryder, that politician, Lemptit, who rode a Cheeky Girl, that goofy bird from X Factor, Dom Joly and they just brought on that fat bird from Big Brother. You know, real celebrities. But the one who is standing out for me is that oul'one who sniffs through peoples shit for fibre on that sort of weight watchers show, Gillian whatser name.



Gillian is this frail, little vegan that keeps on getting picked for each task which, of course, involves eating all sorts of mad shit, swimming with baby crocodiles and eels & being bearded alive. This woman is about to have a nervous breakdown, it is amazing television. She has fainted twice, each time better than the last and I can’t wait for the next one. She keeps asking, 'Why do the public keep putting me up?' and I’m happy to give her an answer to that question.

You're being a cunt. Stop being a cunt and you'll see, the public will feel sympathy for you. You wont have to crawl through that pitch-dark tunnel of tarantulas, a task that can only end with you pissing yourself for my amusement. Trust me, they will give a tsk to Linford, he is starting act like a complete cunt so there is your way out. You don't have to even stop being a cunt, just stop talking and Linford will do the work for you.



How much are they paying these people? It must be a healthy amount because you would have to pay me a fortune to do any of that shit and then to put it on TV, fuck that. These people are elected politicians, professional comedians, live-broadcasters, decorated athletes, and music legends, you would think they would know better than a podgy twat from Dublin like me, who doesn't know his arse hole from his ear hole when it comes to making the right decision. They must be getting paid a fuck load.

The whole philosophy behind the show is amazing, it's phenomenal. We are no longer as a society putting celebrities on pedestals and looking up to them. We have turned them into clowns, dance, dance, dance, pig, dance. I used to always think this show was another self-indulgent show about celebrities, another wanky celebration of people who are famous, and how annoying they were. But no, this is different, this is amazing, this should be studied. This should be celebrated, I am so hooked, it unreal. Maybe it might have something to do with my man flu or the high doses of antibiotics & steroids I've been on for the last week but I'm going to watch this show every year now for the rest of time. 'Until the day comes where they have laid out in Marge's funeral home, and truck me off to Mount Almond.'

Russell

I haven't written a blog in exactly a month now, a month, a month to the day. I don't know, it was probably a combination of a few things, not having enough time, sheer laziness and a down right lack of inspiration. Inspiration is everything when it comes to writing these things, you need to really be into whatever you are talking about and I just haven't had anything to talk about over the month of September, it has been pretty uneventful, well, in blog terms . . . . until now. Today is the 29th birthday . . .Well, I think he is 29 . . or is it 28 . . its either 28th or 29th, either way, that’s not what is important. Today is the birthday of our brother abroad - The one, the only, Russell Simmons. No wait he's not the only is he.



Russell was either born on the 1st October 1981 or 1982, I don't know. If it was 1981, while Russell’s Ma was screaming her head off in the Rotunda, Adam & the Ants were top of the charts with Stand and Deliver . . . . . . Jesus, I've been reading up on October the 1st in 1981 and absolutely fuck all happened on this day, lets hope Russell was born in 1982, I think it's more interesting. . . . . okay, lets go. On the muggy morning of the 1st of October 1982, while Eye Of The Tiger was enjoying its 3rd week at number one, while Liverpool were ripping other teams a new arsehole in football, while some kid in Japan bought the very first CD in a shop, while Grafton Street was preparing to become a pedestrian only street for the first time, another thing was happening, up in the Rotunda Hospital, Mrs. Simmons was trying with all her might to add her contribution to the world. To grace the world with her eldest son - Russell

My story with Russell begins in 1997, I was making my move from De La Salle to the High School, I think Russell was making a similar move; we were both new kids in this new palace of tits and arse, it was great. Myself and Russell became aware of each other as permanent fixtures on the High School rugby team’s bench. I was there because I was just plain shite but poor Russell spent most of his rugby life rooted to the bench because he was a hooker, he lived in the shadow of captain fantastic, Ross MacNally, but he finally got his time in sixth year, High Schools finest hour, knocking Roscrea out the Cup, Russell was throwing like the Holy Spirit that day, what a fucking game, what a tush . . . . Pity they got the shit kicked out of themselves in the next round by Rock, but no one remembers that.



As a rugby player, Russell never conformed to the typical rugby - jock behaviour. Instead of giving or receiving nipple cripples and pulling a mates boxers over their head, he decided no, he decided to hang with a different type of group in the school, a group so unique that I don't think their like will be seen in that school again. This group had many names, The Wasters, The Messers, The Scumbags, yes, I'm talking about the gang of lads that terrorised the A Floor jacks between 1997 and 2000. Never had the school seen a group of lads who had such a lack of school spirit, Russell's rugby effort was the only sign of 'High School Pride' within this group. They had mastered the art of the pea shooter; ripping unfortunate teachers as they passed.

At this stage I knew Russell’s mate, JJ, a lot better, as he was in my class. I got talking to JJ and he was telling me all about his escapades in the Tivoli and that he and Russell were djing there. This was in fucking 6th year, djing to me at this stage was like what some dude did at a wedding. At this stage, for me going out and clubbing was the 'pound a pint' night in Bar 47 or maybe rocking up to The Vatican on a Saturday Night. So a couple of us heard about this and we're like 'what the fuck is that all this about?' We head up to the Tivoli and there is JJ & Russell up there, giving it the fucking big boy shit, lashing out this nasty techno to a load of cunts in their late twenties, all of which were madge out of it. It was all a bit much, these 2 chuns were studying for their Leaving, and there they were bangin it out to a load of mashed out of heads about ten years their senior. Get the fuck in there, lads, i thought.



There is a bit of a gap then in me and Russells connection, we might of seen each other occasionally at a 21sts, just hangin out with different cunts and then literally about six years ago it began every weekend, we were getting along grand, we were building a wholesome bond, sometimes physical but mostly verbal, mentally having sex every weekend with each other and then off he went to Australia for a year . . . . . that’s that, I thought to myself, he's gone, he's left me. He never thought to let me know, it was just 'I'm heading to Oz, dude' . . . . Just like that. Gone. Off to have the crack with a load of other chuns without me. Off to have a laugh with a bunch of people I didn't even know and will never know. Myself and Greg didn't know where to turn. This began one of man's greatest projects - Project Russell - bravo, lads! Bravo!



Forward on to St Stephens Day a year later, Me and Greg loosing our bollix at Leopardstown Racecourse, freezing our balls off in the stand, surrounded by twats with binoculars hanging from their necks in suits and we are sipping pints that took us an hour to get. We are in dire need of a surprise, we needed something that was going to boost moral - my phone rings

'Hello'

'Hay Jack, what’s the crack? Do you know who this is? I am looking at you right now.'

'What' I thought to myself 'Who the fuck is this?'

'It's Russell, man, I came home yesterday'

And with that Russell appears beside us. Hugs and kisses all round, well, not kisses, even though I wanted to but I didn't want to push it, he had just got back. That night, we hit town and to say we threw our hands up in the air and shook them around like we just didn’t care, would have been a very big understatement and we pretty much did that every weekend since. Russell has gone into the Jack Olohan Hall of Fame of Sessioners; he has out done himself when it comes to having the craic over the last 3 years. He has consistently shown 100% commitment to the sesh and I believe he needs to be applauded for it. Congrates, bro, you deserves it. He has now left us again to go the Big Apple and to say he is sorely missed by one and all back here in Ireland would be an even bigger understatement, way bigger than the understatement I mentioned earlier in this paragraph. Happy Birthday, dude, go out there a tear that town a new one, you lucky bastard. I wish I was there.

My 2 Entries - Come on the Picnic

I entered a competition to win 2 Electric Picnic tickets from Heineken, I had to write about if I had a choice to bring 3 famous people to the Picnic who would it be. here are my 2 entries - fingers crossed -



What is this with people picking famous people like Jim Morrison & Hunter S Thompson, I couldn't think of anyone more intense and annoying to go to a festival with. Yes, they go down in history as being two of the most out there, mad yolks the world has ever seen but I go to a festival to chill out, not to be freaked out. If you were staying with the 2 of them, Jim would spend most of his time pontificating about how beautiful the world is, while in one hand he would have a bottle of Jack and with the other he would be feeling up your girlfriend. And as for Hunter, you would be waking up in the middle of the night with him on top of you, sticking a gun in your mouth, asking you why you are here. No, my people will be some of the most easy going famous people. Not messy or outspoken or portentous, just sound out of it. Someone who me and my mates can actually buzz off. Persons who will be able to keep up for the weekend, keep going till the bitter end. Number 1 - Billy Bragg - Probably the soundest man I have never met. You can just tell by Billy, he is bang on; there is no two ways about it. He would not be full of himself in any way; he wouldn't be constantly talking about himself. He can talk music, he can talk film, he can talk football. Just very pleasant company, outrageously so! Number 2 - John Peel - Now if you want to have another person who can give you good, funny conversation about music and football and, in turn, keep a chilled out atmosphere, John Peel is your man. He can hold his own at any drink session as can Billy, and again, not portentous, just sound out of it. The two of them are gas as well, they would be cracking you up. Number 3 is person who would fit right in there with Billy & John & Myself - Noel Gallagher - I don't know if anyone has seen interviews with Noel Gallagher but now that Oasis are finished, he should definitely pick up a career in stand up. He is hilarious. He'd be the craic, he would be sessioning until the bitter end, until we haven’t an ounce of energy left and you'd be busting your hole laughing for pretty much the whole time. Jim Morrison & Hunter S Thompson! Are you for real? What a nightmare? Try a little taste of Billy Bragg, the late John Peel & Noel Gallagher - I can just see the 4 of us chilling out inside in the Body & Soul Area, sipping on a beer with not a care in the world, talking about how amazing Leftfield were last night - Leccy Piccy 2010, lets be having you



Entry Number 2 -

I have finally arrived at the Picnic; I can’t believe it, where has the summer gone. I've taken it way too handy, this is my first festival of the year so I'm pretty much gonna make up for all that lost time. I’m gonna have a level of crack that I can’t even comprehend myself - who will come with me on this monstrous journey of palpitating enjoyments? The four man tent is up and ready for myself and my 3 famous reveller mates, I've made it the comfiest bloody tent on the face of the planet, the thing is filled with 8 large cushions, and when I say large, I mean massive, these thing are ridiculously big. We have 4 king-size,15 tog duvets and 4 whopper sleeping bags, those sleeping bags with the hoods on them that cost about a hundred squid. I would also have a small generator hooked up to a pair of deadly speakers and an full ipod so that tunage, whilst in the campsite, isn't an issue at any stage of the weekend. Outside the tent there are four up-market gazebos tied together, real quality ones and a generous selection of camping chairs with a security guard watching them. Now time for the arrival of my first festival friend - Storm from the X-Men - The number one thing needed for a top class festival experience is amazing weather so who else to put in there but the weather controlling Storm. If a big, horrible, apocalyptic rain cloud is about to position itself over Stradbally come next Friday, don’t worry, there will be nothing to fear, my friends - with a lift of Storm's eyebrow that cloud will be history and it will be nothing but sun, sessioning and soundness for the next three days and nights. As well as that, she can fly, guess who is being sent to the offo every time we run out of gargle. Also, sharing a tent with Hally Berry would be absolutely savage. Festival Room-mate 2 has to be someone who is gonna crack me up throughout my stay, so my next friend for the weekend is the late, great Bill Hicks. From crude, controversial, drunken hilarity at night to sound, intelligent, hangover conversation over breaky. A perfect additive to my festival adventure. Also, he would always be stocked up with smokes, something that is key to my festival going pleasure. My final friend in tent is my imaginary pet silver-back gorilla, Mick. Mick is 9 ft tall, he weighs about 800lbs, he wears a bowler hat and is smoking a stogy at all times. He is chilled out as a mofo, once you don't annoy him and whenever we are going anywhere, I just hop up on his shoulders and off we pop. I never get tired walking around all day, I get to where I'm going a lot faster and I've pretty much got the best view of every stage at the festival. Also, Mick is no lightweight; he can gargle with the best of them so he will be able to keep up with myself, Storm and Bill for the duration of the weekend. He is some man for getting the beer into him, I can tell you. In fact, he is notorious for robbing people’s beer at house parties back home. What are people gonna do about it if they have a problem with him, he's a 9ft, silver-back gorilla, Mick will wear them as a hat if there is any back chat. He is also hilarious craic when you get him going so, in my opinion, he would be ideal tent-mate for this years Picnic. Come on the Picnic 2010!