Ah, August bank-holiday Monday, the last bank holiday of the year. This year I plan on going to Notting Hill Carnival… again.
Of all the fun activities on offer I plan to:
1. Pay 2 quid per can of Fosters/Carling/Piss from a corner store which also stocks out of date crisps and cat-food sarneys.
2. Pay 6 quid for jerk chicken when I could just buy it from Greenwich Market, five minutes from my house for half the price.
3. Watch a bunch of vans (read ‘floats’) crawl around blaring drum ‘n’ bass through PA’s which make the drums and bass sound like the aftermath of a hot-curry-eating competition.
4. Stumble around desperately looking for a toilet as my bladder approaches exploding point, before succumbing to male instincts and finding a drain which is partially shielded from the rozzas.
5. Dance around a van with 15 other hippies, drinking warm cans of £2 piss and trying to convince ourselves that this is the best street party in Europe, before a 1-hour waddle to a tube station and home in time for rehearsal.
Happy bank holiday.