We're not going through to Edinburgh. No Fringe frolics. Not my decision. Don't live in a democracy.
Not that I care anyway. Pah. Edinburgh. Glastonbury. Their time has passed. Everyone and their mad auntie is putting on a festival. Why not me? Got the rules here - thanks to nice Mr Marshall at Guardian Unlimited.
They must be aimed at a unique audience. - BearFest will be the world's most exclusive festival. By Bear. For Bear.
They must have unique headliners. - Bear. I think I'm quite unique. I've certainly never met another me. And this will be my only festival appearance this year. Probably.
They must involve camping. - Hum. More difficult. The festival site is probably going to be the pillow end of the bed. She tends to discourage me from camping on the grounds that "She's got to sleep in that bed" and tent pegs leave holes in the mattress. I might manage a cushion cover bivouac.
They must allow moshing and crowd-surfing. - Like I need an excuse. I'm moshing right now.
In the spirit of rock 'n' roll, they must be "socialist". - I am an oppressed minority and I was purchased from a branch of the Co-op. I'm more socialist than a working men's club full of Tommy Sheridans.
They cannot have the Manic Street Preachers playing. - What if they try to force their way in?
Result! I'm all tingly and excited. What if I can't get a ticket? Should I take my ukulele? Will I need my wellies?
I don't think I own a ukulele or a pair of wellies. Disaster.
Right. Must go and practice my juggling. And then see if I can hire Big Zippy and Clanger to do the site security. So much to do.