Over the cornflakes this morning I read an article in yesterday’s Sunday Turbine about this Electric Picnic thingame. There was a picture of one of them Knuttel‘s and someone who I assume is her BP Fallon-clone boyfriend outside an Airstream trailer (posh people’s caravans – except in about 15 US states) they had rented for the weekend. For €4,000. Apparently they feel they did not get value for their money because it had only a bed and a few bean bags and was all well and good “until some people came and trashed it”. That’ll be the underground revolutionary, situationist Travellers troupe then.
At the risk of alienating Littlesapling on my return from holidays, I dislike Electric Picnic and all that it stands for. Far from common or garden begrudgery, my dislike stems from an unwillingness to see past it for what it is: a three day corporate festival of music dressed up as post-consumerist, post-ironic, love-in where Irish thirty somethings can feel good about ‘being Irish again’. Oh yea, and the showers are sooo great. Seen that Deep River Rock ad where it’s all a bit dreamy? That’s NOT what the Electric Picnic is like. Don’t feel bad about missing it.
I was in Connemara last week and felt abused when I returned to browse the weekend papers. Full of meaningless shite about what books / films / clothes / gadgets to buy, where to go to meet the coolest people and what the next new buzz word is. Having said that I also missed the ponderously uninteresting journalistic defenestration of John ‘showmethemoney’ Ryan the previous weekend because cycling around Inis Mor in blazing sunshine was more exciting. Back in the land of ‘blogs and where people don’t raise their hand off the wheel when you drive past them. Except of course it is to show you a finger for indicating to turn right.
Quote for the week: “Let us not disarm, even in unsatisfactory times. Social injustice still needs to be denounced and fought. The world will not get better on its own.” Eric Hobsbawm.