Bob Dylan

On Saturday 3rd July I went to see the legendary Bob Dylan at Hop Farm Festival. I was so excited I lost all concept of what a reasonable amount of drink is and inadvertently purchased a liter of vodka with the distinct sensible recollection of, 'sure whatever I don't drink I can always bring back home.' Not wanting to give the impression of being a scum-bag by sipping Smirnoff en route, I also acquired six cans of cider.  A rather smooth move, I can only imagine that I must've resembled a suave, flame-haired Adonis as I availed of Bowtime, on a train, while simultaneously decanting a liter of strong spirits into a water bottle for what should be described as legal reasons.

Have you ever got so drunk that you don't actually realise that you are? Your legs don't work, you can't see without closing one eye first, and the only words that you can seem to communicate with any clarity are swear words with a distinctly Glaswegian twang? I half suspect this might account for the accent in Scotland's largest city, sober any one of the fuckers up long enough and they'd slip immediately into received pronunciation.  Well there was a man there in this state and he felt duty bound to look after me because he was the sensible one.

Bob Dylan was shit! I've complained to all and sundry about the lack of big name hits, no Rolling Stone, no Forever Young, no Blowin' In The Wind...  Then I read an article in the Mail (I found it online after Googling the gig I'm not a racist!) with the headline, 'Bob Dylan deliver a dream set at Kent's Hop Farm Festival'. It contained such lines as, '...he kept the hits coming...' and 'Dylan's attitude of playing fan favourites instead of valuing self-indulgence...' Then went on to mention a stirling renditions of Rolling Stone and an amazing set closer of Forever Young.  Oh dear. The irony of the latter isn't lost on me either, I decided to stay up all night drinking and get the first train home in the morning.  Do you know what's a great idea when you're 18? Do you know what isn't when you're rapidly approaching 30?

Sorry anyone that had the misfortune of speaking to me, sorry train passengers and sorry Bob, please don't die before I get a chance to see you again. But he still didn't play Blowin' In The Wind, the geriatric cunt.