Roskilde, day 7 - sick

In the real world of here and now, I've been steadily recovering. I've left the house three times this week; although each time has left me exhausted, I'm able to concentrate for longer periods without getting a headache. Mentally, I'm almost ready for work again (though the doctor advises against public transport and air conditioning).

Meanwhile, back in Roskilde, things were a lot more exciting...

This is part 7 of a series. If you haven't been following along, you could start from my problematic arrival in Denmark or when the gigs began.

I'm feeling pretty disgusting today. I think I have three diseases all stacked on top of one another, and they're fighting each other for control of my body. It hurts my chest to cough, and it seems I launch into a new coughing fit with each minute that ticks by. Still, I'm at a major European music festival; I can't let the fun be ruined by something as trifling as multiple organ failure.

I had heard about the famous naked race that Roskilde hosts each year. Sadly, we were misled by incorrigible Danes and showed up an hour after the whole thing was over. Mostly over, anyway. Several racers evidently decided that putting their clothes back on afterwards would be a waste in such good weather, so throughout the day we saw a few nudies with big blue racing details painted on their backs.

After a three-hour recovery nap

Armed with some cough pills, ear plugs and a good selection of the walking pharmacy that is my camp mate Sunny, I managed to pull myself together enough to see Tool. I'd heard people back home gush for weeks after going to a Tool concert, so I was expecting an interesting performance.

Instead, I got a burned-out Maynard muttering incomprehensibly about computer faults and frankly dull visuals made from music videos and screen saver wobblies. There were certainly no spider-people walking about on tightropes!

The thousands of screaming fans vibe was missing, too.

On the upside, they chose the song list well. I was concerned that it would all be new material from their current album, and that I wouldn't recognize any of it. I needn't have worried — we heard a comfortable mix of old favourites and new experiments.

Two phallic bottle-openers out of five.

It takes all sorts

I also had words with a creepy Briton dressed in leather and chains with dirty heroin-addict teeth. He came up and started feeling my furry Scotland jacket and making weird comments like I like your garment; it has a zip and everything!.

He told me how a woman he'd once loved had given him the boot cuff he was wearing, and I noticed that his whole outfit seemed to be made of variously sized chunks of hard leather tied together with whatever was available at the time.

When I explained that I was waiting for a couple of my friends to show up, he angrily explained that I should value my family over my friends.

He told me all about when he used to play in a big-time punk band, and mentioned playing with Henry Rollins and a bunch of dirty names I'd never heard of. Apparently everyone called him Smee.

He asked me how much money I'd made today, and explained that he'd racked up £50 so far. I wasn't sure if he meant from dealing drugs or from collecting bottles, but I didn't ask. He hinted enigmatically at things he'd done to customers while they were indisposed.

He wasn't on the bill, but I rate Phil the Crazy Old Mad Max Junkie four mysterious chuckles out of five.

Missing in action

I would have liked to see the Deftones show, but resting in my tent was more important. Of course, trying to sleep that night was more difficult than usual because Kanye West was clearly audible over the whole campground (which is quite impressive, considering that there's around 80 hectares of it). I can't even pronounce that guy's name, but apparently the show was a hit.

Also, there's been no sign of my cellphone since Jack lost it the same night the security guards switched our phones. It's a pity to see it go. I'd only had it for a couple of weeks, but I've still got my regular one sitting safely at home so I'm not too ripped.

And tomorrow, as they say, is another day.

In fact, tomorrow was the last day of the actual festival, so tune in next time for tales of profane deck-chairs and vicious assault smooches. There'll be some music in there, too, from the likes of Placebo, Pink Floyd, the Strokes and maybe the Kaizer Chiefs.