so, i’m back from portugal…. have a few beers with Steve Sub, and we end up in Ten Feet Tall and confirm just how pants we thought it was….. Next day Epidemic album finally arrives and the band get together to post the album out to all the Sickheads that pre-ordered it… which takes up most of the day and then it dawns on us that the Glastonbury tickets haven’t arrived as yet…..

I phone the production team at Arcadia in Glastonbury and it dont look too pretty, I search my flat inside out… but no tickets… then while on the toilet i notice an envelope in the airing cupboard… it is indeed a recorded delivery envelope addressed to Sicknote…. torn open with tickets missing….. I log onto the Royal Mail track a parcel we see that my flat mate Tommy Tank had signed for it, even though he can’t remember doing it, the day after i left for Portugal. The envelope has then made it’s way from whereever he put it to the bathroom and someone has taken said tickets…

I interrogate my flat mates as much as possible to finally find out there has been only two visitors in the flat since i left for holiday… so whodunnit? well…

Tommy Tank, Cosmo, Will Kilnaboy and Will Sweep – are the only four people that have been here all week.

So what do i do? Anyways, i will find out who stole £1050 worth of Glasto tickets from my home while i was away…
I won’t let this settle…. People can’t nick from my home, end of… and if my flat mates are inviting people in who steal from me, then something needs to be done… I phoned the pigs and they are coming to finger print the envelope and the suspects. And we’ll go from there…… next step though? YALE LOCK ON MY BEDROOM DOOR.

SO we decided to head off Friday night to Glastonbury, without our fucking tickets. We left Friday night because Filthy and Doghouse were bored as their girlfriends were busy, but they moaned enough so that they got their way… and we headed off in the Sickmobile. On the way to Rev and Flakey’s to get Conker and we got a phone call from some Glasto insiders…. “Get down here tomorrow and see what is possible in getting you in but whatever you do DO NOT say you are Sicknote, or they will be charging you full whack for entry as they have looked into the delivery of your tickets and they have been sigend for and as far as they are concerned you have your tickets.” WTF.

So, we decide to change the band name.. Filthy comes up with a classic, we all agree and from now on we are to be known as ‘SPUNK TRUNK’.

We have a night in Rev and Flakey’s and get mashed up dancing and laughing… top top night…

Spunk Trunk – coming to a festival near you.

So, after a heavy night, Spunk Trunk pile into the van and we head off to the festy to see if we can get in to play our fucking gig. We arrive at the festival and security are asking questions, we say we are Spunk Trunk from Bristol, and try various blags, but nothing seems to be working, and the security grow suspicious of us.. they park us up while they radio through to different people… what a fucking joke… Here we are sat outside the festival, when we are due to be playing at 10pm, and we can’t even say who we are.

A few hours pass and many phone calls to people on the inside.. finally a friend of the Filth’s come up with a result and comes out to meet us… he has two tickets…. The Filth and Dr Conker are in.
The ticket stubbs are sent out to us and we try but are turned away… fucking nightmare…
Finally we meet a lovely lady on who is a friend of a friend of a friend who cycles out to us and hands us a load of wrist bands which the 4 of us a manage to Sqqqqquuuueeeeeze onto our wrists and walk in. Spunk Trunk are in Glastonbury!!!

We head for the production office for Arcadia, secure our set and there is no mention of how we got in…
We set up camp and things look good, with the sun shining.. and everything on track… we head down to the stage and check it out.. unbelievable set up… the stage spits fire out, with circus folk hanging off various parts of it and two huge podiums extend out to above the crowd.. the soundsystem is fucking bumping and i would consider it maybe the best sound i have ever heard.. the bass throbbed through my rib cage and every one in the field danced…with room for about 5000 punters to squeeze in and watch the stage… everything’s set for the biggest gig of our lives.. and i’m buzzing… this is it.. what i dreamed off since i was 12. i congratulate the soundman on what is the best sound i have ever heard and he hugs me and can’t thank me enough….

The stage is set for Spunk Trunk.

we meet our Stage manager and a barrel of home-made cider is thrown at us… we are buzzing and everything is set..
There is a circus performance on before us and they begin their mental show…..
Everything is looking amazing…. but the sound has been turned down for some reason… and it is like WAY too quiet. i think maybe they are saving the volume for us… for the impact.
I go back to the soundman and ask him, and he puts his hand in front of my face……
Something aint right…. i go back to the Stage Manager and he looks depressed… WHAT THE FUCK IS GOIN ON…

he tells me that Glastonbury Security have been around and demanded that the sound be turned down on every soundsystem on site.. and he cant do ANYTHING about this… its lke 5 minutes before we go on.. and there is hardly any volume.
My arse drops out and i sit against the fence, my head in my hands in disbelief.

I tell the band what’s goin on.. Filthy starts ranting in my face about how fucking it dont fucking matter as long as we can hear it.. fuck the audience.. and i’m on the edge… feel like i’m about to hit the stupid cunt.

We get on stage.
Stage manager apologising all the way. i feel like we are about to embarrass ourselves in front of a load of people and i am shitting it.. shaking like a fucking leaf. Filhty enters stage hands in the air like some rock god. and P&O does the same with a Freddie Mercury stance, mic in hand…. Doghouse stumbles on stage, looking withered due to his heavy session last night. Conker bounces on.

WE delve into a 40 minute set and play our hearts out… P&O miming to nothing… Conker bouncing back and forth the podiums and Filthy spending 80% of the gig in front of Doghouse with his hands in the air…
the crowd out front having a chat with each other as there was NO VOLUME and i could see people chatting away, the odd body bouncing about, and several crowds wandering off… but NOT the reaction we would have had if we had any volume… gutted? not the word… fucking furious.


so we get off stage, and we are told that Bruce Springsteen had demanded that during his set every other soundsystem in Glastonbury get turned down. Nooooo. CANT BE FUCKING TRUE. the story is confirmed by other people back stage. yes, indeed. WE had well and truly been FUCKED BY THE BOSS.

So does this mean he told Michael Eavis to turn everyone down? And Micheal sent out his troops to do as ‘the boss’ told him?
Was Bruce scared that other stages would be better than him? Did Michael turn down Pendulum who were playing at the same time? What is the explanation for this complete fucking joke?

I’m in complete disbelief and fuming with the gig, and filthy gets in my face ‘get over it’ and ‘be professional’ and llaaa laaa laa.
i stick my nose on his and tell him the only fucking reason he is in the band is so he can tell his fucking mam he made it as a rockstar and that he doesnt even like sicknote and that he cant fucking drum i spit a nasty: “FUCK OF YOU CUNT” in his face before i disappear off into the night to get away from the band, who i just want to kill right now.

I bump into some friends and eat a massive lump of Mud, me and Balb head for the Greenfields after a chat with Ohno Yoko. We stumble upon a band called Ten Tonne Toungue, who in my muddy haze, elevate me, enlighten me and take the roof off and make my festival…
we stumble round the site, i manage to find some real meat (£6) ,a beer (£3.90) and some fags (£7.50)….money grabbing cunts…………………………we wander until sunrise and everything seems better by the morning… as the sun cracks open the night my mind wobbles as a huge wave of stillness gabs hold of it. Fuck it. Our time is not now.

Bruce, you CUNT!


Death Before Employment:
Meat Flapsandwich




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