Top 10 people to avoid at festivals

If festivals are so shit nowadays compared to back in medieval times or whenever, why does he keep coming every year? If we have to hear that story about Underworld at Glasto ‘89 one more time he’ll get a tent peg in the eye.

Anyone who’s happy to take up more space on this crowded planet than they already do is worth avoiding. Especially when that space-taking involves twirling around fluffy nunchucks, flaming tennis balls or similar Antipodean misery-makers. Kill jester. Kill jester!

Jesus Christ, this is actually happening now. Joggers, running round the campsite at 7am the morning like the four horsemen of the apocalypse but in £130 running shoes. Enough to make you want to leave the planet, never mind the festival.

Knocking back steroids all year so as to look like a giant veiny buttplug come festival season would be fair enough if all it did was shrink the ’roider’s balls, but it’s the inevitable aggro when combined with crap beer and worse cocaine that’s the real annoyance. Can you please stop hitting each other? Trying to dance here.

A close relative of ‘back in the day’ guy, this trooper is already on his 20th festival of the year and it’s only mid-May. If only he didn’t insist on wearing all the manky wrist-bands as a conversational prop/ festival equivalent of Scouting proficiency badges. Now go home and get some sleep.

Somehow representing the ‘guilt trinity’ of the lost innocence of youth, the real world of adult responsibility and the creeping spectre of age and inevitable mortality, there is no bigger or more instant buzzkill than munchkins at a rave.

What’s worse, the person who spends the entire time in the camper van knocking back lines of ket, or the egghead student whose entire conversation is a monologue on the molecular difference between 2CB and 2CI? Just give us some and piss off.

We all want a sick time at a festival but not like this. What the fuck did they eat? Why are they reaching peak vomit at 1.25pm on the first day? How come they’re clean, happy and smiling a few hours later while you still reek from their splatter on your trainers? And why was it blue?

Oh look, you’re having a sit-down meal with a hamper and crockery and tablecloths and everything! How delightful! Pass the corkscrew, Jemima, I want to lobotomise myself.

That solo raver who joins your group on the sly and stays with you all event, occasionaly cornering you with some classic conspiracy theory chat about Israel or the Twin Towers? He’s either a serial killer or a Canadian backpacker. Both bad.