Fish.

Breathe. Only one more daft weekend to weather before we reach the open waters of a clearer diary. I think. But this last one’s proper daft. Daft with knobs on. Or barnacles.

Bestival.

Never been before. In fact, I’m not sure I’ve been to a festival with so much cool concentrated in one place, having never broken in to Glasto. Will they let me in?

The fancy dress theme this year is ‘20,000 freaks under the sea’.

Needless to say, I’m thinking the following:

1: I’ve only got two days or so to do a costume. Sh*t. Will think about it later.

2: I’m losing another day and a half from the schedule, to say nothing of a catch-up weekend. Sh*t. What the hell do I do for a costume?

3: George Clinton and PARLIAMENT?!! Sh*t! ..How do I find time to do a costume?

There’s a fair deal of stressy swearing in there, I’ll grant you. And if you know me at all, you’ll know there’s also a number 4: How do I get my new track played loudly by a top-name DJ? ..and do I really want to be dressed as a giant fish when I approach them?

Ah, professional challenges.

I’m in the middle of the creative for a hefty rebrand at the moment, besides the usual string of jobs, so I don’t think my fish costume will be all that. But, thankfully, I have creative help on that project at least – Julian is a mercifully inventive and amusing person to be going with, even if he and Angella are even busier than we are.

Hmm…

“Hello my good festival gate keeper. Four passes… Hmm? ..Why, they may look like Somerfield baked bean boxes to you, my dear chap, but look more closely and you’ll see that these tassels are obviously the tenticuli of the fearsome box jellyfi.. ‘parkanywhereontheleft’, right.

Help me. I’m sinking.