So I recently spent the best part of five days at Reading Festival, which to those of you who don't know is this massive music festival in Berkshire. It's like this younger, more reckless version of the famed Glastonbury, but full of chavs drinking Redbull and downing Ket, featuring vastly overweight girls trying to fold themselves into sequin pants. It's the sort of place you'd be lucky to come out of without scurvy, trenchfoot, or hepatitis. Most people there end up crying in the foetus position in their tents at some point (be it because of the cesspits of human waste regarded as the toilets, or the horse tranquilisers everyone's bent on trying), but alas, instead I've brought you a guide on how to not let it get that bad.
