Youth...

The train was crammed full of young 'uns en route to Carling Leeds this morning. As they all pushed through the barrier at journeys end I did feel slightly envious and wished I was going with them up to Bramham Park. Although, as they all looked about 12, that would have been a bit of a weird move. I couldn't even think of a way to broach the subject with them. And, well, I sort of assumed they'd say no as their parents will have told them before they set off not to talk to strangers. Ah, the wrecklessness of youth, giving up four days of their school holidays to go and listen to some rock music and drink cider round a two-man tent. So, without so much as an introduction, never mind a tearful goodbye, I left them with their ruck sacks and ground sheets and skulked off to the opera company, leaving them with their dreams of the greatest gig ever to be performed by Arcade Fire, The Twang, The New Young Pony Club and all the others. I couldn't help but check the festival website this morning, where this little ditty amused me: "With only hours to go, the final things are being put into place. Thanks to all those that made this possible." The final things? I wonder what they could be? And who are all those making the putting into place the final things possible? Are the final things heavy? Is one of them Devendra Banhart's bong? Or are the things more likely to be the Cajun Dance Party's filé powder, chopped green peppers, onions and celery rider? I may never know, unless BBC Three's backstage coverage is exceptional.