ISSUE 29 June 30th 2000
		G L A S T O N B U R Y . . . P A R T 8 . . . . . Anyway, back to the music. Sunday at Glastonbury is really ‘has-been's day.’ Basically, any band playing today is on the last train to the DHS. They’re there to provide background music whilst everyone packs their tents up. And that’s when the Happy Mondays took the stage. At last a band who look and sound more out of it than the audience. Jesus Christ, they sounded terrible. (I’m sure I saw Shaun Ryder selling Glastonbury T-shirts only hours earlier on my way back from the farm). Anyway, at least they gave us a ‘greatest hits set’ that every drugged up donkey could go beserk to. Bez looked as if he was having the time of his life (although later on, I did see him dancing like a freak to the sound of a car alarm). By the end, the whole thing had naturally descended into total chaos, as one by one, the band sacked each other and stormed off stage until the drugs had worn off. At least I now know what Peter Beardsly would look like with a beard and a belly full of pills, as Shaun Rider stumbled around the stage for one last time like a pissed up hyena with a sore head. By now I was pissed off with the whole thing. I’d lost my clothes, my friends, and my virginity. I needed to kick start my life all over again. And so out came the crack pipe. The Full Story BEN