You know you’re there when you pass by a stall selling kangaroo burgers and into a gauntlet of strange men peddling novel ways to urinate. It’s a boom market, because no one seems in any hurry to make festival bathrooms any more pleasant.
This year they’ve graduated into the realms of cruel social experiment. Portaloos have a bad reputation but at least they leave you to your own misery… as opposed to this metal-shack-over-festering-pit configuration they’ve plumped for in our campsite. It’s like looking into the mouth of hell. You expect to see faces forming in it. It’s hard to look away.
Someone must be paying attention, because some proper jacks sprout up during the night. Not that this stops us just using the wall, which is right there and frankly asking for it… but the gesture is appreciated.
That bad??? All the campsites like this?
Ah, but there was always the Velvet Bog in the main arena if you could stand the queues, didn’t mind the 3 day walk to get there from your tent or had any sense of smell at all.
If you are a woman, essentially.
no, our campside had bog standard shite filled portaloos.
If I found out that’s a pun, I’m revoking your commenting privileges.
On the plus side, if you forget to get yourself constipated before the festival, looking down that hole made you force it on yourself.
I’ve sampled the voluntary constipation strategy, it’s a mug’s game. If a man’s gotta go a man’s gotta go.
i have privileges? you’re privileged that i comment at all.