WILL STONE samples the 20th anniversary atmosphere of this eclectic end-of-season indie festival
AN ENTIRE summer has been cancelled. It’s heartbreaking but the only redeeming feature is the fact that everyone — or at the very least everyone who has access to a computer and a level of technical knowledge beyond that of a bemused triceratops — can be at the Tolpuddle Martyrs’ Festival.
I heartily recommend you log in and watch, wherever you are and whatever the weather is like and whether or not you like festivals, camping, mud, stubbornly convex toilet facilities, stoned hippies, welcoming pools of sick and random people asking if you want to buy horse tranquilliser, etc.
I know most of that doesn’t happen at Tolpuddle — it’s just my memories of 40 years of festival experiences rolled together for your amusement.
The Bard hands out medals for his Edinburgh campaign and urges us to support The Men They Couldn’t Hang
The Bard contributes to the campaign of Count Binface, and applauds Burnham’s plans for vocational training
The bard invites readers to a gig, raps for Clacton, and lays out the Burnham-Hurzeler conundrum
The Bard does Bearded Theory, and lodges a complaint about bandnames


