Hasselt, home of the Pukkelpop festival, extra polite hotel staff and lurking pederasts. I had a great time.
I ran through the city, dodging fat families and the occasional odd stare - there was a fayre (fair? I dunno) here, littering the land as a bored, gaudy centre of nothingness. It was as shit as you'd imagine. That is to say, shit. I captured some footage, but only in the sense that I'd like to now uncapture it and use the time to buy some new shoes instead.
At the venue, the Muziekdroom, there was a brief 'piece to camera' which involved us saying a series of place names. I warn you now, jacks face features heavily in this short clip -
The communal festival food was, as ever, uniquely awful, although Jack would like to put in a good word for the pudding. His dream, incidentally, is a world where the menu is entirely made up of starters and puddings with the tyranny of the too-filling main course resigned to history.
The show itself, aside from a broken guitar (I must be honest - I felt a little smashy) that Rob from Pulled Apart by Horses had fixed for me just the other day, was fantastic, featuring as it did, rock songs, Belgian staring, young Axel (how old were you, Axel, and why weren't you in bed?) and a little too much drinking. But hey, there are more important issues, the rider for one-
... and, post-show, the thievery (five days later it still sits in the back of the van, untouched by human or musician kind)...
What a glamorous bunch we are.