Breaking Memory Just In:

October 20, 2008

Some dude called me a douchebag at Electric Picnic this year.
Yup, his words.

And I was just being my usual charming self. I don’t think I even insulted his jeans or jeans wearing philosophy. His hair was a bit too closely shaven but I don’t think I called him on it. He wasn’t from Longford, or, if he was, it didn’t come up in conversation.
Come to think of it, I wasn’t really talking proper to him, he just kinda approached us and sat down. Then, after about 5 minutes of trying to include him into the conversation me, Andrew and 2 random ladies were having (no doubt about how being green is really just about being, y’know, in touch with ourselves and the world), he just stands up, points to me, and says, “You…’re a douchbag”, and walks away, fading into the night and going on his insult-slinging, Americanized way of life, never to be seen by my eyes again.

I admit to being dumbfounded, fabbergasted, a little queasy.

Maybe I did say something. In a totally separate incident a guy had just given me a full bottle of wine after I talked to him for a few seconds, just minutes before this guy arrives. Perhaps, subconsciencely, I was waiting for some sort of similar gift giving ceremony and in my disgust at this blatant disregard of what I must of seen to be the rules, snubbed him.

(I apologize for that poorly constructed sentence.)

Or perhaps I was supposed to pass the wine on, in some sort of French-inspired relay race.
But surely not? After all, he was the one who came to me, much like the situation with the wine-giving hippie. Oh yeah, the guy who gave me the wine was a hippie, legend.
Who broke the rules here? Who even made these crazy rules?
Should I of been wearing a hat? Was my eyebrow cocked in such a way as to invoke hatred? Maybe I should of shook his hard more firmly.

But anyway, I digress. My main point is to say, no, I’m fucking brilliant.