I’m in. Getting past security was the most nerve-wracking experience of my sixteen years on earth, but I’m in. T in the fucking park. The early afternoon buzz from the four cans of Miller Pilsner has well and truly kicked in and coupled with the biggest adrenaline rush I’ll likely ever feel in my puff, I’m fucking ready.
Daz was waiting past the line of security for me with a mixture of amazement, excitement and genuine happiness painted across that daft mug of his. He never thought I’d be able to sneak in with a dodgy wristband and to be honest I was feeling smug as fuck about it since he forked out twenty quid for a ticket and the Marky boy here just swaggered straight in for half the price. But fuck it, no time for gloating. There are bands to be watched, pints to be drunk and girls to be danced with. The Gyres are starting in the King Tut’s tent soon and I’ll be fucked if I’m missing it.
“Hurry up ya fuckin’ wank” Daz shouted over the noise of the rave music coming out of the burger vans and we’re off and running towards the tent, not daring to look back in case a jobsworth security guard decides to give my wristband a double check.
We had arrived at Strathclyde Park on the bus from Wishaw at around 11 o’clock in the morning, Daz and his mate from school the only ones among us with tickets, the rest planning to sneak in. Daz’s older brother Scott had told us of a guy he knew from Motherwell who was selling fake wristbands for a tenner. They had used this means of entry the previous year and assured me it was simple enough. I was shitting myself but it was my only chance of getting in after the tickets had sold out before I had managed to scrape the money together. So here I was, Mark McIntyre, sixteen years old and about to embark on an act of minor criminality.
The first feeling of dread I felt was when we stepped off the bus in Hamilton town centre and everyone headed straight for the local Haddows to start the day’s drinking. Daz’s brother and his mates are all a year older than us but looked about ten years older. Daz and his mate Jim were both the same age as me but both already had a respectable facial growth about them compared to my blonde bumfluff. I look about fourteen at a push and was getting anxious at the thought of the embarrassment I’d feel when they were all served and I got the inevitable knock back.
When we got to the shop it was packed with people with the same idea as us and there was only one stressed out middle aged woman working behind the counter. I grabbed a four pack of Miller and waited in the queue, hands shaking and palms sweating, waiting for the knockback to come. I decided to go in front of everyone else so that when I was refused I can at least have the consolation of passing the beer to one of the older boys to buy for me. Still though, what a fucking red neck it’s going to be. When I got to the front of the queue though the poor woman was too stressed out from the shift from hell she’s having to endure that she didn’t even look up, just put my cans in a bag, took my money, put my change on the counter and moved on to the next customer. Ya fuckin’ dancer! I tried my best to hide the relieved grin on my face but Scott caught it and gave me a chuckle and a wink. He’s too sound to say anything to the rest of the boys though and I’m off and out the door, victorious with my cheap lager.
Once we were all outside with our bags of booze we started the walk down the hill towards Strathclyde Park, the scene of Scotland’s biggest music festival. The festival is now in its third year but this is the first time I’ve had the money to go, thanks to a shitty part time job in the local chemists down the road. I had one of my cans open and the other three were swinging in my other hand, gripped by the plastic ring holder. The elation of being served has made me subconsciously adopt a full-on Liam Gallagher swagger, but I know the hardest part had yet to come, actually getting into the festival.
“Did you get a burger with that shake hen?” one of Scott’s mates shouted at the prettiest one of the group of girls walking in front of us. She turned around and told him to piss off, but she’s smiling and blushing as she does it and I can tell she enjoyed the attention. Christ how I wish I could get away with giving patter like that to the ladies, if I had made that same remark I’d be face down on the pavement with my arm twisted round my back and a couple of teeth missing. Older boys with cooler clothes and better haircuts just seem to get away with this shit though.
