By Woodrow Whyte
As I type, I’m currently experiencing something of a cognitive dissonance. My challenge is to find some of the best summer music festivals across Europe, yet sharp crystals of snow are cascading horizontally outside my window. It’s -2°C and I’m in my bed with a scarf and hat, doggedly waiting for winter to piss off. Is the festival season really only round the corner? It may seem but a distant dream, yet Glastonbury is only 100 days or so away. Oh how I long to be sat in the Stone Circle being sold NOS balloons by dodgy looking men in dinosaur costumes whilst being persuaded by a discerning Goddess of Avalon named Zen about the holistic curing properties of camel shit. *sigh*









