This is my first longer feature for the lovely folks over at Planet Ivy. They are that bit of the internet which your mother would not approve of you visiting.
Peroxide blonde girl 1: “Kelly! How long have we got left until Mumford & Sons start?”
Peroxide blonde girl: “Err, not long… 20 minutes – We better run!”
I heard the above exchange whilst battling my way out of the army of rusted metallic bracelets and crusty pleather jackets that were watching the Smashing Pumpkins at Glastonbury on Sunday. In my frenzied desperation to get away from the two peroxide idiots and towards Bobby Womack, I did something stupid. I barged past them, knocking Kelly’s tote bag to the floor.
“Sorry!” I shout, as I clumsily pick the fucker up and hand it back to its banana-haired owner. I’m about to turn away and run into Bobby’s sweet soul embrace over at West Holts, when my swivelling eyes catch sight of… Is that? No, surely not… wait, it is… it’s a fucking anarchist symbol! On her tote bag!
What in god’s name is Kelly-Jessica-Rabbit-who-shops-at-Topshop-and-goes-to-Michael-McIntyre-gigs doing wearing a tote bag with an anarchist symbol on it? Is she planning on overthrowing the state because the BBC has not provided enough Eastenders omnibuses this week? Are manicures now too sacred a humanitarian need to be subject to the whims of a political elite, obsessed by money and control? Is Mumford & Sons’ new album influenced by the work of Pierre-Joseph Proudhon?
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