Glastonbury Festival

Sweary Keith Allen Interview

Greetings From Strummerville

Maybe it’s the rain keeping everyone but the curious away from this shady corner of the green areas. Maybe the mud. Maybe even the thumping roots reggae wafting like sweet-smelling smoke from a makeshift PA, but it might be they’re scared to go anywhere near the ‘Insult Tent’ to be confronted by Keith Allen and his alarmingly small pupils.

So how’s it been so far Keith?

“Trippin’!” he grins.

Mushrooms?

“No,” he replies, in a lighter tone. “Just normal acid...”

So, what did you do last night?

“Shagged your Mrs!” he slobbers leeringly, trying not to collapse into giggles.

Well thanks. Doesn’t seem as if you’re generating a lot of interest today does it?

“Nah, everyone’s bored sh*tless…that’s why we’ve got the Insult Tent.”

So what’s it all about?

“Sit in there (points to tent doorway) and we’ll shout at ya!”

Well, it’s be rude not to. So come on then Keith, do your worst.

“Fook off!” he yells in my ear in the broadest Mancunian. “you c**t!”

Is that the best you can do?

“I can do more than that! You smell, you’re thick, I fookin’ ‘ate yer, yer wife’s left yer and I’ve shagged your kids! Fook off!”

Well, it must look like fun, so there’s a queue forming now, and a mud-caked blond festival goer (who wishes to remain anonymous) enters into the spirit of Glasto by sharing some insults of her own. “You daytime TV, f****n’ nobody, taffy Yorkshire Welsh sheep-molestin’ t**t!”

”You cider-swilling c**t!”

Well, we all have our own ways to cope with Glastonbury. This is Keith’s and you’re welcome to join him, just don’t bring the vicar.

Paul Mills

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