Aftermath: a Hollow Victory

I was hoping for a do-nothing day and tried for a naked day but they insisted I wear pants, at least. Then we sort-of agreed to go swimming and the Pyramids were chosen and we climbed the battlements to see the scar left on the face of the Earth by the dearly departed Victorious Festival.

This lengthy music-and-beerfest suffered much the same fate as the America's Cup in that the notoriously generous Pompey weather was generous once more, showering all and sundry with copious amounts of monsoons, free of charge.
This meant that Castle Field and the Common have been churned and spludged by cars and lorries and it may take years to recover. The sprinkling of discarded festival food containers lent it a surreal air and we watched a fork-lift putting pallets of unused bottles back onto the lorry, and wrecking what was left of the field.
In the Pyramids, I met Bill and Harry and Thomas and Angeline and Lennon and Flynn and Finn and played with them all. At one point Bud and I were up the waterslide ladder and Jof waved to us. Then we were up the other waterslide ladder and she waved to us. I then suggested she go off and do her own thing rather than follow us around and she did not take this well and walked home, and was quiet for the rest of the day and I got sent to my room, I shall never understand adults.