Welsh student Peter 'the Rock' Giggs loved his big music festivals, and they didn't come much bigger than Glastonbury in June. He was particularly ecstatic, as he had just obtained his degree from Pontypridd Polytechnic and was rightly proud of his 'Desmond'. As the old saying goes- a 2/1 for thinkers and a 2/2 for drinkers. He was delighted with his degree in 'David Beckham studies' and was hoping to get a job as a ballboy at the Cardiff City Stadium when the new season started in August, but for now he had the 'Summer of Love' to look forward to.

It was a hot Summers day and the Rock was cooking , standing in line waiting to use one of the men's porta-kabins supplied by one of the festival hippy sponsors, 'Sceptic Tanks'. He had plenty off time to read the advertising slogans written on its side- as he had been queuing for over half n hour and he felt that if he didn't go soon one of his kidneys would burst. As the queue shuffled along slowly, he sincerely hoped that each of the three guys that were in front of him , wanted to spend a penny and not 'drop the kids off at the pool' - as was the current euphamism for a number two. As he was from the Welsh Valleys, his choice of 'Rhymney slang' phrase was a 'Merthyr Kitt'. He tried hopping on one leg , like young children do, to pass the time and not his waste liquid but it was to no avail...he could feel a tiny trickle -as if from a downstairs tear duct.

The trouble was that it was like going for a pee at the Millenium Stadium, all those beer swilling men wanted to go at the same time- halftime or full time or as was the case, as soon as the act on the Pyramid Stage ended. He was reluctant to urinate into the next field, as there were rumours that the boundary fence had been electrified this year to keep the New Age Travellers that did not want to pay the £230.00 entry fee. He knew from his 'New Age Education' that in the darkening evening sky that if he hit the wire with his arc of urine, that it would create a circuit and the charge would flow back and he would become yet another 'conductor' at the festival and he didn't want his own personal baton to lead the 'Electric Light Orchestra'. He had no option but to brave it out and hope that his kidneys didn't 'turn to stone'.

He was now second from the Holy Cubicle and within smelling distance of the chemical toilet.True, his senses had been nullified a little over the last week by the smell of hippy body odour and worse still the smell of petunia oil- which he knew from the Polytechnic days as 'Junkie Juice' but the stench from the trench serving the latrine was really overpowering. The amount of body fluids that been anticipated was way below what had been expelled and the units were overflowing and the surplus water ran like yellow rain down the man made gulley and into the watercourse which ultimately served the River Brue on the Somerset Levels. Perhaps that was the true inspiration behind the Scottish drink -Irn Brue. He thought about tying a knot in it , but despite what he told his friends it wasn't big enough to do that.

There was now only one man in the cubicle between him and his long awaited relief. This was the crucial moment for Rock- they say that the darkest time of night is just before dawn- this is true of the moment before your bladder empties too. The toilet door swung open and the first to react was an elderly gentleman in his eighties , who cut in line in front of the desperate Rock. Rock protested limply, as it was difficult to be assertive with your legs crossed standing up.

'Do you know the way to San Jose?' asked the distinguished white-haired American in a strong New York accent. Distracted and unable to offer a coherent reply, Rock was met with the slam of the heavy plastic cubicle door in his face and the sound of the door being locked from the inside. Gutted he had been hoodwinked-Rock would give the old geezer a piece of his mind, once he came out.

For what seemed like an eternity, Rock stood holding the tip of his manhood in his clenched fist , as if his 501 jeans colour depended on it. Finally, the aged Yank emerged from the toilet smiling, having executed his plan with military precision. Rock, being Welsh , was brainwashed into respecting his elders and betters , principally because the over 70s in Wales were now the only ones who had any money or were still in employment. He glared at the cheating wrinklie, who toddled off in the direction of the main arena, as fast as his artificial hips would carry him.

'Do you know who THAT was ?' asked the middle age divorcee dressed in a Andre Agassi headband, reliving his mid-life crisis.

'No...but you ain't distracting me ....it's my turn for a piss!' said the Rock. 'If I don't go now...he said stepping inside the cubicle...you WILL get blood out of a stone!'

As he bolted the door, he undid his fly and stood in an upright position. It was times like these when he appreciated buttons and not a zip- the last thing he wanted to do was catch his pubes in his zipper and urinate all over the place. He assumed that is what had happened to the last few occupiers , as the cubicle floor was four inches deep in pee and the toilet basin looked as if it had been decorated by a combination of Banksy, Mary Berry and Thornton's .

It was definately not the 'Hollywood ' Bowl and it would take some poor immigrant worker a Hell of a job to get the Great British Cake- Off. It was the first time, he had ever witnessed yellow condensation before, as he observed that the last occupant had clearly suffered from prostate trouble, as he had been on the ceiling more than Lionel Ritchie. As Rock's engine finally started and a jet stream of urine flowed into the toilet, which from outside sounded like there was a horse in there with him- it was Somerset after all-, the student suddenly realised it was raining INSIDE the cubicle. As he did so, he noticed that at the dark side of the toilet basin floating in the 'yellow sea' was a 'Backstage Pass' belonging to one Burt Bacharach. So that is why 'Raindrops are falling on my head!' remarked the student. He lifted the soggy cardboard ticket and looked at the markings. It looked genuine enough to him. He shook the remaining droplets off his member and put it back in his Calvin Klein underpants. He waded back to the door and tried to slide the bolt back. As he did so, the small metal bar on the top of the bolt snapped clean off.

Rock looked at the small piece of rusted metal and realised that the 'acid house' atmosphere coupled with the heat over the five days at Glastonbury and continual use had ruined the lock. Rock was trapped inside. Worse still, the long queue outside was getting a tad impatient and began to bang on the door and sides of the toilet making even more chemicals spill into the unit. The 'Eau de toilette ' was now up over his ankles and lapping at his henna tattoo of Lady Gaga. He was also starting to get a little woozy from all the drugs that were contained in the piss that were being absorbed by his skin. LSD, Ketamine, Ecstacy, Cocaine and twenty -eight different types of cannapiss swished around in his trainers. It wasn't long before his Hi-Tech trainers became 'High'Tech trainers.

The new acts were being called to the central stage to the sounds of high-pitched screams which in the 1960's had been first witnessed for the Fab Four- but now teenage girls would scream at any pre-pubescent singer even if they looked like Ed Sheeran. The angry crowd outside threatened to tip him over into the trench as he had 'McBusted' the lock. One hysterical Father decided enough was enough and shoulder-charged the plastic toilet, sending the unstable kharzi into the WC Fields behind. As it toppled over , poor old Rock hit his head on the flush handle and was knocked unconscious. He got a mouth and nose full of the chemical solution which nearly drowned him- had it not been for his gag reflex. As a student, when he had drunk too much in a drinking game called 'Buzz', his fellow students made sure that during the Fraternity House initiation ceremony that the 'Fresher' would not be allowed to quit drinking until they had stood up and told a blue joke. The Bloo was already covering Rock but he forced himself to 'stand-up' and heard his half- conscious self say:

'What does a sewage worker and a good 69 have in common? One slip and your in the shit!' spluttered the chemically enhanced tax dodger.

By now, Rock was starting to get worried , as he realised that he was starting to become overwhelmed by the fumes. More alarmingly he began to hallucinate. He suddenly felt that he was not alone in the toilet.A voice in his head was followed by a slight breeze through the crack in the toilet door, that had appeared following its dislodgement from its original position. Rock was certain someone had said 'the Wind Cries Mary'. But the even more disturbing thing was it wasn't in English...it was like it was musical..like it was played on a Heavenly guitar.

All of a sudden , through the 'Purple Haze' appeared the bandana head of Jimi Hendrix, followed by his beaming face and yellow teeth.'Hey Joe....are you enjoying the 'Experience'?' asked the dead guitarist.

Rock couldn't believe his eyes. The ultimate guitar hero was sitting crossed legged in a yoga position talking to him.'Is that really you Jimi?' spluttered Rock ingesting a new wave of urine caused by the ripple effect of the deceased musician.

'Yes ....man...I caused that to happen...'all along the wash towel' ' said the phantom bluesman.

'What do you want with me?' said the nervous student.

'I have one regret in my short life...I only lived to 27 you know...trapped in this cubicle I only now appear on Top of the Plops, Ready Steady Go...before this punishment I played at the Monterey Festival and headlined at Woodstock .... I really regret that I never made it to the Pyramid Stage at Glastonbury....! ' wailed the Afro-ed warbler.

'Sorry about that...but Woodstock was before I was born and they tell me if you remember being there ...you weren't REALLY there....!' replied Rock finding his feet a little (wet, wet ,wet).

'Oh I WAS there and not just in spirit...I remember talking to Max Yasgur about his farm as if it was .....what did my fellow performers the Beatles say...ah Yesterday....'' said the string maester busy name dropping.

'So why have you chosen me ...of all people...?' asked Rock.

'We share a common birthday....you were born on the 27th November just like me!' Rock asked the Rock God.

'Hippy Birthday' said Rock....but can you tell me what you want from me?

''I came to set you free man....I am like a genie in a bottle ...trapped in this porta-loo for all eternity until someone does my bidding!' said the Legend.

'More like pill-popper in Pilton Farm!' replied Rock getting cheeky.

'Do you want to get out of this Toilet Tardis or wot?' asked Jimi riddling.

'How can you - an apparition - get me out of here...?' asked Rock.

'Voodoo .....Child ....and a strong pair of teeth!' said Jimi sizing up the trapped metal bolt like it was a guitar string on a Fender Stratoscaster.

'But IF I get you out ....I want one last favour...and you will have to hurry as this potion of piss and barbiturates is ruining my velvet jacket!' said the Ex-Hippy.

'How can I help you Plectrum Spectre?' said Rock honoured to be asked.

'I want you to get up on the pyramid stage and set fire to Burt Bacharach's Piano!' ordered the spirit.

'Why would you want to do that?' asked Rock looking puzzled.

'Well I was speaking to Noel Gallagher the other day at a seance and he said there was something wrong with Rock n Roll in this Country when Ed Sheeran was headlining Wembley Stadium.....I feel the same way about the way that music is going....Ex Factor and Britain's Got Talent is sucking the lifeblood out of Rock n Roll....manufactured pop with singers that can't sing and artists that can't string two lines of lyric together that mean anything....look at the headline act on Stage 2- Cheryl Cole duets with Milli Vanilli....come on man!' protested Hendrix.

'But you didn't strike me as a fan of pyromania...I thought you were the Hendrix not the Prodigy !' replied the Rock.

'Who do you think set Michael Jackson's hair on fire in that 1984 Pepsi commercial...that wasn't no pyrotechnics....that was me!' admitted the Fringe Festival Firestarter.'Who set fire to his guitar on stage at the Monterey Pop Festival...who inspired Led Zeppelin to trash their hotel rooms ...who told Keith Moon of the Who to drive a Lincoln Continental Car into a Holiday Inn swimming pool....?' asked the Kinky Afro.

'Burt Bacharach?' Asked the Rock.'Hal David?''

"It was ME dummy...and now I want to be remembered by a new generation of rock fans who think of me just as an unsold poster in the corner of HMV music store!' raged Jimi.'Once you have torched his Steinway, I want you to tell them the spirit of Jimi Hendrix told you to do it and swallow dive into the crowd....if you do this you will become as much as a Festival Legend as I was at Woodstock....!

''You can be my Mark Chapman but only this time no insect will be harmed - set fire to the piano and if you wish you can then 'tinkle on the ivories'' suggested Jimi.

'Let me out and I'll do it!' said Rock.

Jimi bit down hard on the rusted bolt and freed the trapped student. Gulping down a lungful of pure oxygen- the Rock felt as high as a kite- he also ingested the spirit of Hendrix. Heading back briefly to 'tent city' for some lighter fluid and his Bob Marley emblazoned cigarette lighter, he staggered through the psychedelic crowd in a purple haze as if on another planet. The crowd watching Burt Bacharach was ten thousand deep but parted like the Red Sea at the command of Moses principally because of the infused stench of the Welsh Student drenched in urine, byre water and cow shit that was reminiscent of the aroma of the nearby Bridgwater Canal in a heatwave. Noses were wrinkled worse than a female cow elephant deprived of her anti-ageing cream. Flags and banners were lowered in disgust at the obnoxious odour which even caused fellow students to fall from the shoulders of other revellers. Even the combatants in the Mosh Pit stopped pogoing at the passing fragrance , as Rock anched his way towards the front of the crowd.

Waving his white soggy backstage pass at security, he was directed hurriedly towards the stage door by the stewards and then the roadies. As he made his way through the groupies, they were stunned not just by his appearance but also the odour of human landfill , as he pushed passed them intent on reaching centre stage, Rock initially hesitated when he got there. It was definitely a classic case of 'stage fright'. Knocking over the backing band and their string instruments Rock grabbed hold of the centre stage microphone.

Burt Bacharach stopped momentarily playing his piano , and warned the Rock that 'you'll never get to Heaven if you break my harp...so be very careful what you say or do' There were twenty thousand people hanging on his every word. Security guards crept forward slowly from both wings.The Rock held them back by lifting his arm threatening them with his armpit stink. Pheromones can be dangerous weapons in the wrong hands.

'Now Ladies & Gentlemen of Glastonbury....I have a message from beyond the grave from Jimi Hendrix....the greatest rock guitarist that ever lived....'as he did so....the face of Hendrix appeared on the visage of the Rock- a phenomena that was witnessed on the big screens all around the Festival site.....Zammo from Grange Hill was right kids....don't do drugs or you will join the '27 Club' like my astral friends, Brian Jones, Janis Joplin & Jim Morrison ...stay out of the bodegas too - avoid Winehouses like the plague....or I promise you like Kurt Cobain you will never ever reach Nirvana....but before you go...it's important to do something memorable ....leave behind something for people to remember you by....he began to play the 'Star Spangled Banner' using the palm of his hand in his armpit into the microphone....and then leapt on top of the Bacharach people...before exposing his phallus , urinating on the vase of carnations on the piano top and tinkling on the ivories....he then began to sing 'Magic Moments' at the top of his voice.....'I'll never forget the smell of the sweat as I pissed on the flowers...the aroma lasted for hours and hours....'

He then casually sprayed the piano with lighter fluid and struck his lighter switch. The piano despite being wet went up like a tinderbox. Burt Bacharach, despite being an Octagenarian leapt across the fiery stage and grabbed Rock by the throat - as if he was Hal David on their final collaboration together.He tackled the young student and handcuffed him in one movement. There was one benefit to being 87 years of age - no sense of smell.

The security staff were mightily impressed by the agility of the pensioner- most Jewish Samaritans would just 'Walk on By' but Burt got stuck right in.

'Where did you learn to do that?' asked Bouncer Dior Keeper.

'My first wife was a Policewoman....you may have heard of her ....Angie Dickinson?' said Burt.

'Dickinson?'asked Dior.....'I would be careful if I was you over here....Operation Yew tree hasn't finished yet and you were Top of the Pops in the 1970s I assume?.' Questioned the Security Man.

'Angie Dickinson....ooh foxy lady!,' said the spirit of Jimi Hendrix from deep within the young student.

Burt dug his knee Rodney King -style into the kid's back.

'I wasn't talking to you PERP!' Said Judge Burt 'I did spend a good deal of that decade at the top of the charts....!' declared the lyrical gangster raising his prisoner onto his feet with a view to handing him over to the Authorities.

Suddenly, Rock broke his grip and swallowed dived into the crowd shouting 'Freedom' like he was Wales William Wallace, hoping to crowd - surf his way out of the arena. Exactly whether it was the pheromones or just a general aversion to dirty students is unknown -but the crowd parted and Rock fell like a stone into the Glastonbury mud with a splat....dislodging the spirit in the sky and sending Hendrix 'purple haze' back to the ether it had come from. The blast from the Glast was now in the past.

updated by @philip-evans: 01/28/16 09:53:38PM