Not Green Belt - Morning 1

The sun has staggered up over the dew-sodden Midsomershire grass of the #NotGB19 campsite. And once again we ask ourselves - if they must hold this event on a farm, why not one which deals in sheep rather than sewage?

It was, as ever, a fractured night. But then we are all fractured people. Mostly after the disturbances when the contingent from the Norbertine Monks fraternity had a food fight with the Vegan Cheese Collective. There's no better whey to settle an argument.

Burton Dasset has woken to discover that the dew soaked through the blanket that he was so optimistically using as a ground sheet. I think we was inspired by Bill Jo Spiers. But then, Billy Jo had someone to keep her warm, unlike poor Burton. So his tent is flapping on a branch, alongside the Young Adults group after their night asleep under it.  They're hoping that by tonight, they'll have drunk enough WKD to be able to sleep in the car.

There's going to be a few good items today. The "We Are All Broken People" stand for instance. Where some straight fundamentalists will be explaining that we're all broken, but they're broken in more acceptable ways. I've heard that they've invited Ann Widdecombe - the poster-person of the "We Are All Broken" movement - to come along and scream about why only weird people love her. But not in that way.

Then "Chesney's Screaming Jelly Babies". The Chesney Hawks tribute band that got fed up just playing the same song over and over. So they migrated to death metal, then Christian Death Metal (better known as the Tuba Mirum Spargens from Berlioz's Requiem). Then ambient trip-jazz, and now they just sing Ralph McTell numbers while throwing jelly babies into liquid nitrogen. It's a gas. Actually, it's not initially. But it ends up as a gas.

But for now, I'm drinking additive-free soy-milk latte from a cup that's so environmental it's already composting in my hand. And munching this fake-bacon organic gluten-free breakfast bap with ethical tomato sauce. Over the hazy hills of Midsomer I can hear the terror of adulterous landlords being murdered by creepy vicars. It's good to be back.

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 "A Hint of Death in the Morning Air" - 97 poems to make you wonder, laugh or shake your head sadly. At only £1 on Kindle. Or if you want to know what the people in the pews really think, and you prefer your words printed on paper, why not try "Writes of the Church"?  The letters to the Church magazine the vicar really didn't need.