Fran Died at Glastonbury

Glastonbury 2019. We were asked by BBC Introducing to play their stage at Worthy Farm. A milestone that most bands don't get to tick off. We were booked to play on Sunday; the last day of the festival. We arrived on Friday afternoon aiming to achieve the full glasto experience yet somehow stay fresh for Sunday. The plan was to take it easy so we were on form for the Sunday afternoon show. Most of us stuck to this plan.

That night we all watched Tame Impala smash The Other Stage then all somehow split up Me and Fran headed to Shangri-la. On the way we actually bumped into Kevin Parker. We didn't think we were that drunk when we met him but the fan-boy pictures we got said otherwise. It was at Shangri-la where we both got split up from each other in the mayhem. We later found each other in The Park area, both much more inebriated than when we lost each other. We were reunited by a mile long queue for 'The Rabbit Hole'. We didn't fancy queuing so with a bit of Dutch Courage we showed the 6'7 bouncer our artist wristband. He looked down on us and said "Ask The Hare.''. A 5'2 man dressed as a Hare appeared from behind the security and said "Are you artists?" We replied with an unsure nod and he reluctantly let us in. We crawled on our hands and knees through the rabbit hole and emerged in the bar. Immediately we recognized the likes of Fatboy Slim and Mark Ronson amongst loads of scousers. We were bopping about like Wayne and Garth. I went to the bar and Fran disappeared again. I found him paralytic at a tea party behind the bar. He'd drank a litre of Dark Rum. I dragged him out and called Simon and me and carried him back to the tent. The tent was about 3 miles away but somehow we made it there. He was sick in the tent and I had to share it with him.

The next day was the hottest day of the year. Fran cooked in that tent all day marinating in a pool of technicolor chunder. He emerged as we were leaving to stay at our manager’s friends house, Dr Phil’s. Phil had a beautiful home just outside of Bristol. We arrived there and were blown away by it, Francis found the nearest bed and went back to sleep, he just wanted something medicinal to make him feel better. Phil went and found him with a handful of steroid suppositories, to this day we don’t know whether he used them but what I will say is this... Francis returned to us back to his usual state, up and about with his eyes as wide as his arsehole.

Tom Willo

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