So the Isle of Wight festival was great, it didn't rain, these bands were great:

Kaiser Chiefs (Friday)
Iggy and the Stooges (Saturday)
Newton Faulkner (Sunday)
Feeder (Sunday)

But certainly the funniest thing that happened was this:

Earlier in the week my mate Joe told his fiancé she had a present for the festival and it was going to be a surprise. A surprise, how exciting, could it be new sunglasses, a crazy hat, her mind boggled. Unfortunately the gift didn't turn out to be as exciting as she hoped because it turned out to be, Travel Johns

The Travel John disposable unisex urinal is convenient, sanitary, compact and discreet. . . They offer peace of mind for long journeys, traffic jams and those with limited mobility.

So Joe thinks he's being both helpful and pragmatic, after all festival toilets are notoriously unpleasant, and perhaps he is, but his fiancé is less than impressed with the idea of peeing in an elongated plastic trough regardless of how compact and discreet they claim it to be. We're all having a fun time so we take the piss-bag out of Joe and his piss bags and get a good laugh. Joe however is undeterred and more determined than ever to prove us all wrong, he gives us all a disposable unisex urinal, sure that when the time comes and we're stuck in a crowd with 'limited mobility' we'll be thankful that we know a guy like Joe with his remarkable 'peace of mind'.

Rather inevitably things didn't quite turn out like that. No one used their piss bags, so during the last band of the night, Joe decides it's time for a demonstration and that's when all hell breaks loose. Joe's girlfriend moves back, presumably to give him space, perhaps just to distance herself. The person she happened to bump into was surely on Crack. If there is such a thing as road rage then there must be such a thing as festival rage and this miniature permed dervish had a pathological case of it. "Don't push me" she started.

"I'm just moving back because he's having a piss?" was the reply.

"YOU FUCKING CUNT! YOU'RE PISSING, YOU FUCKING DIRTY CUNT, YOU'RE PISSING, YOU FUCKING CUNT, YOU'RE FUCKING DISGUSTING YOU'RE FUCKING FILTHY PISSING CUNT, HE'S A FILTHY FILTHY PISSING CUNT, YOU FUCKER, YOU DIRTY CUNT!"

It was as though Joe had just pepper sprayed her. I think we all just stood round slightly stunned by the pure rage just thrown at us by a very small, slightly overweight, curly haired woman. Then Joe started trying to explain to her what he was doing and we all realised just how absurd this was. Try telling someone about five times angrier than the angriest wasp that ever chased you through a field, that the thing that she thought you were doing to make her angry, you were doing, but not in the way she thought you were doing it, no, in a way about five times more weird.

She was small, she was way too angry, we were bigger than her, and Joe's explanation had tailed off about half way through due to it being woefully inadequate and utterly absurd. All we could do was laugh, so we did, allot. Oddly this didn't stop her from being angry. It made her go get her boyfriend, screaming the whole way. The boyfriend wasn't as vocal in his anger, but he was considerably more menacing. We outnumbered him five to one so I wasn't particularly scared, but it was the first night and the last thing I wanted was a brawl, especially a brawl with a bag of piss flying around. I was nearest to him as he approached, so I did the first thing I could think of. I pulled my piss bag out of my pocket and waved it at this guy shouting:

"He's pissing in a bag. I know who brings a piss bag to a festival? This guy, no one else, but this guy does. The piss turns into an, odourless colourless gel, it's an ODOURLESS COLOURLESS GEL!"

I was Larry David this was an episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm. There I was in a crowd of hip-kids waving a plastic incontinence bag in some angry guy's face shouting about odourless colourless gel. It worked though; he was now more baffled than angry.

At this point I remember looking around to see if I had the crowd. If avoiding eye contact means you have the crowd, well then I had the crowd (I didn't have the crowd). The boyfriend shouted one more line of abuse and walked off with his satanic girlfriend, hair frizzy from the heat of the fire and brimstone that literally fizzed off her behind him, presumably to smoke more Crack. We laughed, out loud, a lot, and 'Odourless Colourless Gel' got repeated at every opportunity for the rest of the weekend.

Moral unknown.