Big Freak Out

Last Friday I attended Auckland's premier popular music festival "Big Day Out". I had been pre-warned by she-who-knows that the freak contingent at this event is high so to make sure I brought the camera.
Sadly I was disappointed at the low number of mentalists attending and though no pictures were taken I did see the following...

A nun in plain clothes handing out toffees as a segue to a charity mugging for a trip to visit the poor. I didn't hear where, but it may have been Bradford she was off to.
A bloke wearing a mankini with one testicle dangling coquettishly outside it.
Women queuing in the men's bogs within easy eyesight of my genitals. They looked unimpressed, sadly.
Dizzee Rascal.
A mullet on a toilet attendant that was down to the middle of his back and in stark contrast to his number 2 haircut.
A man in a jetpack flying from one corner of the stadium to the adjacent corner.
5 transvestites.
One lonely Goth walking away from Lily Allen's set saying "She needs to die".
Two people without tattoos.
A bloke who had fallen through time (more of him later).

The event itself was well handled, even though the security measures were a bit draconian. It is easier to get into the US wearing any sort of headdress proclaiming your love of Allah belts than it is to get into the arena carrying grog. There were designated drinking areas where you could buy some of the locally siphoned piss water cunningly labelled as Speight's Summit, but these were heavily policed and you were searched again going through Checkpoint Carling.
Because of this, drunken nastiness seemed to be low, and I viewed only one kick off when two Pacific Islanders barged through the crowd with a third on their shoulders as a cunning method of getting forward in the crowd and a bloke in front of me took offence at this upstartery. Him standing there waving his fists at the one being elevated had a vague panto-esque quality about it all, but I was ready to step in to help him. Not cos the human pyramid gang were being rowdy tits, but simply because it was 3 versus 1 and I can't abide that.
Anyway, the situation fizzled out though I did manage to trip one of gang over as they shuffled past me to the exit, which was a terrible act of clumsiness on my part.

Which brings me to the time traveller. During Lily Allen's "performance" a bloke to our right was dancing in a crazy, tai chi flowing hippy way to her music. Lacking shoes and having a wild Woodstock beard and round shades he looked like he had stepped straight out of Cheech and Chong’s Up In Smoke.
People were quite rightly dumfounded at this, mainly as no self respecting individual would dance to Lily Allen unless Jack Bauer put a gun to your child's head and told you to do it, dammit. The mystery was solved when he continued dancing in the same manner while Ms Allen was talking to the crowd and then he shouted "Whoooooooo! Yeahhhhhh!" for no reason. My suspicions were confirmed when he began swigging out of a water bottle that contained a liquid that was either Jack Daniels or industrial floor polish.
I don't know what festival he was at (I doubt even he knows) but I wish I was there too, as it sounded friggin' awesome.

PS About three people seemed to know who Kasabian were but everyone sang along to Dizzee Rascal. What‘s that about?