Talk about ruining our fun. What next, Sergeant Buzz Kill? A ban on incinerating Portaloos and rioting? The kids will never stand for it.
More to the point, why get worked up about petty issues like flags when there are so many other aspects of the festival experience that deserve to be outlawed. Like these, for starters:
It’s the curse of the modern dance tent: rows of pushchairs shunted against the mixing desk while mum and dad reach for the lasers. It’s undignified. Face it: you’ve got kids now, the fun’s over. So put those drugs away and get little Rufus back in the Saab.
2. Luminous tutus
Bad enough on kids; truly unpleasant when worn by shirtless, pink-shouldered Kasabian fans after 16 pints of Gnarled Warlock.
So many to cherish: ‘Bolloooocks!’ ‘I’m Spartacus!’ ‘Woo-hoo, woo-hoo-hoo!’ I’d suggest another: Fuck off, you cretins!
4. Any area that calls itself ‘Where The Wild Things Are’
This is false advertising, given that any enclosure with an enigmatic, hippyish name like this – far from containing the promised all-night debauchery – invariably contains a stoned bloke playing bongos, and a wizened crone selling chai in chipped mugs for £3 a pop.
5. James Morrison
Or Newton Faulkner, or Paolo Nutini, or Daniel Merriweather – or any other male artist-with-a-faux-soulful-catch-in-their-voice that Rufus Hound might describe as “fantastic” before cutting to edited highlights of The Fratellis.