Gah! Hurry up Oxford and write to me! I no longer care whether you give me a place or not; I just want a source of cash lined up for the near future, so I can convince my parents to help me out with my rent and blow the rest of my interest-free overdraft on a ticket to Download before they sell out. They probably won't sell out, but I want one anyway just in case.

"Download?" you may well ask. "That's not very black metal of you!"

Ah! Well!

I've never been to an British outdoors festival. The experience just doesn't appeal to me. The weather is bad, you get covered in mud, your stuff gets stolen, you get hit on the head by flying bottles of urine, and as far as seeing bands go, you can either a) stand miles away from the stage, beholding microscopic dots and hearing only cheering or b) turn up really early, watch loads of rubbish bands while you wait for your favourite and still get crushed to death in an immense moshpit. And we know how I feel about moshpits.

And you (basically) have to camp. I hate camping. When I was fifteen, I wrote a not very good poem about it, and I still stand by every word. Since then, however, I've camped at Eurorock festival in Belgium twice. The festival was essentially good, by the virtue of being small, safe, moshpit-free and blessed with good weather (save the lightning storm on my first night), but the camping part featured the additional joys of:

a) black tents. F***ing goths. As well as literally f***ing goths in the next tent, making obscene noises in Belgian.
b) otherwise invisible tents, and lots of tripping over guy ropes as you stagger in search of yours after twelve hours of standing watching bands.
c) people screaming and playing music all night.
d) portacabins.
e) having to eat rubbish for several days straight. When me and Bryn bought supplies for our first Eurorock, the check-out girl actually saw fit to say, "I like your diet."

It's not that I don't enjoy the "festival spirit", but it's not enough. I'm just not very rock'n'roll in this regard, I'm afraid.

Nonetheless, this year's Download festival offers:

- Black Sabbath. The Godfathers. I've never seen them and they'd probably be prohibitively expensive to see if they played elsewhere
- Velvet Revolver, Megadeth, Nightwish, Motorhead and Lacuna Coil, all of whom are mint live.
- Slayer, who I've never seen, who I missed seeing on their recent tour, and who I love.
- System Of A Down, who I'd also really like to see, but are charging £30 for the privilege at their concerts, which is too much.
- Biffy Clyro, Anthrax and In Flames, who I also wouldn't be averse to seeing, as are some other bands of whom I think I'd approve.
- Slipknot.

Ah, Slipknot. Back in year 2000, I knew I liked metal, but Iron Maiden, Motorhead and Black Sabbath were the heaviest bands I'd heard. One day, though, I was walking through the living room, where my brother was watching Kerrang Interactive. "What's this?" I asked.

"Slipknot," he moaned, "they suck."

The video was for "Wait And Bleed". It showed the nine of them playing an outdoor gig. They wore boiler suits and had a turntablist; it was amusing, yet delightfully heavy and I wished I was there. A month later, I bought the album, and although I couldn't listen to it much, what with lyrics as subtle and profound as "Beep it all! Beep this world! Beep everything that you stand for!" it did seem to have some musicality to it and was certainly good for annoying my corridor mates when they listen to "ReRewind" by The Artful Dodger seventy times in a row.

A year later, their second album came out. Classic Rock magazine heralded it as the definitive nu metal album, the nu metal album for people who didn't like nu metal. Foolishly, I believed them, bought it, and gah, I could only stand to listen to it twice. I don't generally like nu metal for several reasons: the rap elements do nothing for me, the lyrics are generally dumb, and it typically consists only of "masculine" aggression, whereas Real Metal is also infused with "feminine" passion, which I require to be able to relate. And this record suffered greatly from the latter problem. I thought about selling it a few years later, but on a third listen, it wasn't all bad . . . I just haven't felt inspired to listen to it again, either.

I've heard two songs off the third album, one which I like and seems more sophisticated, one which I got nothing from. But this doesn't detract from their place in my life, as the first seriously heavy band I was interested in and one that looked fun to watch. Besides, everything I've heard about them endears them to me. They were inspired by death metal, but made something new out of it; they set up in the absolute middle of nowhere; they play well; they play nicely; and Sid is an absolute nutcase. They claim to get their song ideas from the letters they receive from their teenage fans, a horrifyingly commercial act, yet, I really don't think they do it to make money. Their maggots depend on them so they offer their services.

So yes, I want to see Slipknot.

Plus, for once, many of my fiends are also intending to go, and festivals are apparently good for meeting random people. So give me money, universe, now!

No money?

Back to the novel, then.

Coming soon: My Life As A Beeping Goth #1: My First Time At Synthetic Culture (which I've decided to attend tomorrow).