A horde of dirtied, mud-covered bodies shuffle, ungainly and confused toward towns and cities, their populations unsuspecting. This horde, slack-jawed and vacant-eyed, are set to wreek havok on the civilisation they bear down on. However, rather than being the onset of some zombie-apocalypse, we're simply talking about the return of the thousands of harrowed and haunted revellers who managed to survive Electric Picnic. When they make contact, people will reel in disgust at the corrupted and warped parodies of humanity that they see before them, bearing tattered rucksacks and dragging those giant IKEA bags containing tents so utterly broken and twisted beyond salvation that the only logical explanation for their current state was that they were pulped by a fleet of wheat-threshers.
They will begin their gradual process of trying to reacclimate to contemporary, modern society. It will not be a swift process, nor will it be without issue. It is inevitable that, at some point as some jaded Electric Picnic returnee attempts to remember the mores and protocols of non-tent-based living, that they will, perhaps on their first day back in work, announce they're going for a toilet break, only to stand up and attempt to urinate into an empty Evian bottle. We can only hope that, for this unfortunate soul, the respective HR department of their respective employer will be compassionate and understanding.
While those who've just returned from this year's festival may be focusing the majority of their energies on this process of reassimilation, and attempting to psychologically supress some of the more humiliating and traumatic memories that may have been accrued over the weekend, their reprieve may be brief. Electric Picnic have announced that tickets for next year's festival are set to go on sale this Saturday, September 7 at 9am.
Savour this five-day interlude where your social calendar is all too briefly free of the prospect of living in some kind of hastily improvised commune in a field in Laois so as to see The Kooks play in a tent at 4pm on a Sunday while you're catastrophically hungover. Savour it, savour the freedom, before plunging back into the madness next Saturday.