Happiness is Butlins at Minehead

I’ve lately got into the habit of starting off a Saturday night out in a quiet pub at the top of the town. I like the draught Japanese lager and the ridiculous glasses it comes in. The pub is friendly enough, but I don’t get involved. I have two or three pints, nod thanks, and move on. But the last time I was in there, one of the regulars said did I want to go to a music festival at Butlins in Minehead next weekend? A crowd of them were going. Twenty bands. Blockheads, Bad Manners, Selector. Come; it’ll be a laugh, he said.

I arrived in the early evening of the festival’s second day. At the check-in counter, I was delighted to learn that I had been upgraded from a room only to an apartment. But where were my new pals? And how would I find them? I knew none of their surnames.