The morning after any festival can be fairly uncomforting - and not just because you're a 2 mile walk, train ride, and bus journey from your duvet. A lot of people leave behind rubbish and as you leave you start to glimpse the skeletons of the weekend's activity; lonely shoes, burnt chairs, passed-out teenagers covered in damp serving as a reminder that Summer is over. You're done: go home, have a shower, and have a long hard think about what you've done.
Annoncering
The rubbish shouldn't be there (The planet is being ruined, idiots!), but it's also pretty much unavoidable. And, in a way, it's beautiful: trash tells a story and then it gets taken to rot in harmony somewhere alongside the River Thames where we never have to look at it again.I knew that this weekend would be one of the last times I could legally look through other people's trash*. So yesterday morning, as the bleary and the infected left Reading Festival, I walked around with my camera and took a few photos.
