The security guard says he loves the flash-mob dancers, he says he ain’t seen nothing like that in Birmingham. He asked to come to WOMAD he says, because he’d heard it was chilled and he’s sick of trouble. He’s sick of it. He’s been stabbed four times, he says. And he’s sick of being called racist, just for chucking people out and he doesn’t know if they’re Muslim or Christian or what but if they’re acting with aggression that’s why. It’s only when they see his girlfriend that they believe, he is not, a racist. You need to understand people, he says, before you judge them.

The security guard says he likes the smell of the trees and the ground. He says when you’ve spent all your life in the city it’s amazing. He is watching some women pouring wine and says he’s supposed to confiscate that, if it was Creamfields they’d be bottling each other, but it’s different here and he’ll wait for them to drink it and then he’ll take the glass. The only thing people worry about here is recycling, he says. The security guard jumps when a woman dashes into the tent, brandishing a stick, but it’s covered in shells and she’s made it in a workshop so it’s alright, but he says it threw him for a minute. He says he’s doing a vegan festival next week and his mate’s told him he’ll have to search the bags for knives and that like normal, but he’ll have to confiscate any sausages or cheese and he says that’s blown his mind a bit.

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