Sometimes you need to wake up and wonder who you ever really were. Aged parents, grown up kids and the thing that you thought made you “you”, can disappear quickly.

Alan mused, he was much given to musing these days. He looked at the posters on his walls. They told stories only he could hear, of times before the perimeter fences. They felt almost like they’d happened to someone else.

He had held on to his job because of what it made him to others and himself. he’d been called a “legend” six times at the team awayday yesterday.

Karl from ADP had introduced him to Danni and said she would be shadowing him this year, with a view to taking a larger role in the programming next.

Alan had been the sole artistic programmer for nearly 40 years, since starting the festival with Mazzy and Den, god rest. But ever since his little festival had got big and been swallowed by a company to do with Live Nation, he’d known a “reset” was coming. Now Karl described his future as a “well deserved rest”. Though of course the team would still be dipping into his “unbelievable knowledge pool”.

She was young but wasn’t everybody these days. Not knowing the difference between the names young people have for generations, he settled for “about 30”. She had those twiddly tattoos that weren’t “sleeves” anyway.

He’d stomped off to have a fag outside and was just sitting there, looking across the large empty square that had once been a bus station when someone behind him and pulled the loose flesh on his neck really hard and hit him across the shoulders with force.

“Ow” he cried, in genuine pain.

“Pinch, punch, first day of the month!!” guffawed Danni.

He decided to let it go in case he was accused of persecuting someone with ADHD.

“You looked so lost, I thought I’d surprise you” she laughed.

“I always look like this!” he replied still holding a hand over his still pulsing neck.

“Too many drugs back in the day?” she smiled, “Legend! Anyway, Have you heard of Hippopotamus? Atonal Psych-funk from Detroit? We’ve got to have them! They’re awesome.”

“I’ll check them out” he lied. The thought of listening to anything described this way already hurt his ears.

“And Workplace Canteen, gender-fluid-postpunk from the Faroe Islands! Or Airplane Station, who combine Afrobeat, Postrock and Nu-jazz to devastating effect! Surely you know them?”

Alan realised that he didn’t actually like music anymore.

“What have you booked so far?” continued Danni. Alan realised that she wasn’t going to let him just get on with it. Honestly, he had only booked Grandaddy (again) and the deadline was in three weeks. He was surprised to discover that he felt relieved and rescued by his assailant.

And so, with great effort, he pulled himself back into the present and made a nice speech to Danni about how it was her turn now. He said his metaphorical door was always open and not to waste this great opportunity that had given him so much pleasure. He did not think she would.

And now on the second day of the month, with the shock of the first behind him and his carefully maintained “legend” status counting for zilch in the outside world, Alan started to think about what he wanted to be when he grew up.