Obsfest is always interesting. Tales of dwarves and hippies and goths and kilt-wearing nutbags are believed. Tales of stage diving, band-snogging and car surfing are believed. Tales of blue drinks and bad schwarmas and the unfortunate confluence of both are believed. But no one ever believes me about the naked bird on the horse. Godiva. In the flesh. So to speak.
So. To the doubting Thomas’s out there. Here she is.
P.S. Apparently the horse delivers veggies on his average weekday. Bet he loves Obsfest too.