Dancing in the sun at Glastonbury, his then girlfriend sitting on his shoulders. White t-shirt, straw hat, arms dark against the sky and flags, a camera magnet. Whooping with delight when she saw herself on the big screen, squeezing her legs tight. That night in the tent his neck was sore, red raw. It was only when they were screaming towards divorce she told him about the momentary loss of control. It was not sunburn.