On Festi-Jeeves™ and my rubbish Fun Lovin' Criminals joke

Sunday evening, and I pick Jane up from the station after a weekend at a music festival.

"So," I ask, "How were the Fun Lovin' Criminals?"

"They were AWESOME," she replied, amongst other superlatives.

"And where did you sit?" I ask, unleashing my Fun Lovin' Criminals joke. "To the left ...or... To the right."

She looks at me like I'm some sort of lunatic, which I am. "That's the Stereo MCs."

"ARSE."

My only Fun Lovin' Criminals gag going down the toilet, our conversation turns to the festival itself, which was - according to Jane - a lovely family-orientated event, "but there were queues for EVERYTHING. You had to wait thirty minutes just to get a beer."

Thirty minutes? THIRTY MINUTES? Surely there must be some way of cutting down the waiting time. Or, by-passing it altogether.

"What we really need," she says, "is some sort of Festival Butler Service."

This is a brilliant idea, which I immediately flesh out: An extra hundred notes on your festival ticket gets you your own personal Jeeves, who will queue for your beers, fetch sustinence from the food stalls, and carry a discreet bottle should you find yourself caught short down by the stage.

Also Festi-Jeeves™ will wake you up at a reasonable hour in the early afternoon with a cup of tea and fried breakfast, and use his knowledge of jiu-jitsu, karate and fisticuffs to keep tent thieves at bay. He will also play loud music to drown out the sound of your festival shag.

"You've taken it too far again," she says, "You always do."

Yes. I always do. But that is how insanity genius works.

But: Festi-Jeeves™! I'm going to put this to Glastonbury's Michael Eavis and the people behind the Olympic Security cock-up. This time next year, Rodders...