You never forget your first festival.

Just getting out of the house in holiday time and out from under parental view is good enough. And the fun of choosing just the right outfit that will survive many hours, if not days, of abuse whilst maintaining an impression of absolute cool.

After you enthusiastically wait up front listening to the support act to the support act to the hastily rearranged headline act - dredged up at short notice from your dad's era due to the sudden break up 'because of musical differences' finally your all-time favourite band rocks it. The time of your life kicks in thenso does reality.

Your ears are screaming, your bladder's aching, you've waiting far too long to go and you're half a marathon away from the nearest portable toilet; where you join a queue of 20 or so fellow sufferers as flushing water and toilet paper run out simultaneously.

In the middle of the country's worst drought in half a century the heavens open and the parched ground quickly converts to a river of mud through which you wade to the distant catering shacks. Here, a cardboard tray of cold noodles sets you back 15 bucks and only a large block of fruit and nut will take the flavour away, and the grease from your teeth.

And just as it can't get any worse, a burning feeling and the horrified looks of fellow festival-goers tells you that the spots breakout that's been maturing all week is now bearing fruit.

People move away from the disaster zone for fear of flying debris.

Sounds familiar? Don't let spots mature, a daily rountine with Clearasil Skin Perfecting Wash could be the way to go.