Beyonce at Glastonbury: your guide to how to write a shit article about it

British music criticism is like the life of Avram Grant: humiliating nadir after humiliating nadir occasionally interspersed with perfunctory bouts of lacklustre sub-adequeacy. Its main faults are obvious: its body is a pack of adult males who have been rejected by every single person and institution they’ve sought inclusion from up until this point and now they’re attempting to force pop cultural cohesion by spluttering into their Staropramen any time somebody has the temerity to differ with their opinions about Animal Collective/Taylor Swift/black people passim.