I am tired and a little sunburnt, washed out and lacking in a liver. Must have been Glastonbury this weekend then. Being back in the full swing London life makes the weekend seem an age ago already but I shall do my best to cast my mind back and give you the many lows and few highs of the weekend…
It started badly with our downstairs neighbour informing us that water was leaking into his flat from ours just as we were leaving for the then sunny Somerset. Fears of returning home to a completely flooded flat were abound.
It did get better; we only got lost twice en route, and worked out how to set up a tent with surprisingly little difficulty. We sat in the sunshine, lounged about and I felt completely satisfied with every aspect of my life. Couldn’t have been happier. I am such a cliché when I want to be. I drank my £6 a litre classy whiskey neat a plastic bottle until the early hours of the morn, seeing Candy try to pole dance a guy rope and my sister consumer her weight in Bombay mix.
I have no idea what happened for the next five hours, but suddenly my sobriety came crashing down to earth when one of my friends chucked me out my tent so they could have very noisy sex. To top off my anger the thunderstorm that caused all the much publicised rain chaos started just as they kicked into their am-dram porn antics.
It just rained. And rained. And rained. We woke up to find what felt like a water bed under our tent, fun at first, until it all started running into the inside of our tent.
No matter how many pictures you may have seen of the rain, its impossible to realise just how depressing it was. Few of us had any dry clothes, working phones or high spirits. We were a foot deep in water and had nowhere to sleep. I felt like giving up and going home. I started back on the whiskey and things looked up. My drinking partner in crime, Steve, and I went on a mission to cheer ourselves up by getting our faces painted in the Kidz field. It was closed due to flooding. Could it get any worse?
We decided that there was only one option left – the car. It had dry seats, a radio (there was no music on any stage at this time) and we could sit down. We trekked through the carpark to find cars up to their boot bumpers in water and panicked but finally, the gods allowed us one bit of peace – our car was fine. We reclined the seats, cracked open the next bottle of whiskey and listened to Glastonbury via the joys of Radio 1.
The only band I saw all day was Be Your Own Pet, who I’d seen just two nights before. £125 a ticket well spent.
At some point I offended a man so greatly that I had to run. I told a gentleman in the Pussy Parlour that I was disappointed that there was no nakedness and how I wouldn’t want to see any of the girls on the dancefloor naked. It turned out one of them was his girlfriend.
Either before or after BYOP we helped Eddie and Caroline move their tent from the middle of some parked lorries backstage over to our camping village. Talk about lazy when it comes to putting down tents. See Mr Swish’s news for that.
About 6 hours passed and I fund myself trekking to the Lost Vagueness to try and see Kid Carpet. Don’t remember it at all.
I stole Eddies jumper and (piss stinking) sleeping bag and woke up feeling very mean.
I woke up to find I had run out of whiskey. How? I bought three and a half litres of the stuff. Time to start on the neat vodka.
I also found out that someone had stolen my bag of knickers. I still can’t find them today.
Art Brut were my first priority of the day, and my oh my they were good. I got mentioned during the set and blushed (“my friend Helen told me not to talk about the weather because its not a very glam thing to do”.) I’ve seen them a lot of times but this may have been one of their best sets, the John Peel tent was packed for them.
The Rakes were on after, and also tops. I was starting to feel better. Maybe seeing some bands wasn’t such a bad idea after all.
I was feeling tired and lame by 11pm, not wanting to see Coldplay and instead opting for the luxury of mr swish and his double bed caravan. Mmm…
I felt refreshed and revived, despite the loud music keeping us awake til three. One of the Bud tents had a Poptones day on today. Despite being hundreds of miles away, the prospect of bands that I see every week was too tempting.
I saw Special Needs, who like BYOP, I had already seen this fortnight. But they are worth it. They are growing on me more and more every day. My drinking buddy Steve felt compelled to write left and right on his wellies, dancing along to my oft repeated renditions of “to the left, dum-dum-dum, to the right, dum-dum-dum, we go rum-de-de-rum…”.
A bit of shit chilli, some very sunburnt friends after our lounging about in the much loved summer sun and we headed over to Primal Scream. My god they were awful. Bobby G was wasted, could barely sing on the beat and got dragged off stage by security. Memories from now own are blank again.
Some of my nerdier (possibly wiser) friends left at seven in the morning to avoid the queues. Oh, if only we’d listened. It took 7 hours to get out the car park. We got home at half one in the morning.
Overall, I think I had fun. There were a few too many arguments and too much drama for my liking. But in terms of good, semi-clean fun I was happy. I am not made for camping and have decided that if I do go to another festival its going to be a Mediterranean one. But I don’t think it will be for a long time. Without wishing to sound like a gig snob I just don’t think festivals are worth it at the moment. I go to too many gigs in the week, all the bands I wanted to see I’d seen a thousand times before. I got yelled at for only seeing a few bands but seeing Kasabian is never going to be high on my list of priorities.
Now if anyone would like to give me back my bag of knickers…