An open letter to Glastonbury, from a victim.

Over the last four or five years I’ve written a lot about Glastonbury Festival from the fun, freeloading days of 1992 when I first rocked up in the back of a van from Nottingham, to this year when I made it there from my native Glasgow in my still newish disabled state.

This year for me was an extraordinarily tough year having to prove to myself I could still do it while hiding pain and infuriation with my failing body as much as one can. In fact I only decided 100% that I’d be going less than a month before the festival and I have to the say, the guys at the office were fantastic.

This blog though reveals the lengths Glastonbury will go to in order to ensure people go and feel as ‘normal’ as possible but be warned, you will be a wee bit weepy reading it and if you aren’t then you have no heart.

This is what the festival is good at. Enjoy…


Dear The Eavis family, and all who make Glastonbury happen,

So I write a lot of letters, but I promise this one will be worth reading – stick with it. This isn’t complaining about the crowds or the headliners, or telling the world how life changing the week was for me to provoke envy inducing angry faces all over Facebook. This is a story about a girl who contacted a giant festival who cater for hundreds of thousands with a request for help and was met with compassion, love and overwhelming acts of kindness.

I was lucky enough to get tickets to Glastonbury for the first year ever, with a group of friends who were equally as excited as I was – WhatsApp groups sharing outfits and line up rumours sprung up within minutes of receiving the golden tickets, and June 2017 could not come soon enough.

Unfortunately for me…

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