Like a aching phantom limb I woke up this morning wondering why I wasn’t standing in a long queue waiting to get into a festival in a certain field in Somerset.
Yes, this would have been the weekend of Glastonbury Festival were it not taking a year off to let the land recover after a half dozen mainly dry years, so while Michael Eavis and the cows are chilling out for a year, the amount of events trying to capture something of the festival bubble like botulism as festivals as varied as TRNSMT and Jezfest try to part fools with their money with varying degrees of success.
But no fields full of people. No weirdness. No nothing in Somerset.
This gap has created a curious space. I’m now only really going to go to Glastonbury for my festival fun, and although last year was immense it was also my first year disabled so I felt restricted.
So as much as I’m resigned to being somewhat restricted to prior years (which is good as it means not waking up in the Green Fields coming down with someone else’s knickers on my head) I’m going to feel a bit lost over the next week.
But it is only a year off and it is a chance to allow me to regroup. I have every intention of being in a field in the West Country this time next year but for now it does feel as if something has been lost, even temporarily but at the same time, the land (if it were a feeling, coherent organism) wonders where all those people are who normally turn up this week each year?
See you all in a field next year…