There and Back Again: The story of Glastonbury 2017

Having taken time away from Glastonbury for technical problems, I made a return back to that field in Somerset for the festival but this wasn’t just the first festival since my stroke and cancer diagnosis, but the first one since I started going in 1992 where I come from Glasgow as opposed to the East Midlands or Bristol. So this was a wee bit of a challenge, and the best place to start is Monday the 19th June.

I’ve decided to fly to Bristol, spend a couple of days catching up with people before a friend, Alan, picks me up on the way to the festival. That Monday was a humid day in Glasgow, though friends in Bristol and already on the festival site had warned me it was hotter than Egypt there. Leaving my house I head to Buchanan Street bus station for the shuttle bus to Glasgow Airport.

Being the afternoon the shuttle bus was empty barring a German couple and a confused looking businessman.

Feeling just a twinge of excitement in the glutes, the bus sped across the Clyde to the airport…

And quicker than I thought I arrived at the airport to a sea of pasty Glaswegians and placing my faith in Easyjet, I arrived later that evening in Bristol which was indeed, like walking around in Egypt barring the sand.It was like walking into an oven, and indeed, sleeping in one so I didn’t manage much sleep in the runup to Glastonbury which meant I was bright and sharpish as I met Alan at 6am on the  Wednesday of the festival.

As this was the first year I was a fully registered disabled person this meant we went for the disabled queue to get our passes, and for the shuttle bus to take us to Spring Ground, the disabled campsite within the festival. Only catch was it was around 28 C in the morning and there was a bit of a queue.

Shade was a premium and for a few hours everyone felt like slow-roasting pork as we crawled towards that white tent in the distance where we’d get passes, etc, and hopefully on the bus. Luckily while in the queue we met up with part of the group who’d come from Glasgow by car. Eventually we got sorted, got on the bus, got to Spring Ground and very, very, very slowly started pitching up. Have you tried pitching tents in 34 C heat after having stood in it for five hours and those of us on medication were starting to seriously struggle? It isn’t nice but it is preferable to the rain…

Eventually the last part of the group turned up from the dark recesses of the North West of England, but by this time it was getting into the evening and I’d arranged to meet a mate from Bristol at the bandstand at 8 so I grabbed some beers (my drinking ban was lifted for the duration of the festival) and headed into the wilds of Wednesday night at Glastonbury.

By now there was some merciful cloud cover which helped the skin which by now resembled cracking off a Sunday joint, but Wednesday night I’ve always enjoyed at Glastonbury because nothing much is happening and stages like the Pyramid Stage, are still coming together. What this means is that it’s the only night that feels like ”old” Glastonbury in that you have no idea what you’ll encounter and because one has to make their own fun everything is joyfully random which means sitting around at midnight talking to a family from Hull about how the festival has helped reshape their lives.

And Glastonbury turns into a glorious place at night, especially when it’s warm and dry because you’re not struggling with the mud or hurrying back to your tent to avoid the rain. Not so this night where you could sit in what we used to call the Jazz Stage field, and young ‘uns call West Holts watching fireworks while drinking beer.

A wonderful Wednesday night bled into Thursday morning, and a quiet one. The site this night was quiet which was surprising until you remembered your sunburn and the fact most people would be knackered but my crippled arse stayed up past 3am and crawled into bed having had a splendid night.

Thursday starts with my daily drugs, which look nothing like the drugs I used to consume at the festival in years past.

Thursday is the day where the festival kicks into gear. All the stages bar the three biggest ones start and the festival kicks into gear. Our intention was to see The Orb at the Glade, but getting near the stage was doable but hearing it when the organisers have stuck several smaller stages near was impossible which leads me to a whinge. Over the last decade they’ve added so many stages that there’s so much to see and do that you’re spoiled for choice, but the big chunks of space the festival used to have which allowed the festival to breath are gone. So one stage bleeds into another less than ten metres away and that frankly, is shite. I’d like some of the stages to go or for a bit more thought in how it all works for disabled folk who find it a struggle when there’s bottlenecks.

I will take this chance to thank the young lad and his girlfriend who helped me up a hill near the Glade when there were so many people in one place it was ridiculous, and in fact, I’d say 99% of people at the festival when they noticed I was disabled did all they could. The ones that didn’t can fuck off.

I also experienced the dubious joys of the backstage bar as it’s on the disabled route backstage between stages, and I have to say what a soulless, empty echo of the festival it is. Braying London media whores and their hangers on pretending to have their exclusive Glastonbury isn’t Glastonbury as the joy of the festival is we’re all in it together. Sneaking off to your nice Winnebago isn’t playing fair. I get why Eavis has allowed the backstage area and this demographic to grow as after all, he started this festival to make extra cash but it’s bollocks and for me, risks the heart of the festival.

Anyhow, Thursday ended up being back at the tents in Spring Ground and an early night (sort of) in anticipation of everything kicking off proper on the Friday.

Friday was cloudy and cooler. The media were saying it was what we’d all hate, but give me cool and cloudy around 20 C as that’s perfect festival weather after days of being roasted alive from dawn til dusk.

The site takes on a new energy from the Friday. We know the A Team (not Mr T sadly) are kicking it on the main stages.

Friday however wasn’t a great day. A few decent acts on West Holts and the comedy tent aside, nothing caught my eye til Radiohead who I’d seen when they played the NME Stage (now Other Stage) in 1994, THAT show at the Pyramid in 97 and in 2003 when they last headlined.

Radiohead are a great live band, and they don’t disappoint here, yeah, some of the stuff from Kid A goes down like a lead enema but on the whole the band pick the crowd up and play with them like putty.

At this point I need to say a word about the stewards organising the disabled platform and thank them for doing all they can to make the night, and the experience, as good as it would have been for everyone. They did a great job and considering they’re all volunteers and don’t get a penny for it makes it all the more extraordinary.

As Radiohead draws a close to Friday we head back to the tents, sit around and talk wonderful bollocks until the first spatters of rain hit us causing us all to call an earlyish night and hopefully let the rain be no more than a passing shower. Unbelievably it was, and better than that, the rain dampened down the dust so the site was no longer a dustbowl as it was say, in 2010, 1995 and 1993. This set up Saturday nicely as this is the day where the festival finds an extra gear and goes mental yet the biggest crowd of the day wasn’t for a modern beat combo, it was for a politician.

That’s Jeremy Corbyn in the distance. Now I’ve branched out my opinion on Corbyn’s appearance here, but I will say I have concern for anyone chanting any politicians name as it means you’ve left your critical abilities floating in the long drops. A ”jobs first Brexit” is as much a load of utter pish as when Nigel Farage talks about it and my concern is that Corbyn’s selling a lie to people because there’s no version of Brexit that doesn’t put jobs at risk but he won’t tell you his version (which is exactly the same as other Brexiters like Farage and Gove were punting last year) will, and neither does he want to engage the fact Labour have now put immigration ahead of jobs.

So lots of chants, lots of positivity and a lot of hubris. I’ve seen this shite before and I wish what is going to happen doesn’t but I fear I’m going to be right and an almighty disappointment is heading people’s way.

Moving on from politics the band after Corbyn, Run the Jewels, were a splendid piece of bombastic hip hop and I really should search their stuff out, but no time to hang around as I go for a wander round the site after that.

Ah cider…

This is a giant tortoise shaped mobile soundsystem in the circus fields that I watched for ages as the thing, and the people around it, were great fun.

That’s a marching band. They were utterly brilliant but my path was now making me head towards West Holts as no Foo Fighters for me (and anyhow, I saw their first gig at Reading in 1995 and have seen them around a dozen times) as The Jacksons were heading up that stage.

Now, I’ve always been a fan of disco as I always found it to be the cousin of Punk in terms of ripping the old music down and giving us something new and exciting. As for The Jacksons? Well, where else are you going to see them without paying 80 quid a ticket just for them? And they did the most ridiculously, pompously brilliant video ever which also happened to be the only song they could open their set with.

Again I’m on the disabled platform on a stage chatting to a lovely Welsh family on a bucket list as one of their number is suffering from a terminal condition and again thanks to the stewards who did all they could to make things comfortable. As for The Jacksons they were wonderful but poor sound mixing made parts of the gig a struggle, however these guys are wonderful showpeople and fuck me, they put on a show even if they did play some of the problematic solo material.

After The Jacksons I thought I’d head for a cold cider but it turned out the Foo Fighters were still going letting off the world’s supply of fireworks.

It was an impressive sight some distance away.

After some time waiting for the crowds to leave by forcing myself to sit by the cider bus drinking and chatting, it was eventually clear enough to wander back to the tents across a pretty trashed Pyramid Stage arena.

And off to bed for the last day..

The Sunday was warm and sunny. As is often the case one takes stock of how good a festival has been on the Sunday by how quickly you want to leave, and I didn’t want to go. Yeah, the lineup overall had been poor but you don’t think I’ve been going to Glastonbury for 25 years for the lineup do you? I go to meet friends old and new, and see and experience things I’d never do anywhere else. I go because I might meet extraordinary people who don’t realise their uniqueness, or to chat to drunk people, or meet young people who remind me of me 25 years ago.

Remember what I said about disco? Imagine seeing Nile Rogers and Chic on the Pyramid on a lovely summer afternoon with around 70k other people up for it?

Yeah, it was that good. Which would have made a perfect end to the festival if Biffy Clyro hadn’t come and laid their ponderous landfill rock all over the place like some dirty protest at people having fun. Here’s a picture of my weak leg to show you how interested I was during their set.

And yes, that sunburn still hurts.

At this point we started chatting to a family from Manchester who’d been involved with the Ariana Grande concert bombing and apart from being decent folk, started plying us all with very nice gin as we stared at an amazing sky.

Ed Sheeran is a strange thing. Bland, thin on talent and ability but yet massive. It also should be easy to hate what he does (and his show was at best wallpaper as he sung to a backing track) but he sums up part of where Mainstream music is in 2017. Nothing too adventurous. Nothing radical. Give them a few anthems and send them home. It’s pop music for people who live on microwave food.

But the crowd loved it and as it closed the festival I thought that for many of these people this is what Glastonbury meant for them and who am I to deny them that?

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The next day was the sad, melancholy packing up as everything returns to normal.

The festival wasn’t quite over as Glastonbury doesn’t stop, it just fades out slowly into the Monday as people leave to return home and I retraced our entry. Only this time there were less queues.

Although Alan’s satnav set us on a long and winding road from Pilton to Bristol, I finally saw Brunel’s bridge appear as we sped into Hotwells.

After being dropped off at a friends in Bristol, I said cheerio to Alan but Glastonbury wasn’t quite over as I wasn’t actually home yet so I was still in Glastonbury mode the next day when I made my way to Bristol airport to return to Glasgow where the shuttle bus awaited me.

This dropped me by Central Station where a taxi whisked me back to my humble home and some much needed sleep.

So was this a classic year? Yes, I’d say it was. It was a piss poor lineup but having experienced the festival as someone probably more disabled than I’d like to admit I have to say that virtually everything about this year was amazing from the people I was with, the the weather, to the fellow random festival goers to the stewards and indeed, everything. Yes, I’m physically paying for it afterwards but fuck it; if people go there who are literally counting down the number of weeks they have left to live then being a bit sore and sniffy isn’t a problem.

That said, I’m glad 2018 is a fallow year. It means I have time now to rebuild things and get fitter because frankly, up until the end of May I was in still two minds whether I’d go.It took me three weeks at the gym to get fit enough again to carry the weight I did not just in coming in and out, but over the weekend, so another two years will see hopefully a vast improvement. 2020 is the festival’s 50th anniversary and having attended the 25th and 40th anniversary celebrations I’m not missing that.

Glastonbury 2017 was wonderful. I could go back there in a second. Of course I’d wear more sunscreen but I think people on the whole decided to have fun and decided in light of recent events to be decent human beings, on the whole. Bring on 2019!

 

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Six Days of Summer-The tale of Glastonbury 2013

A wee word before anyone digs into this blog. This is going to be different to my other Glastonbury blogs as vast chunks of it were written shortly after last year’s festival but I’ve tried as much as possible to keep things as written last year with amendments where needed. So if there’s an obvious shift in tone or style then that’s probably the reason.Or I could just be drunk.

I was thinking about not doing a blog about this year’s Glastonbury and waiting til I get to it in my current series of blogs which is at the year 2002 but sod it, I’m going to do this year’s festival now while it’s so fresh in my mind however I’m going to refer to a few things which I’ve not written about so far so it’s going to be a wee bit Pulp Fiction in places not to mention it refers to ongoing events which aren’t over yet so stick with me.

This year’s festival saw the same sort of disorganised mess as previous years, but seeing as I was stuck in a job I was desperately trying to extract myself from (I’ve not extracted myself from that job) like a casualty in a warzone, it meant I didn’t really pay attention to Glastonbury or even make any plans for meeting up with everyone until the Sunday before the festival. This was possibly  a wee bit silly seeing as our wee group had people coming from all over, including Japan, but on that Sunday I banged up a plan on the Facebook group we’d started for us to keep us all updated. The group we’d formed had now been going to Glastonbury together in some shape or form since 2003, but since 2005 we’d been camping together in the Park Home field which was a great location as it was near the train track that ran through the site which was handy, especially as one of our number, Janet, was becoming more disabled so found it harder to get around site. It was however a great lineup this year with The Rolling Stones being the obvious stand out.

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The plan was to head to our usual spot at Park Home, but seeing as only two of our number were getting there on the Tuesday night (Glastonbury opens it’s car park on Tuesday to stop the traffic jams on Wednesdays) and the rest were making their way on Wednesday, this meant some serious planning again after 2011. Bridget and Rhia were again coming down from Glasgow, while our friend Eriko from Japan was bringing her mate Yuko, while we’d also picked up Paul, one of the lads we’d rescued in 2008, and his mate Cathy. All in all we’d built up a fair crowd, but the problem was that getting our usual spot in Park Home Ground was going to be a race and those of us who were there early on the Tuesday night were only two people and they had to keep space for up to another three or four tents.

Myself Bridget and Rhia were to come down early on the Wednesday morning on the bus from Bristol with a ridiculous amount of stuff. Even the idea of carrying it from my flat to Montpellier train station went out the window as it was too much, but we thought we’d be alright once we got to the site.  I called a taxi which just managed to fit in all our stuff and the three of us, and once dropped off at Temple Meads we waited for the bus to take us to the festival. Seeing though it was around 8 in the morning this meant people were going to work so we were there in full festival mode while people walked past to go to depressing jobs like the one I was in at that time. Waiting around was a pain, and seeing that Temple Meads wasn’t letting anyone use their toilets unless they bought a ticket, this meant a lot of people crossing their legs. Thankfully I managed to get us into the old Passenger Shed thanks to knowing the caretaker from working the Bristol Comic Expo so this avoided any pant-wetting misery not to mention gave us the last wee bit of civilisation for the next six days.

Eventually the bus rolled up and I’d said to Rhia and Bridget to get upstairs and aim for the front so that when we’d turn up at the site you’d get the best view as the festival unfurled itself in the countryside as we approached. I’d done this in 1993 when I went down and I recommend anyone who’s never been before and are coming from Bristol to do this as it’s amazingly impressive.

Once the bus pulled in at the festival’s bus station, we grabbed our stuff and struggled through the gates realising that we really couldn’t manage all this stuff (tents, sleeping backs, rucksacks, beer, etc) across the mile or so from the station to where we were supposed to be. Then I’d got a text from Alan saying they couldn’t get anywhere near Park Home but he and Janet had managed to grab a good spot on Dairy Ground, which meant a change in direction and a longer walk! Bridget decided the smart idea was for her and Rhia to stay with the majority of the stuff once we’d got to Bushy Ground (how we’d dragged all that stuff there I’ll never know) and for me to travel light, get to where Alan and Janet were, leave a tent so they could put it up and then come back for them. This was, in practise, a good idea which could have went horribly wrong but thankfully it didn’t. I managed to find Alan and Janet who’d found a strip of space by the side of a walkway which wasn’t perfect but the site was filling up at an enormous rate, and beggars couldn’t be choosers, so I dumped what I’d brought with me and headed back to pick up Bridget and Rhia.

Once I’d got back to the campsite with the girls, I set helped set up some tents, and then Barry, his girlfriend Jade and Hannah had arrived from Aberdeen, via Glasgow, so i went to pedestrian gate to help them get to our campsite. This meant carrying more bags and stuff. Once I’d got them there, there was a moment of calm as we put up the remaining tents before Paul and Cathy turned up which meant another walk to help people carry stuff, and then the rain came in the evening while we were waiting for Eriko and Yuko to come from Japan. By this time though most of our phones were out of power, but Barry had brought a portable charger which managed to charge enough to find out that the girls were onsite and looking for us, Once again, I set off, this time with Bridget and Rhia, to look around where we were in 2011 but we couldn’t find them, then once we got back around an hour later Barry wandered away to come back with the girls!

Now, we’d brought what we’d called ‘The Living Room’ which is a giant tent we used as a communal area to keep us dry but it’s where some of us slept, or just chilled because it was spacier and nicer than being cramped in our tents. Seeing as it’d been raining on and off, this was perfect and it also meant the girls could kip with us for the night rather than being alone, but this meant another trip to where they’d camped to pick their stuff up to take back to the campsite. As we finally got everyone together at the end of that night I’d walked miles carrying stuff and was utterly bolloxed which is why that first night ended in an early night, a very, very early night.

Next morning saw the site was muddy after the rain but not horribly muddy. It was fine though compared to previous years, and the weather for the weekend was forecast to be fine for most of the time. Thursday was a lovely day chilling in what had become a nice sunny day which gave us a chance to sit around the campsite, chat, and then go off wandering which is the best thing to do on a Thursday before it all kicks into gear fully. It was a lovely palette cleanser for the weekend proper and it helped recharge my batteries after an amazingly busy Wednesday. We’d also found out our friends Katie and Wig had managed to blag themselves some last minute tickets but there were in the campervan field so no more lugging of bags and stuff for me!

Friday arrived and it was an overcast day but it wasn’t horrible, and the mud was drying out. We’d arranged to meet up with Katie and Wig at Amanda Palmer’s set on The Other Stage. Now I know her husband Neil Gaiman’s work very well, and have met his several times over the years at various comic conventions, etc and find Gaiman to be one of the most pleasant, decent people involved in comics. considering how many creators end up being enormous wankers when they get the sort of fame Gaiman has, this is amazing frankly. However I’ve always found Palmer to be a tad contrived and her poem for the Boston Bomber was one of the most extraordinary crass things I’ve ever seen a musician do. Thankfully though I was fairly pleasantly surprised by her performance, even if her music is just a tad dreary and predictable at times. Here we all are ignoring her…

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The festival had started properly, and after this we all went on our different ways while arranging to meet up at Jake Bugg, whose set at the Acoustic Stage was impossible to get into. By now the sun was very firmly out and the site was bathed in warm sunshine. It was perfect festival weather.

The day bled into the evening which meant I went off on my own after the Tom Tom Club as everyone wanted to see the Arctic Monkeys. A few words about the Arctic Monkeys: they’re shite. Actually, they’re not too bad but the problem is with them that they’re a progression of the dogend of Britpop and that’s depressing that in 2013 there are still bands lazily referencing the past and not creating something new. Still at least they’re not Alt-J who are just appalling.

Anyhow, after a wander round Shangri La, I decided to catch the first part of Chic & Nile Rodgers. If you ever have a chance to see Rodgers in the flesh, do so as it’s all amazingly cheesy but it’s huge fun but the night was to belong to a spectacular Portishead set.

I’d seen Portishead play Glastonbury in 1995 and 1998. The first time was in a tent too small for the crowd and the second was in the middle of a storm that had lasted hours and hours. Thankfully this time was in a big field on a warm summers night. It was perfect stuff.

Saturday was all about one thing. The Rolling Stones. This band had never played Glastonbury before, even though many people had wanted them to play but now the festival gave them an opportunity to reach a new audience. Before then was an awful lot of stuff going on but most notable of this stuff was Billy Bragg on the Pyramid Stage. Now Bragg plays the festival every year normally at the Leftfield so this was a rare chance to see him on a huge stage and he didn’t disappoint as the sun battered down.

The afternoon’s highlight for me though was seeing The Orb for the first time at Glastonbury since 1993, and again, they didn’t disappoint but they did utterly confuse the fuckity out of people walking past who if they were unfamiliar with them would have wondered just what they were listening to. If there’s a track that sums up the early 90’s for me, plus how the festival was in those early years when I went in 92 and 93 then it’s this one that stirs the heart of 40-somethings everywhere who loved the Orb and the KLF.

After this it was back to campsite for a spot of food, and to prepare for the evening. Some of us were going to try for The Rolling Stones but at the same time at The Park were the splendid Fuck Buttons, but West Holts had Public Enemy. I’d only ever seen Public Enemy once in a horrible venue with shite sound in Bristol about six years earlier and this was a chance to see them on a big stage.Though I do wish I’d been able to clone myself to see Fuck Buttons who’s set looked superb.

We set off then from out campsite down the path to the main stages and right away we saw the biblical crowd which was there for The Rolling Stones. Now I’ve seen huge crowds at the festival before, and I’ve commented previously about the crowd for David Bowie in 2000 being the largest I’ve probably seen but this was bigger. Much, much bigger. A few attempts to get to our space by the men’s urinals ended up in sheer failure, so most of us decided to fuck it off, head for the cider bus and listen to the Stones from there before heading to see Public Enemy.

Public Enemy are one of the most important bands of the last 30 years. There’s few other acts in Hip Hop as influential, and Chuck D is one of the finest songwriters of a generation.  This is obvious…

Thanks to The Stones, the crowd wasn’t huge, but it was large but you could wander near the front, and more importantly, the Brothers Bar for some fresh cider! It was an excellent gig and a great way to round the Saturday night off.

The final day rolled round on the Sunday which was a huge pity. It’d been a brilliant festival that’d managed to help me escape the banalities of the real world, but things were not over yet! Sunday saw another flurry of acts, wandering and pointing at people who’d been burnt by the sun.

Sunday though was about Nick Cave. I’ve seen Cave around a dozen times, most of those were great gigs but occasionally he throws out a stinker. This gig was firmly in the former camp than the latter. His performance of Stagger Lee is one of the best festival performances I’ve seen in over 20 years of going to festivals.

How could you follow that? Well, if you’re Mumford and Sons you can’t. Like the Arctic Monkeys, Mumford and Sons are the problem with a generation reared on Britpop. It’s safe, bland and oh so very, very middle class. Thing was the other choices involved wandering to the other side of the festival or were in the case of The xx, even worse. So fuck it, I decided to see the last night out with everyone else at the Pyramid Stage.

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Thankfully Mumford and Sons didn’t go on too long so the pain was short lived, and we slowly wandered away from the Pyramid Stage for the last time into the body of the festival. The girls were up for a last night blowout, but I didn’t fancy it as I knew there was a long walk with loads of stuff in the morning and wanted to stay fresh, even if I really didn’t want the weekend to end.  At some point the girls did eventually get back after a night’s debauchery which made them no use in breaking the camp down.

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That brown tent is the living room and at that point it contained an unconscious Bridget who took another several hours to pull out of bed. In the meantime we all said our farewells as the groups disintegrated for another year as one after another left Glastonbury. Eventually only Alan, myself, Bridget and Rhia remained and with some serious reluctance on that Monday morning which by now, was the afternoon, we left our campsite to head off home. As we passed a pedestrian gate we said farewell to Alan and headed, slowly, to the bus station as I realised that actually, it was late afternoon on the Monday and there was a last bus out of the festival!

Eventually we got to the station to catch the second last bus to Bristol which very slowly picked it’s way back. It arrived back where we’d begun at Temple Meads which by now was littered with abandoned wellies, bottles and other festival detritus. We eventually dragged ourselves back to my flat, grabbed some food, and proceeded to sit around doing little.

A few days later the girls went back to Glasgow and I went back to work somewhere I’d rather not be. That Friday I decided to take the train home from Temple Meads to Montpellier and as I walked up to the station I looked over  to see the last remnants of the festival laying there. A single lonely welly lying on the ground by the car park on the path to Temple Meads providing a little melancholic reminder of what was six glorious days one summer in 2013.

And here we are. This blog takes my personal history up to date. I’ve left that horrible job, went back to an old job in order to regroup myself for what might come in the next year or so and gotten over the misery of not being at Glastonbury every day. This year’s festival sees a depleted group sadly as people couldn’t get tickets, or are bringing up families, or couldn’t make it from Japan. That’s not going to make things worse though.  This isn’t the last of my blogs detailing my personal history of Glastonbury. Far from it, I’m going to do one for this year’s festival once it’s out the way, and also, in the course of writing these blogs some bits and bobs have popped back into my head but as to what year they belong to, I couldn’t tell you but that’s not going to stop me from throwing them up into a blog. Expect that in the next few days….

There’s less than two weeks to this year’s festival. I’ve got a week of work left and then it’s two weeks of Glastonbury, mates and of course, the World Cup.In less than two weeks we’ll be here….

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I can’t wait…..