Cider and Spandex – The Epic Glastonbury Diary, Part Three

Phew! Finally onto the final instalment. This is my last chance, as tomorrow (actually today!), I’ll be enjoying Tramlines festival, here in Sheffield, and next weekend, I’ll be off to Nozstock in Hereford, to sample some local cider and (hopefully) dance myself silly to Craig Charles.

Friday 27th June 2014

I didn’t have quite as much time as I’d hoped this morning.I got everything for my shift ready, including some ciders for later, and had a shower and an enormous breakfast from Nuts. Maybe it was too enormous. I’d planned to take a leisurely stroll through the site to Campervans West, but I hadn’t realised how much it had rained in the night, leaving much of the site covered in unusually slippery mud. And because it was overcast, and I wanted to make an effort, I was wearing a tutu and a corset, with a long-sleeved t-shirt underneath.

Rushing past the Other Stage, I caught a couple of Blondie songs as I struggled through the mud. And it was starting to get hot again. So by the time I reached my gate, I was only just on time, and I was a horrible sweaty mess! I removed as many layers as I could before putting my tabard on, and after a while, I recovered from my dash across the site. It was a sunny day, and the mud really started to dry out.

Late in the afternoon, I sorted out the times when all the stewards wanted to go on their breaks, and then took my own break in the Park, the “boutique festival” area, nearest to our gate. It started in 2007, and now feels like an integral part of Glastonbury. Full of art and beautiful decorations, it’s also got the Bimble Inn, a pub/venue inside a large, elongated tipi. I ate my favourite festival snack, “Giant Beans” in tomato sauce, out of the can, while watching a great singer-songwriter on the Bimble Inn stage.

On my return, I noticed that there were black clouds circling the horizon, and a threatening wind blew. The sky darkened as I hurried back, and I feared that I was going to get completely soaked before I reached the shelter of my gate, which has a big canopy over it. However, once I returned, we waited around an hour, as the sky got darker and darker, and lightning started to flash. The gate was quiet as we waited with anticipation. Then the rain started, a wall of water, bouncing off the ground. And people started dashing back to their camper vans, and I had to deal with lots of disintegrated tickets – and very soggy ticket-holders.

But as the rain stopped, there was an amazing rainbow, vivid against the pewter sky. We posed for photographs in front of it, as the numbers of returning ticket-holders slowed down. One man had told us that the Pyramid Stage had been hit by lightning. He was almost right- both the Pyramid Stage and the Other Stage had been shut down for a while as a precaution.

The rest of the shift went smoothly, with the main problem being people slipping on the mud caused by the streams of water that had run through the gate in the rain storms. But James improvised, with gravel and a paper cup, which was surprisingly effective.

It was a lovely evening by the time I finished my shift, and I stopped for a veggie bacon sandwich and a cup of coffee at the lovely Tea & Toast stall. I also had a chat with the girl working there – the staff are always so friendly, and totally appreciate my devotion to their wonderful produce – a big, floury bap, succulent veggie bacon (yeah, I know – it often confuses people), sun dried tomato relish and fried onions!

Feeling refreshed, I joined my friends at the Tiny Tea Tent in the Greenfields, and we went to see M.I.A. I hadn’t seen her live before, and if you have no idea who she is, she’s a British-Tamil rapper, singer, pioneer of cutting-edge electronica and dancehall and a kind of performance art statement. I think she’s pretty cool. She had loads of dancers, singers and band members on stage with her, some of them with t-shirts supporting Tamil immigrants, and M.I.A. told the audience that the BBC weren’t showing her set as they were being politically neutral: “Fuck the BBC!” she started chanting. As M.I.A. started her set, she and her entourage threw hundreds of huge, multi-coloured flashing glow sticks into the crowd, but we were too far over to the side. Fraser tried to get some for us, but they were jealously guarded.

But we couldn’t stay for the whole set. We needed to get to the Glade stage, this year back where it belongs, erm, in the glade! We were due to watch System 7, space-rock guitarist Steve Hillage’s electronic project, play with members of his original 70s prog-rock band, Gong. My other half got me into Gong, and five years ago, Louise and I saw Gong, right here in the Glade. Gong were supposed to headline the Glade again, but frontman Daevid Allen is ill, so they decided to play as a fusion of prog and techno. And it worked brilliantly. The perfect touch was the psychedelic Gong video animations, projected on a huge screen, with flying teapots “pot head pixies” and laser beams everywhere. It was a fantastic experience – and only towards the end of it did I realise that we were standing behind another Oxfam friend, Chris, who was wearing some very funky black and white stripy trousers.

After the gig, we settled back at the Tiny Tea Tent, losing and gaining some friends on the way. I had some lovely “cowboy style” coffee, before more cider! We  lost track of time, chatting. Eventually, we ended up at one of Glastonbury’s most civilised late night venues: the Small World Stage, where we saw a swing band, with a stripper dressed like Charlie Chaplin. It was brilliant, but the sun had already come up, and it was time to head for bed. I had to make the most of Saturday.

 

Saturday 28th June

I woke up feeling remarkably okay, and decided to get a shower. The weather was showery. And for some reason, there was a huge queue, stretching out of the ladies’ side of the shower marquee. Perhaps people had only just started to feel dirty. So I did what any sensible person would do. I politely asked at the mens’ side of the showers if anyone would mind me coming in! No one said they objected, and I had a perfectly good shower. One older gentleman did congratulate me afterwards (once I was dressed), for being so brave, and one bloke said that he had bigger tits than me (which is quite an achievement). I wonder if I made a few peoples’ days in the Oxfam field – certainly some people thought they’d imagined a girl using the mens’ showers!

There was another torrential rain shower when Louise and I were in the tent, getting dressed, and I invited in a few friends out of the rain.  The bell tent was bearing up very well. It gave me more time to plan my outfit – mostly leopard-print based, in anticipation of the Manic Street Preachers’ set later. Plus, leopard-print is a great look. When the rain had stopped, I ventured out for breakfast, and there was an enormous queue at the Nuts van as well!

I managed to scrounge a few things to eat and Fraser, Louise, Gavin and I headed out onto the site. A vegetable pasty filled me up a bit. We weren’t particularly aiming for anything, but we spotted a sticker in a toilet that said that Seize the Day were about to start in the Mandala stage in the Greenfields. It was just what we needed: a bit of shade from the sun that was now beating down, folky music, and lovely Greenfields vibe. In all the years I’ve been going to festivals, I’ve never seen them before, despite them having “stickers in toilets since 1997”. I don’t think I’d always be in the mood for them as they’re a bit “hippy dippy”, but perfect for that sunny Glastonbury moment.

I grabbed an awesome “fish style” burger from the Veggies stall again (they were doing well out of me!) If it wasn’t made by a hardcore vegan catering stall, I would have been suspicious that it had real fish or even chicken in it. I ate it while watching the Dap Kings Soul Review. The Dap Kings are an amazing band, usually featuring singer Sharon Jones, who play good time funk and soul in an original 1960s style. Unfortunately, the bank of black clouds on the horizon, which had seemed to be blowing away from us, were about to hit the West Holts field rapidly. So we ran for it…

Luckily, we had a good direction to run in. The Avalon Stage is always a good bet, and Louise was curious about Skinny Lister, a folk / punk band, who were compared to the Pogues in the programme. They were great, with a girl singer with bags of attitude, a double-bass player, who actually crowd-surfed through the audience on his bass, and an a capella version of a sea shanty, which lots of people joined in with (it is the Avalon stage, famed for folk music, after all). They’re a band I’ll definitely be checking out again.

But now it was time to get horribly over excited and made sure I’d been to the loo as much as possible in advance, so we could get into position for the Manic Street Preachers. It’s funny to think that a band I wasn’t even that bothered about five years ago has now become a massive obsession. For me, it’s the band’s story, their intelligence, the breadth of their music and song writing (although I especially like their heavier stuff like their bleak third album The Holy Bible). And a week after Glastonbury, their twelfth album Futurology was due out. A group of us met in front of the Other Stage mixing desk in advance (including soon to be marrried Gaelle and Graham), and I was full of excitement. Despite being where I spent most of my fist Glastonbury in 1993, the Other Stage hasn’t got too much of an atmosphere of its own. It always seems a bit barren and windswept – and full of young indie-kids like I once was! But the sense of anticipation was growing, and the Welsh flags were starting to fly.

And it was a great gig. A greatest and future hits set. Kicking off with Motorcycle Emptiness, playing two songs from the Holy Bible, a few brand new ones from Futurology and a good spread of songs from their unbelievable over twenty year career, it was over far too fast. An hour wasn’t nearly long enough, but at least you can re-live it on Youtube! And here’s the Guardian review. They enjoyed it too.

Before the Pixies, I parted company with Louise, as she wasn’t enjoying the Other Stage atmosphere, but I managed to find one Oxfam friend after a quick refreshment stop, even though the Other Stage field was full to bursting. There were lots of young people, which is great to see, as I got into the Pixies in the 90s, long after they’d split up. A group of us saw them at V festival in 1994, when they first re-formed. That was very exciting. I can’t believe that that was ten years ago, but I really enjoyed the gig, singing along to virtually everything (in my head, anyway!)

I returned to the West Holts stage to meet Louise for Bryan Ferry, but she was nowhere to be seen and didn’t respond to my texts. I later found out that she was enjoying herself too much watching Bryan to take any notice of anything else! He was definitely the highlight of her weekend. But I think I’d joined the crowd in a bit of a lull, and the songs seemed to be really slow, and I didn’t recognise any of them, despite being a fan of Roxy Music. I was feeling a bit sleepy, and I had to be at work at 4.45am on Sunday!

So I decided to go over to the Pyramid Stage to watch Metallica. And they were brilliant. I became my 17-year-old metal alter-ego and found a friend, another girl, who also loved metal. With the mud and the darkness and laser flashes, it was very atmospheric, and lots of fun, with the audience really getting into the spirit. I was expecting fireworks at the end of the set, but instead, the band threw hundreds of beach balls into the audience black, of course, but also multi-coloured, so it looked a bit like a beach party.

I made my way back up the hill as quickly as I could, and packed my bag for my shift. At least I’d been promised a lift to the gate from the Oxfam field, so I would have almost four hours before it was time to get up again!

 

Sunday 29th June

4am. The alarm rang. I got into the clothes I’d laid out before I got to bed, and crawled out of my tent in the half-light. I’d already packed everything in my bag. I was still feeling excited after the Manic and Metallica from the night before as I rolled into the Oxfam Landrover, waving at bemused revellers, who must have thought that I was someone important as I was ferried across the site. I couldn’t thank the driver enough. And I’d been clever – I’d got Nuts to make me a veggie sausage sandwich and wrap it in foil, so by the time I’d settled into my shift, I was ready to eat it.

The shift went steadily. We were a great team – and we had time for having a laugh as well as doing the job, asking people if we could “tug on their band”, which was said with lots of winks and giggles. This morning, lots of people were happily on their way from their campervans into the festival, and the sun was shining reliably again. A a lot of people were planning to see Dolly Parton.

At the end of my shift, I took group photographs, and then escaped, to enjoy the rest of the festival. After grabbing yet another delicious Veggies burger (and a new dress, from charity stall Tat for Tibet), I went straight to the Avalon Stage to watch festival stalwards 3 Daft Monkeys. I was instantly in my total comfort zone. I took my wellies off, opened a can of cider, and I was surrounded by Oxfam friends – and watching 3 Daft Monkeys, with their brand of humour, and Balkan-infused folk music that you can dance to. It was a brilliant start to Sunday (apart from the working bit!)

There was just time for another Magic Hat sauna (see Wednesday’s entry!) to freshen up before Dolly Parton. We all had big plans to meet up with each other for Dolly, but we hadn’t reckoned on  the crowd being quite so packed. It was insane. I got a pint of Burrow Hill cider from the Cider Bus, and managed to squeeze into the crowd behind the disabled viewing platform, right at the back of the field. But I had a good view of the screen, and the massive audience, all waving their flags. I could actually see the stage, but Dolly was a tiny white speck in the distance – at least I can say that I saw her in “real life”! She was wearing an amazing white rhinestone encrusted jumpsuit, and when she speaks to the audience, it’s like she’s talking to someone in her own living room. She managed to create a feeling of intimacy amongst about 200,000 people who must have been there. And then Richie Sambora from Bon Jovi came on. I think Bon Jovi would be a good choice for the “legend” spot of Glastonbury next year.

The blisters on my feet were starting to get the better of me by that stage, and by the time I got to the Acoustic Stage to see Jake Bugg, my feet were killing me, so I enjoyed his set from the front, but while lounging on surprisingly fresh green grass at the edge of the tent, in a secluded little side bit near the fence.

Fraser texted me, having an amazing time watching Yoko Ono in the Park. I told him that I was on my over there, but by the time I arrived, my feet were absolutely killing me, and I was reduced to limping along. We also got the shock news that Louise had decided to leave on a Bryan Ferry high and was currently on a bus back to Bristol! But she seemed pretty happy about it.

I consulted the Guardian Guide handing around my neck. The next two acts on the Park’s main stage were St Vincent and James Blake, which would do me nicely. We found a great spot to sit on the grass, a short limping distance from some backstage compost toilets which were still relatively fragrant, and we had a good view of the stage without having to stand up. Unless everyone stood up, which happened a couple of times! Fraser was an angel, and brought me a veggie bacon sandwich, and also cider, not from the bar, which was about 100 metres away, but from Bimble Inn, which was only £3.50 a pint, but was 8% – very tasty, but very strong and potent.

St Vincent was brilliant. Quirky, glamourous, entertaining – chatting between songs about how if you’re a bit weird, the staff in the supermarket automatically look at you suspicious like they think you’re a shoplifter! I’ll definitely be looking out for more of her music in future. Her set combined heavy guitars and electronica. She’s really innovative and original.

And then James Blake‘s set was perfect. It was very special to see him outdoors, in a beautiful arena, just as the sun was going down: wonderful, haunting and delicate. And then he introduces those insane dubstep moments, blasting out the heaviest possible bass. The dancier elements of his set put me in the mood for Kasabian – the cider had gone to my legs and I thought I might manage walking to the Pyramid Stage.

Not only did I make it to the Pyramid Stage, but we ended up right at the front, near the monitors, with a brilliant view, and I danced around like a crazy loon. It was great. And over far too fast. I was impressed by Serge’s shiny black Spandex pants, as I’d been extolling the virtues of Spandex all week to anyone who’s listen, particularly the gentlemen. I mean, who wants trousers that trail in the mud, when you could look like an 8os rock star and have all the stretchiness and quick-drying properties you want!

When Kasabian finished, we stumbled off. And realised that we’d somehow found ourselves backstage at the Pyramid Stage. I don’t know how we made it! No one checked our Easy Pass Out wristbands. We were stood amongst lots of flight cases and sound equipment and blokes in 3/4 length shorts with lots of lanyards. Around the corner, we found some luxury portacabin toilets. As I was washing my hands, a woman shouted ‘get a move on, Serge’, and I came down the steps of the toilets to find myself face-to-face with Serge and his Spandex pants.

‘Great Spandex pants – good choice!’ I said.

‘They’re not Spandex, they’re denim,’ he mumbled.

‘Have a good one!’ I said, and with that, we went our separate ways! According to the review, they were skeleton print pants, but they looked pretty much like Spandex to me: http://www.theguardian.com/music/2014/jun/30/kasabian-at-glastonbury-2014-review .

We wandered around backstage, finding the BBC area, more toilets, and large socket board type thing that looked like it might control the electrics for the whole Pyramid Stage. We also managed to find a backstage / hospitality disco, but to be honest, it wasn’t that exciting. A much more exciting disco was to be found in the bar next to the cider bus; alternately cheesy and eclectic, and my dancing seemed much more drunken because my feet were so sore.

We made it back to the Oxfam campsite as the sun was coming up, and after sharing a huge bag of popcorn, fell into a deep sleep…

Monday 30th June and Tuesday 1st July.

Yes – there’s more! But I’ll make it brief. I always stay behind on the Monday of Glastonbury. That way, we avoid all the traffic, have a relatively restful, soberish day, and catch up on some sleep.

We did some “tatting” – rescuing things that people have abandoned. But security were much more active this year, and told us off  – and then kind of turned a blind eye to us as we were packing away a clearly abandoned tent. I picked up a few things – fancy dress outfits, cider, two pairs of white Converse pumps, a bit mud-stained, but virtually new. Friends picked up tents. It’s always a shock to find that the punters have left the site strewn with wreckage and litter. I love “tatting”, but I’d love it even more if everyone took their belongings away with them at the end, or put their rubbish in a bin bag and took it to one of the recycling points. It’s really not that hard! It’s always disappointing to think that the people we’ve been partying amongst all weekend really aren’t that like-minded, and don’t give a shit about the farm, the countryside or the environment.

But we got lots of free “bargains”, and the few of us who were left in the Oxfam field had a lovely night around the camp fire. But there was even rubbish left lying around here – and lots of cans of cider – thanks, Fraser, for collecting it!

On Tuesday morning, I packed away my bell tent, taking the time to clean the mud off its flaps, and dry out the groundsheet. We drove away with a car full of crap, and heads full of memories.

 

 

 

 

Saunas and Shangri-hell. An epic Glastonbury diary…part Two

The next part of Glastonbury festival is my favourite time of the whole year, really. It’s a bit like the build up to Christmas. All the workers and volunteers arrive, gently easing into the festival, and by Tuesday night, you’d swear that the festival has already started. The moment the gates open is exciting, but sometimes tinged with regret, that the perfect place we’ve been living in will soon be teeming with people. I love the build-up, the atmosphere and the sense of excitement in the air. Perhaps it’s the “carnie” in me, but I love scenery being painted and erected, marquees being put up and statues being hauled from the ground.

Sunday 22nd June 

Last night My friend Mike suggested a walk to the nearest town, Shepton Mallet. I’d never been before, and I was surprised that it was only about three miles away from the site. Neither of us would get our festival wristbands until Monday morning, so we walked over the bumpy track I’d driven on through the fields, onto the main road. With traffic from festival traders picking up, roadworks traffic jams and speeding cars, it was quite a dangerous journey at first, but we kept onto the verges until we found some quiet overgrown lanes to walk down. It was very hot, and I decided to buy a sun hat. Apart from the busy roads, it was good to chat and catch up with Mike.

And when we got there, the town was shut. It was Sunday after all, and the main objective had just been to go there, to take a look at it and go to the huge TESCO. There were lots of interesting looking charity shops in the town centre – Shepton Mallet might be worth a look another time. We had lunch in a very friendly, rather spartan pub called The Swan, where the landlord plied me with extra bread and vegetarian gravy! There were spaniels behind the bar – but they weren’t actually serving the beer!

On the way back, we bought orange juice, a couple of sun hats and some lip balm. So far, so boring. But when we were walking back towards the sight, we saw a footpath signpost that said:  “Pilton”, two miles. Pilton is the village where the Glastonbury Festival is actually held, and we wanted to save ourselves from all that traffic, so we took the path. It seemed a bit overgrown as we climbed the first stile, and then we had to pick our way through the debris in a derelict farmyard, but then we had to find the next stile in a trackless field full of cows – and calfs, but they were lying down and we didn’t cross their path. And then we had to fight our way through ploughed earth and a field full of young corn, the stiles between each field still confidently stating “public footpath”, but we felt anything but welcome.

And then the next stile was on the far side of a field full of Friesian cows. Mike was very calm and casual, but I didn’t like the way that the cows raised their heads and seemed to take a keen interest in us. One of the cows started running. Towards us. I screamed and grabbed Mike’s arm with a vice-like grip, which I’m sure he appreciated, but he was great, calming the cows down by talking slowly to them. They gathered around us as we climbed the stile, and once we were over, I was laughing at myself in shame at behaving like such a wuss.

We were now in some kind of lane, but it was blocked off on our left by a temporary fence, and a stream of cows wandering towards the milking parlour. I didn’t fancy tangling with any more cows, and it looked like the village was over to the right, and we could see a lane heading in that direction. But there was an electric fence stretched across our path. We followed it to its end and managed to unhook it, laughing at the way that this walk had become much more of a challenge than we’d anticipated. The lane turned off onto a path that looked like it might join a proper road. I took off my sandals and wiped my feet on a mown verge. They were black with dust.

We’d almost made it onto the road when a large dog ran towards us from behind, and a man called out sharply. You’ve guessed it, I did the squealing and arm-grabbing routine again, which was very embarrassing, especially as the dog was just a very friendly Golden Retriever, whose “parents” were trying to stop him from running off and jumping up at people. The dog’s owner was very apologetic at having startled me, but I was relieved.

We crossed the road and found another path which looked promising. And then the path disappeared. We had a good view though, across to the Tor and the festival site, so we stopped to drink some water, and we heard buzzards calling from the nearby woods, then soaring into the sky. We scrambled over some more ploughed fields, and then eventually found ourselves on the outskirts of the festival site itself. As we reached the exclusive “Yurtel”, with rows of pristine yurts and fancy marquees that looked like something you’d hire for a weding, we realised that it was well into the evening. It had taken us a long time to walk over those fields, and it was still blazing hot.

Eventually, we found ourselves at the top of Cockmill Road, a narrow lane that runs down the Eastern side of the site and from there, it was a short journey back to the campsite. It felt like we’d been on an epic adventure.

Sunday evening was spent relaxing and drinking cider, aching from our arduous journey. My old friend Terry (author of the brilliant Iain Duncan Smith, My Part in his Downfall!) ate a very melted quiche and then refreshed his face with a wet wipe, from the packet he produced from his carrier bag. “These are very lemony,” he said, and then I realised that he was wiping his face with Flash wipes. I eventually persuaded him that they were for floors and toilets, rather than faces. They would probably be very useful on the long-drops on the festival site later! You probably had to be there, but “Flash Terry” became a bit of a legend over the weekend. It has to be said that Terry’s book is excellent, and he was suffering from an extreme lack of sleep, so don’t judge him on his ability to distinguish baby wipes and heavy-duty cleaning products!

Monday 23rd June

On Monday morning, I was issued with my “Easy Pass Out” wristband, that meant that I could easily pass in and out of the festival gates, as well as pass in and out of consciousness. I was also given my shifts, which I was pleased about: team leader at Campervans West (the far flung gate where I worked last year): Wednesday overnight, Friday afternoon to evening, and Sunday – very early in the morning at 4.45am, but that meant that my shifts would be finished by 1pm. Not bad, all things considered. I would get to see the Manics on the Saturday night, anyway.

I decided to have a solo wander, down to the Stone Circle, and would hopefully meet up with some friends when I got there. It was fun, walking  through the market, empty of customers, but full of traders setting up their stalls. From Monday to Wednesday morning at Glastonbury, the whole place hums with electric drills, with tranquil sign painters, and huge yellow machines called telescopic handlers, transporting pallets and crates on their extended forks.

The Stone Circle at Glastonbury is a total fake, constructed in 1992 with JCBs. But it’s gathered its own mythology over the years, a witness to thousands of wild, sleepless nights.  I always feel pulled towards the King’s Oak, a massive, ancient tree. A few of us gathered there for a while, even friends I hadn’t planned to meet. That always happens in the early days of the festival, especially under the ample shade of this tree, with a small group of people drumming and climbing the stones, to my left. I wonder if they know it’s a fake!

After a while, I got hungry and had to cut short my on-site trip as none of the food stalls were set up yet. But Oxfam’s own caterers, the wonderful Nuts, were in full flow. And the Oxfam stewards were starting to arrive in their thousands. Our tents were surrounded by new neighbours, and there were lots of hugs and introductions.

I had a very pleasant evening, hanging around with old and new friends in the Oxfam field, sharing food and drink, chatting and catching up with people I haven’t seen since last summer. It’s great how easily we can slip back into friendships.

Tuesday 24th June

Today, we decided to tackle the Oxfam Stewards’ Glastonbury Treasure Hunt. It’s designed to help stewards find their way around the vast site and its many landmarks, but there are usually some good prizes up for grabs. The first prize one year was a ride in a helicopter above the festival site. Last year, I won some cider, so that was a good start! A group of us set off, finding the laminated clue sheets, and noting down the codes.

When we reached the stone circle, a few of us decided to head back to camp. It was very hot, with the sun beating mercilessly down on us, so we had a good rest in the shade. But me, Flo and Karen struggled bravely on, wandering to the far-flung Pedestrian Gate “D” – not quite as distant as my Campervans West Gate.

When we reached the field with the John Peel stage, we admired a huge display of banners for various causes and had a chat with the lady in charge of the banners – they’re made by artists and community groups all over the country, especially for Glastonbury. But we couldn’t find the last clue we were looking for, and came back to camp, exhausted.

Our field had really filled up now, and more friends had appeared, including Suzy – and I made her gnocchi with tomato sauce and tinned mushrooms, which went down very well.

As the evening wore on, my neighbour Tigger decided to light up the fire wok outside our little “village green” near our tents, and people gathered round in their camping chairs. As dusk fell, I felt restless, despite my aching legs from the long walk around the site. Tuesday night is when all the workers, traders and volunteers are onsite. It’s like a dress rehearsal for the festival, with bars open, musicians in some of the smaller greenfield venues, and lots of things to see and explore, before it gets too busy. There was already a queue of ticket-holders right outside our campsite, and there was a sense of anticipation in the air.

So, only pausing while a bat flew into my hair (yes, really!), I accompanied my friend Allie on a wander onto the festival site. I was going to pick up Louise from the end of her last shift (and I hadn’t even started yet), and walk her home, hopefully enjoying the festival on the way back. She was pleased to see me, based in another remote location, the entrance to the “glamping” campsite, Worthy View. We stopped for a drink and a chat on the way back. When we were back at the campsite, the campfire was going well, and was surrounded by a whole crowd of people. Eventually, we were told off! But I was on my way to bed anyway.

Wednesday 25th June

The hoards have arrived! The first sign of it in the Oxfam campsite as I woke up was that the showers and taps had stopped running, and my stove came in useful again as I made tea for everyone.

The lack of showers was also a problem with an easy solution – one of my favourite places at Glastonbury is the Magic Hat saunas in the Greenfields – a tranquil spot just near the busy crossroads into the late night Shangri-La area. The sauna is actually a wooden horsebox, heated by a wood-burning stove, with canopies around it that make a changing rooms, serve-yourself cafe area, and open-air showers and plunge pool (a large paddling pool). You don’t have to be naked, but most people strip off completely, and it’s surprising how completely at ease I am with chatting in an intensely hot wooden caravan with a group of naked people. Suzy and Louise hadn’t been to the sauna before, and they loved it. And Louise even saw a friend of hers in there, as well as someone she’d met a few years ago, and we all had a relaxing time. You aren’t allowed to use shampoo or showergel in the sauna’s showers as the water drains into the ground, but the heat is wonderfully cleansing.

Feeling wonderfully clean and fresh when we got dressed again, we wandered into the Greenfields, and I bought a burger from Veggies caterers, who are a vegan organisation based in Nottingham. I had a cheeky chat with them about my novel, and left some flyers with them. The burger was delicious. We remembered that we were meeting friends at the permaculture garden, another great vegan place to eat, and a beautiful garden, there all year round, and one of the festival’s best kept secrets. We met Fraser and Karen on a bench at the greenfields entrance to the garden, and soon there was quite a bunch of us, but only one man! So Fraser decided that he would pimp us all out to passersby, at 25p a go. There were no takers, surprisingly, as there were some lookers amongst us! It was funny at the time, but maybe you had to be there.

Somebody told us that a band, Duncan Disorderly and the Scallywags, were playing soon (they’d probably seen a sticker in a toilet), on the bandstand outside the legendary Croissant Neuf tent, which hosts live music during the festival, with everything powered by wind and solar power. We decided to give them a go, and they were great. At first, we sat in the shade, right at the front, but then, the whole bunch of us were on our feet, skanking away in the sunshine, and enjoying great songs, catchy tunes, and the combination of folk and ska. Perfect for the first early evening of the festival. What wasn’t so perfect that in this idyllic spot, people had left cans and other litter behind at the end of the gig. Not cool, people, especially in the Green Fields. I picked up a few extra cans and put them in the recycling bin (only a few metres away) on my way to the loo.

There was just time for a pizza in the lovely place, just called Pizza, near the Greenpeace field. They do a lovely vegan pizza with tahini, which tastes divine, especially laced with chilli oil.

And then it was time for me to climb back up the hill to the Oxfam campsite, and get ready for my first shift as Team Leader for the Campervans West field, from 8.45pm to 5am, getting the nightshift out of the way first! It was a couple of hours before the start of my shift, but I had to leave at least an hour to be in the running for a minibus lift to my gate (or to Gate D, which was the nearest they’d go).

It was still hot when I reached the Campervans West gate, and put on my Hi-Vis tabard and I introduced myself to the supervisors who were just finishing their shifts. I met my deputy supervisor, James, who was lovely and knew just what he was doing. Supervisors start an hour before the stewards, which gives them a chance to check for any problems and changes with the stewards who’ve already been doing the job for seven hours. The campervan gate is nice and steady. We admit first-time ticket holders, who are mostly staying in the campervan field so haven’t got much luggage, making sure their ticket is valid and that they get a wristband.

The campervans and caravans are parked outside the perimeter of the fence, and all ticket-holders have to show us their wristband and ticket every time they come into the festival site. We check the photo on the ticket, and all the other security features (no, I’m not telling you what they are), give their wristbands a good tug (which became a source of innuendo over the weekend), and take the small “pass out” that they were given on their way out to the campervans. On their way back out to the campervans, festival-goers’ tickets and wristbands also have to be checked again. There are automatic counters that people have to walk through, so the festival organisers know exactly how many people are on site at all times. The system is very strict,but its the only way that the festival can comply with licencing regulations, and avoid all the scams that had people getting in for free all over the place. It works well, with the stewards (who were all lovely) doing a marvellous job. The supervisors deal with any problems or queries that arise, and help out when it gets busy. But when things are quiet, it’s the supervisors’ job to chat and keep people happy and motivated.

There were a few rush periods, when everyone seemed to be coming back to the comfort of their campervans at the same time, leading to a bit of grumbling, and there were a very small number of idiots who thought that we were “officious”. But we’re just doing our job, and we’re doing it for the festival, and for Oxfam. Luckily, if there are any big problems, I’ve got a “walkie-talkie” radio to Oxfam, or I can call over the security team, who were lovely, and helped to solve a problem with a bloke who thought he was too important to follow the system, just because he had a hospitality wristband…

At some point, it became…

Thursday 26th June

As the early hours of the morning wore on, the campervan campers became slightly more drunk as they returned to base. The sky got lighter and all the stewards rushed to take photographs of a beautiful, red-flecked sunrise. Shepherd’s warning?

Supervisor James and I were overjoyed when the Oxfam minibus arrived, a bit late, but we didn’t care, it was giving us a lift home! We virtually threw the walkie-talkie at the incoming supervisor, and ran into the bus, before the driver changed his mind and went off without us. It felt so good to be back in our field, and with a scarf over my eyes, I soon fell fast asleep.

It felt a little cooler when I woke up later in the morning, but it soon got hot again. Threateningly hot. A shower and a cooked breakfast from Nuts sorted me out for the day, and we headed off into the festival. Before we reached the theatre field, it started pouring with rain, for the first time in days. We put on our waterproofs, and ended up in the legendary Tiny Tea Tent, where Fraser and Louise played “Chopsticks” on the piano. I sent a postcard to my friends in Canada from the postcard stall, another Glastonbury institution.

It was time for the annual Oxfam stewards meet-up at 4pm at the cider bus. The rain was easing off, but it was our second gathering under umbrellas in two years. It was very sociable though, and I had fun, sipping hot mulled cider and mingling with people. The cider bus belongs to Burrow Hill Cider, who produce proper cider and are an institution at many festivals, but most notably, Glastonbury.

Eventually, we headed to the Hell stage of Shangri-La, to watch a band that Alexa had recommended, The Men that Will Not be Blamed for Nothing. It had stopped raining, so we sat about on the grass in front of the stage, chatted, and drank yet more cider. Only for someone from the band to come out and apologise, but the stage wasn’t allowed to open yet, and the band would be playing later that evening in the Rocket Lounge, which was just next door. So we stayed put, and after a bit of a wait, entertained by a man dressed as the devil, cracking his whip on the ground, we watched the Latino-infused King Porter Stomp, and a brilliant African band called Afriquio with a kora.

At last, it was time for The Men that Will Not be Blamed for Nothing. They were brilliant. They’re a steam-punk band with songs about Isambard Kingdom Brunel, syphilis and time travel, with lots of heavy guitars and Metallica riffs. Essentially, a good old fashioned shouty punk band, with Victorian costumes. Definitely one of my early festival highlights. After the gig, the rock ‘n’ roller diner next door was playing old ska music, and we danced for a while, but then we decided to go in search of Fraser and Suzy, who had left us earlier, to see DJ Sasha in the Glade.

On our way out of Shangri-La, we met some other friends, randomly. And then before we knew it, we were all in the middle of one of the most unpleasant experiences of this years’ festival. We were caught in a crowd crush, with people trying to get into the Block 9 area  next to Shangri-La, and people pushing and shoving in all directions. We each grabbed onto the nearest friend and fought our way to the far side of the railway track, struggling to breathe at times. It was seriously scary, especially as stewards are trained in crowd management and we know the dangers. But we all managed to break free. Minus Louise, Kat and Martin, although I managed to get through to her on the phone and she was safe and sound, not crushed underfoot!

We managed to get to the Glade, which was almost as crowded, but more friendly, but after a while, the music finished. We found ourselves wandering back in the same direction we’d come from, but through the West Holts Stage and the proper “one way” system into the late night “South East Corner” area, where we just wandered through, without even a queue. Earlier, the problem must have been caused by people not being directed the right way. We passed a beautiful waterfall, and guess what? We ended up at the Rock ‘n’ Roll Diner again. They were still playing good tunes, and I danced to New Order and Softcell, before deciding to call it a night. I was on shift on Friday afternoon, and it had been a long day and night of partying.

I got back to the Oxfam campsite just as the rain was starting again…

How I learned to Walk on the Wild Side

As a teenager, I was obsessed by music. I still am.  In 2013, anyone with a laptop and a wifi connection has access to virtually every piece of music ever recorded. Over twenty years ago, things were very different. My magpie mind was grabbed by many things, through random chance, and moments which shaped my musical imagination and changed the direction of my life. Here are just a few of those moments:

Hearing ‘Epic‘ by Faith No More in a car on the way back from a Christian conference called ‘Spring Harvest’. This was the first time I was absolutely blown away by rock music, pressed back in the black vinyl car seat by the power of the “You want it all but you can’t have it” chorus. Shortly after this, I realised that organised religion wasn’t for me, but rock ‘n’ roll was definitely the way forward.

Seeing a band called the Cramps on a music programme on BBC 2 called ‘SNUB TV’.  I was only thirteen, but they had a crazy looking man in makeup and PVC trousers, and a very glamourous woman playing the guitar. They were funny (ha! ha!) and also very strange, and had a song called ‘You’ve got good taste’. Later that year, a new music teacher started at our school. He was called John Gill. One of the first things he told us was that the Cramps were one of his favourite bands and lent me a tape of an album called ‘Off the Bone’. I started to learn to play the guitar. I sung their version of ‘Fever’ in front of the whole school, and it became my anthem, despite taunts from school bullies (who never dared to stand up and sing themselves!)

When I started at university, a shy young man in my lectures had “Thee Cramps” inked onto his army surplus bag. I commented on this excitedly, and we started talking. A friendship developed, forged over passionate discussions about music. Then we fell in love. We’re still arguing about music, eighteen years later.

I’m not sure when I first heard the John Peel show, late at night on Radio 1. There was too much music to absorb in one go, and it was great to lie in bed, imagining a glamorous life of record shops, gigs and late nights. Like many people, I taped as many shows as I could. One of the songs I listened to over and over again on my Tandy personal stereo was ‘Spellbound‘ by Siouxsie and the Banshees. I plugged myself into that personal stereo in the back seat of the car for every long journey with my parents, staring out of the window and drifting into day-dreams that fired my writer’s imagination.

Home taping was my lifeline.

Home taping was my lifeline.

It was the era of home taping. If you wanted a new album, you’d ask the small collection of school friends who were into music and you’d give someone a C90 cassette. Probably one that already had something taped on it. You could tape over something as much as you liked. And you’d eventually get a hissy recording of the album back. One of the best things would be that the person making the tape would often fill up any blank bits at the end of the tape with something else – which led to more wonderful music discoveries.

CDs were a luxury, and even though I had a record player, I reserved it for playing my second-hand collection from jumble sales and car boot sales. That was another way my musical tastes were growing, from old Motown classics (‘Respect’/’Sitting on the Dock of the Bay’ by Otis Reading from a Sunday morning boot-sale browse with my grandparents), psychedelic masterpieces (‘Disraeli Gears’ by Cream when I helped out at a school jumble sale), to electro (a worn-out Tubeway Army record from a flea market in Allenton).

The cover of Transformer

The cover of Transformer

I only bought new cassette albums when I had money from my birthday or after Christmas. I must have been given a Boots voucher for my birthday. In those days, Boots used to sell music and had quite a good selection of tapes. I browsed the racks of tapes and selected ‘Transformer‘ by Lou Reed. ‘Walk on the Wildside’ was famous, and the bassline had recently been sampled by hip hop band A Tribe Called Quest for ‘Can I kick it?’ I wasn’t sure if I’d even heard of the Velvet Underground at the age of fifteen. But it stood out because it looked different – the polarised picture of a face in stark black and white, the eyes so black, they looked like they were ringed in heavy eye-liner, turned away from a microphone, and a guitar which looked like it had been drawn on at the bottom. I’m pretty sure that the other tape I bought at the same time was the greatest hits of tragic jazz singer Billie Holliday. I listened to both tapes over and over again on a family holiday to France. In some ways, they went together perfectly.

The songs on ‘Transformer’ were different from anything I’d ever heard before. They told stories, in different voices. They sounded like they were being played at the end of a long night in a smoke-filled room, sung by a guy whose voice was at breaking point, who’d seen things I could never imagine, knocking back whisky. I was in Year 10, at secondary school in a small East Midlands city. I knew nothing then about debauched night clubs, transvestites (apart from my grandfather’s amateur drag-act, but that’s another story!) or pretentious artists (apart from Seymour Wright, my intellectual nemesis). I’d seen Andy Warhol’s soup tins, but I was yet to work out all the threads that pulled all these things together. All I knew was that I longed to experience this sophisticated, jaded grown-up world one day soon. I was too innocent to understand the lyrics properly yet, but I wanted to be part of that rock ‘n’ roll world. Every album I discovered; every music magazine I devoured from cover to cover brought me closer.

The Velvet Underground, Glastonbury 1993

The Velvet Underground, Glastonbury 1993

And just over a year later, as a reward for working hard on my GCSEs, I went to Glastonbury. Just me and two friends. It was a wonderful gesture of trust from my parents. Over those five baking-hot days in 1993, I experienced so many magical musical moments that my brain was overloaded for months and I couldn’t stop talking about it. I was hooked for life. One of the first bands I got to see was the Velvet Underground. We hadn’t worked out that the best way to get to the front of the crowd is to sneak down the side, and there were no big screens, so we stood at the back of the Pyramid Stage field, looking at a miniscule Lou Reed. I finally felt like I was part of the excitement.

It was a shock on Sunday, to discover that Lou Reed had died. He was still experimenting (I wasn’t too sure about his collaboration with Metallica, but I applauded his intentions). Lou Reed influenced and shaped music as we know it. He helped to define the image of “cool”, and then ignored it. He was one of the musical voices that shaped my mind, telling stories that were thousands of miles away from my own experience but still spoke to me.

Music has always inspired my writing. Lyrics jump out at me and make stories form in my head, the intensity of feeling in a song connects me with the emotions of my characters. Watching a band live can take me on an internal journey sparks the idea for a novel. I can’t help it, any more than I can help breathing.

Here’s writer Neil Gaiman’s tribute to Lou Reed from the Guardian. It seems that he was inspired in a similar way. http://www.theguardian.com/music/2013/oct/28/neil-gaiman-lou-reed-sandman

Glastonbury – the epic 11 day mission!

 

This isn’t going to be the average sort of Glastonbury review that concentrates on the headline bands at the Pyramid stage and nothing else. This blog entry is rather epic, but it’s probably going to be my longest blog of the year, so bear with me.

I’m going to try to show you parts of Glastonbury you haven’t seen before. This was my 20th anniversary of going to Glastonbury festival – and festivals in general. Glastonbury is a behemoth of a festival. There’s nothing like it in the world. It’s a crazy concept really – a quarter of a million people (roughly 150,000 ticket-holders and 70,000 workers) descend on a dairy farm in a small Somerset village which has turned into the biggest festival in the world. After two years of being away, the sight of Glastonbury festival, filling up an entire valley, can still be breathtaking.

I’ve just used this programme and I’ve discovered that Glastonbury festival is almost exactly the same size as the whole of Sheffield’s city centre http://howbigreally.com/dimension/festivals_and_specticles/glastonbury#S1_2HH

I arrived in the Oxfam field with my friend Fraser on the afternoon of Saturday 22nd June. We were both volunteering for Oxfam as stewards, but Fraser was on the early shift, meaning that all his shifts would be over by the time the public were admitted to the festival on Wednesday – whereas mine didn’t start until then. For me, it was a great opportunity to be there early, relax with friends and treat it as a holiday.

The weather on the first two days wasn’t great. Driving down, the car was buffeted by really strong winds and it was a struggle to keep control. We stopped for lunch in Tewkesbury and wandered around the Abbey, then drove down the M5, past Glastonbury town and the tor (and the Clarks shoe village in Street), finally arriving in our Oxfam field (Oxfield), just outside the perimeter of the festival. Oxfam are now the biggest agency providing staff for the festival and there are over 2,000 people camping in our field, all Oxfam volunteers and staff. I’ve been to some festivals that have been smaller than that in total. There were already lots of familiar faces there, and we found space near some friends’ tents. Oxfam stewarding is such a great social network that for the whole festival, it takes a long time to get a shower (yes there are showers!!! That’s the long marquee to the left in the aerial photo above), food, go the loo or get a cup of tea without saying hello to about five different people at least.

On Sunday, it was still windy and I didn’t have my wristband yet, as I wasn’t working on the early shift. There was a choice of either getting drunk in the Oxfield or doing something productive! I discovered that a friend called Holly had never been to Glastonbury town and didn’t know about the Tor. After a short drive, we we battling tremendous winds, struggling up the side of the Tor. It was so windy at the top that we could lean right back and the wind kept us upright. After nearly being blown away, we sauntered around the hippie shops of Glastonbury town and did some charity shopping.

Monday was my first chance to explore the festival site this year, which I did with my friend Dave. We were looking for the codes clues for the Oxfam stewards treasure hunt, which had been organised voluntarily – with great prizes – by two stewards. It was a lovely sunny day and the empty stages and camping fields were pristine. There was still a lot of work going on – marquees, stages and signs being erected, decorations going up. You realise how much effort and attention to detail goes into the festival. It’s not just a flagpole – it’s a hand-painted flagpole with a uniquely decorated flag. Each bin, made out of a recycled metal drum, is painted imaginatively by an army of volunteers who are onside for weeks. I love watching the build-up to a festival, Glastonbury in particular, as there’s so much going on.

One of the highlights of Monday night was actually meeting Michael Eavis, the farmer who owns most of the land where the festival is held. We were admiring Bella’s Bridge, a footbridge built as a tribute to Arabella Churchill (the granddaughter of Winston Churchill), who became one of the festival’s main organisers, when Michael Eavis loomed out of the darkness and said “I’m glad you like my bridge!” We were all a bit surprised but we had a lovely chat to Michael, who seems to really like Oxfam stewards.

By Tuesday, all of the stewards had arrived, many of them in several coach-loads from Bristol. I finally had to start thinking about work. I wasn’t starting work until 4.45am on Thursday – an eight hour shift as Team Leader on a pedestrian gate leading to the campervan field on the opposite side of the site. We had a supervisors training session in the cinema tent on site, which is more Oxfam supervisors than I’d ever seen in one place before! We also had a one-hour briefing back in the Oxfield marquee, which was fairly entertaining and stressed the point of how important Oxfam stewards are. We’re on every gate into the site. It’s our job to make sure that people without tickets don’t get in! With back-up from security, of course, but if we get it wrong, the whole festival could be in jeopardy. A scary thought!

That evening, we had a special party to celebrate an Oxfam steward who sadly died of a heart condition earlier this year. Chris Light (fondly remembered by the Oxfam Stewards’ Forum users as Sergeant Howie), was a wonderful, gentle man and a brilliant photographer. He also wrote a novella about Oxfam stewarding at Glastonbury, The Gate, which I’ve just downloaded for free from Lulu.com! We drank a specially invented cocktail in his honour, called “The Shaft of Light”, which had glowsticks and edible glitter. We also drank to Mickie the Pixie, another Oxfam steward who died this year after an illness. He was one of the first Oxfam stewards I ever worked with, wearing a cardboard box that said “free hugs” on it. And he was the supervisor! Both of them are sadly missed.

Wednesday was lovely, although a little hard to get used to the sheer numbers of people on site, after a few days of blissfully relaxing, emptyish fields. We met up with more friends and had an epic wander round the festival site, to orientate a friend who hadn’t been before. He was surprised at the size, but he loved it. There was time for a quick pint of cider at the legendary cider bus before heading back to the Oxfield for an early night! My alarm clock was set for 3.30am. If I didn’t manage to catch the minibus from our field, it was going to be an hour’s walk to the Campervans West gate.

Luckily, the minibus did come to collect us. I had a lovely first shift, struggling to remember the names of the sixteen lovely people I was working with, apart from my deputy supervisor who was also called Anne (but without the “e”). The early dawn soon turned into a hot day, with a queue of people waiting good-naturedly to get into the festival. At this gate, people had to keep hold of their ticket and get a “pass-out” whenever they went back to their campervans. On the Thursday morning, most people were quite well organised, but by Friday night, people started losing their partners, tickets, passouts and marbles, which made things a bit more difficult. I walked back from my first shift in the heat, managing to get a few more vital clues for the treasure hunt and getting back just in time to enter the competition!

Unfortunately, it started raining immediately after I got back to the field. That meant that the traditional Oxfam stewards Thursday afternoon meet-up at the cider bus was rather damp, everyone huddling in cagoules and under umbrellas. We stuck it out and drank a few pints of cider though! A large group of Oxfam stewards decided to wander somewhere else, where we could dance. A brilliant decision was made to go to the Hell stage in the Shangri-la area of the site. We were damp but ready to party. We had a fantastic time watching Slamboree, a band combining, rave, hip-hop, folk and circus. Then we stumbled to the Avalon Cafe to see 3 Daft Monkeys, mainstays of the festival circuit. After that, I danced in the Rock ‘n’Roll diner at Shangri-La until 5am, where actual real rock ‘n’ roll was being played, including some rare rockabilly classics such as “Barking up the Wrong Tree” by Don Woody.

On Friday, I felt rather rough! I dropped a heavy bag full of jumpers, my tabard and snacks for my night-shift off at Campervans West, which almost killed me. En route though, I was entertained by the L.B.W. Outside Broadcast unit, gently commentating on the goings on on the theatre fields. Then I went to see hotly tipped indie band Peace at the John Peel stage. There was a massive crowd and they were excellent, but the singer must have been very hot, wearing a pair of white decorators’ dungarees and a thick seventies sparkly jumper! I started to feel a better when I had a long sit-down in the cabaret tent with my friend Clare. The sight of compere Arthur Smith is always reassuring, and 4 Pouffs and a Piano were hilarious – and very rude!

Before my shift I went to see the legendary Dinosaur Junior in the Park, the boutique-festival style area of the festival nearest to my gate. In case you haven’t heard of them, they are a legendary alternative rock / grunge band. It was great to see them, despite the mostly blank faces of my Oxfam colleagues when I told them about the gig! I swapped some lovely text messages with a friend who loves Dinosaur Junior but couldn’t come to Glastonbury. The nightshift went very well – the gate was busy all the time with people coming home in various states of disrepair, and there were several relationship crisis where the husband was lost and drunk and their wife had the ticket to get back into the campervan field. It was pretty amazing that we managed to sort out most of the problems – that is, if the drunk lost people actually turned up! Some of them are possibly still missing in action.

Although I hadn’t been to sleep until nearly 6am on Saturday morning, I woke up feeling relatively refreshed (due to the lack of alcohol may have helped). I headed off on my own at 11.30am to see Rokia Traore, a singer and guitarist from Mali who was opening the Pyramid stage for the day. I was determined to pack as much music as possible into my day off! The main Pyramid Stage was starting off with a Malian artist on each day, to highlight the strife in the country due to Islamist groups starting a civil war, with hundreds of thousands of people displaced and the rich musical heritage of the country under threat by fundamentalists who want to ban music. I’d seen Rokia Traore before at WOMAD. I was running a bit late, but luckily, so was the Pyramid stage, so I was able to catch more of her joyful set, while I made friends with two lads who hadn’t gone to bed yet! We stayed firm friends for Billy Bragg’s set too, until Billy played “a lullabye for people who hadn’t been to sleep yet” and they took the hint to hit the hay! The power of suggestion! Billy Bragg was on top form. As Britain’s top left-wing singer-songwriter, he can sometimes get on his political soapbox a bit too much, but we all had a cheer at the demise of Margaret Thatcher and enjoyed his new Country and Western leanings! I was joined by friends for Laura Mvula but we were all sitting down by this point, conserving our energy in the hot sunshine.

We headed over to The Strypes on the John Peel stage next. This Irish band are still in their teens but are tipped as “the next big thing”. They’re a straight-up 60s style R&B band – a bit like the very early Rolling Stones. They play a few covers but their own songs, notably “Blue Collar Jane” are full of energy. I was bopping away near the front of the stage, but people at the John Peel stage don’t seem to like dancing – they take it all a bit too seriously! After that, Clare was hunting for some Drum ‘n’ Bass, but I headed off towards the West Holts stage. En route, I had a meal in one of the hidden gems of Glastonbury: a vegan cafe in the Permaculture Garden, between the Green Fields and the old railway track, one of the main thoroughfares of the festival. It was time for my peak day-time rave moment with The Orb, an electronic band I’d first seen twenty years ago at Glastonbury. We had been too close to the front to see the massive laser show, which was “totally amazing, man!” according to anyone who’d been at the back of the field. This time, the Orb were playing with Ghanaian master drummers Kakatsitsi and it was an absolutely mesmerising performance, enjoyed by having a good dance with lots of other old ravers! I then popped over to the Avalon stage to check out the Urban Voodoo Machine, who were brilliant – sleazy rock ‘n’ roll with a gypsy punk edge – just my sort of thing. Heading back to West Holts, I caught the end of Maverick Sabre before meeting up with some friends for the next act, Major Lazer, which had been recommended to me by my stewards. It was great fun, but as it hopped between dubstep, dancehall and more other dance genres than I could keep track of, it was all a bit giddy! Music for people with short attention spans!

The next band I saw was a controversial move. I decided to see Public Enemy, rather than the Rolling Stones. This was for several reasons: I like to swim against the tide some of the time; I knew it would be rammed at the Pyramid Stage; I knew I could watch the Rolling Stones’ set on the TV or on the internet later on; and I was just curious really! I know the most famous songs by Public Enemy and it was a chance to see another legend, at closer quarters than I’d be likely to be seeing Mick and Co. We were right on the front barrier, although there did seem to be a massive crowd. Chuck D was the coolest man in the world and really engaged with the audience. In my ignorance, I hadn’t realised that Public Enemy would have a live band. Their guitarist in particular was amazing and the set really blew me away (man!). I parted company with my friend John after Public Enemy to see something a bit different – Hobo Jones and the Junkyard Dogs; a favourite band from Bearded Theory and Beautiful Days. Basically, a punk skiffle band who are hilariously funny. What’s not to like? While I was there, I met a friend from Bearded Theory. We headed to Bez’s Funhouse in the Shangri-La area and re-lived the Hacienda glory days for a few hours. At 4am, my friend left, in time to start his recycling shift bright and early at 6am, and I was adopted by a group of gay guys who took me to Glastonbury’s only dedicated gay venue, the NYC Downlow – a re-creation of a New York gay club in a specially built half-ruined tenement block. It was great fun, but eventually, I staggered home to the Oxfield! What an adventure of a day!

On Sunday morning, I had a sauna in the Greenfields, followed by a cooked breakfast, before heading to my shift at 1pm (I was a few minutes late as I’d miscalculated the amount of time I needed to eat my breakfast!) The Sunday afternoon shift was a much more laid-back affair. People were coming in dribs and drabs from the campervan fields, and back again. Soon after I started my shift, we had a “runner” – a young man sauntered through the gate and when one of the stewards questioned him, he sprinted out into the camping field. The bored security staff followed him at a lightning pace, but the chase came to a swift end when the miscreant tripped over a guyrope. He was brought back by security to cheers from the stewards and comments like “nice try, pal”, “epic fail” and “try getting a ticket next time”. The sprinter still seemed quite pleased with himself though! We whiled away the hours playing an increasingly cryptic version of I-Spy and wondering when the tea van was going to get round to us (it didn’t!) At eight o’clock, we were instructed to hand the running of the gate over to security. We got a lift back to the Oxfield for 9pm and my stewards were very happy to have finish an hour early (we’d been told that we were being re-deployed, but this was a clever ruse by our steward control, Oxbox!)

I changed my shoes, put on a tutu, grabbed some cider and headed to the Sprit of ’71 stage, to meet Fraser and various other friends to see System 7 and Eat Static and finish the weekend with some techno raving of the highest degree. The lights and visual projections were completely mesmerising and after a few glasses of Westons’ cider, I was well into the spirit of things. Afterwards, we had a wander around the dance village and then headed to the Park to the Bimble Inn, which is a pub venue inside an elongated tipi. Unfortunately, one of the friends we met there was ill (not self-inflicted but through injury) and a group of us walked her to one of the pedestrian gates, very slowly, until the Oxfam minibus could pick her up. It was dawn by the time we returned to the Oxfield but we stayed and watched the sun come up for a while, revealing the view of the crowds still partying in the Stone Circle field.

Monday was a much gentler pace. I had the biggest cooked breakfast of my life from our own caterers, the excellent Nuts. Once that had gone down, it was time to head out on site to see what the hoards had left behind. This activity is called “tatting“. Despite the “love the farm, leave no trace” campaign, thousands of people still leave tents, chairs, camping equipment and general rubbish behind. Of course, there are teams of litter-pickers dealing with the carnage, taking weeks to painstakingly return the site back to pristine condition, but their job would be a lot easier if everyone packed their stuff away and threw their rubbish in the bin. The site did look a little clearer this year, but it wasn’t a lot better in the busiest camping fields near the Pyramid Stage. It’s surprising what people do leave behind. We collected: a brand-new Eurohike tent in perfect condition, about 20 cans of Kopparburg cider, a lovely wicker basket, a picnic blanket, a designer shopper bag, a kettle, a Romany flag – and a mystery flag that looks like it might be an African country amongst lots of other things. Basically, you can just go out there with a shopping list, and find what you want, as long as camping gear and cans of cider are on your agenda. Later on, Fraser and I went to wave goodbye to our friend Clare, who’s going to be travelling the world for six months, as she was getting a lift in John and Suzie’s campervan. We went to see some friends backstage in the acoustic field, and ended up chatting to their neighbours for five hours and having an impromptu barbecue!

Tuesday morning was dull and grey, and time to pack up. Fraser and I had lunch at the Garden Cafe in the delightful town of Frome, where all the residents seemed to have been at the festival, exploring the town and then heading home through the Cotswolds. We took a wrong turning and found a charming village called Barnsley, which we thought was hilarious as it was very different from the Barnsley in South Yorkshire, so we stopped for a drink in the very posh pub. We couldn’t put it off much longer though, it was time to return home, and it was lovely to come home to my partner, solid walls and modern conveniences. At least I wasn’t stuck in an office the next day, and I’m determined to make a success of my free-range life so that I can enjoy many more Glastonbury festivals in the future. One day I’ll be ready for free-range working all summer from a perfectly fitted-out campervan!

Main Links:

The Official Glastonbury Website

BBC Glastonbury Website

http://www.vice.com/en_uk/read/a-big-weekend-out-at-glastonbury I enjoyed this review, particularly the bit about the stewards – which is exactly what Oxfam Stewards are, really! People who love festivals and want to help other people to love them.

Things this blog is about…