It always takes me a week to gather up my thoughts on the annual Glastonbury festival and again this year has been no exception. It’s been a standard recovery, I’ve mainly been boshing valium and getting pissed. I spent an evening with a very lovely lady. I missed out on another dream job. Took a trip to Brighton to see a very dear friend and clear my head but spunked a load money in a strip club whilst there. I then cycled the near 60 miles home. It was a nice trip and a visit to see Michelle always clears my head. She’s like Yoda, if Yoda was a beautiful half Venezuelan, well travelled, artist from Reading.
But my week off to recover is nearly over and I’ve tried my best to piece together and write my annual review of the festival. Apologies in advance if this seems a bit underwhelming, but a lot of my recollection is still an indescribable yet beautiful blur.
It has become ritual now to get down to Glastonbury on the Tuesday night so that we are able to get in first thing Wednesday morning. By the time Sarah had parked her van up, the gates had opened and the que was moving and myself and Amy had met Ian and got camped up by about 9.30 awaiting the rest of our party. As luck would have it, an old university friend was camped yards from us and was lovely to see her again, all be it too briefly. The Wednesday was as the usual Glastonbury Wednesdays go; get bearings of the sight again, get pissed, meet people and get settled. It was Amy’s first time at Glastonbury so I felt I should show her about a bit, even though I knew she would have forgotten it all by the time we got back to camp and regardless the site appears completely different at night anyway. This another cliché of just how vast the festival site is.
I flaked early on Wednesday, I must of done a lot of drinking because apparently I passed out in a camping chair, went for a lie down at around 7ish then didn’t surface again till 7 the next morning. Unsuprisingly Thursday followed a similar suit; a few more friends arrived at the camp site we had a bit more of a walk around. I took Amy for a tour of the healing and green fields, a part of the festival which I feel has kept its soul from the humble beginnings. I know I can’t really comment properly on that because I’ve only been going for 6 years but the vibe of them fields is lovely. Free workshops for stonemasonry, blacksmithing, glass blowing, clay modelling… all that kind of hippy shit. I’ve never given it a go and I never did get that hippy massage or tarot reading I promised I would get yet again. I did see a stall for breath analysis though, which was be the biggest load of new age nonsense I’d see all week.
Thursday didn’t truly kick off till the evening when the unfair ground and Shangri-la areas had properly opened. These are still the areas that make 200 odd sheets of ticket price worth it. Incredible sculptures, a fucking full on 100 foot high temple and an incredibly impressive ‘Heaven and Hell’ themed area. We spent a good few hours at the Strummerville stage under shelter whilst it rained a bit and witnessed a fantastic dance battle between 2 fella’s and a transvestite. At this point Amy turned to me in an sense of euphoria and said – I cant believe how much of a good time I’m having already. The place has that sort of effect on people and I’m glad I brought her to experience it.
The day had been a merry one and even a light shower couldn’t dampen our spirits but by the evening once I’d shoved a gary down my neck we all decided to go see ‘My Bad Sister’ a twin sibbling, electro – poppy, act who certainly can dance and perform. What I found most amusing was how many people in the audience and on the stage I noticed from London squat parties and other raves. The evening was polished off with a great ravey set from ‘Spongebob Squarewave’ and I also noticed a potential kill for the weekend. A cute little, blonde number in a Bangface hoody dancing in the corner of the tent. We chatted briefly at the end of the tunes and I said I’d see her the next night in the Bangface tent. I’ll ruin the end of this story for you now… I never saw her again.
I awoke Friday morning in a puddle of sweat to the sound of – Liam stop fucking punching me in the face! Apparently my sedative induced sleep was actually quite restless and I’d been giving Amy a hard nights sleep by continuously lamping her in the mush whilst I was a kip. I crawled from the tent to be handed water from Petch and Dave and to also hear that the rumour that Beady Eye were opening the Other Stage was true. I’m not really a fan of Beady Eye’s usual stuff, but from the distance of our camp site they started to blear out Rock N Roll star, then when I heard the first few notes of Whats the Story I thought bollock’s to it, need to go cash point anyway will check them out. The little bit I caught was a right laugh and Liam Gallagher does ooze the cool of a true, genuine Rock N Roll star – This is our last one. You’ve been brilliant… But not as good as us. Was his parting words, I then made my dash for the cash point, before the changing of the guard that is the main stages dispersing.
I must apologies for my lack of memory of the whole week but I will use this chance to comment on the other themes of the festival that make it so special. First off the atmosphere is unique in its own way. Yes you get what you may call your dicks going around in silly costumes or onesies, or a load of students walking around with UV paint all over them who spend their entire festival standing infront of the main stage. These are just normal fun loving people who are probably really nice in general, and if that’s how they want to enjoy their Glastonbury so be it. The thing holds 175,000 people not everybody is going to be a bohemian, squatty, folky, hippy, raver like the rest of your mates.
This year as apose to most years I had just done an entire month of over time and was due a double pay check come Friday… I withdrew 250 quid on with the full intention of spunking the lot. In full British spirit I felt that I had worked hard so I would indeed play hard. This year however I found it be a great idea to spend a lot of my money on tat, and by tat I mean clothes I’ll probably never wear again, there was even a book stall with some possibly rare editions that me and Amy had to pull our selves away from. However I am now the proud owner of a fur pimp jacket, a new sleeping bag and some fly looking vintage sports wear… This took up a lot of my budget that and I also invested in quite a few persion rugs that added to the festival vibe.
As the day sprung by in the long blink of a summers eye I suggested going to catch a few tracks of Alt-J’s set on the Other stage. I’m always a bit dubious about daylight sets on the Other stage because the atmosphere can be fucking lame. The tunes we stayed for were actually pretty good though and being a fan I’m glad I saw them. Within what seemed like a few moments though it was time for the Bard himself – Billy Bragg. The Leftfield stage had a nice amount of room in it, I’d dropped a gurn not too long before and was suitably pissed out of my pickled Anglo-Irish skull. Before the proceeding’s I decided I needed to had to go for a ritual come up-sit down (pill shit)
On my return I noticed I was certainly ‘moving on up’ and fucking hard too! I’d been in this position before at Glastonbury and on that occasion ended up losing my phone as a result… stumbling around, eyes rolling into my skull trying to get my bearings. Then I experienced some genuine human kindness – Alright there darling? You look like you’re spinning out a bit there. Why don’t you come over here and have some water? Said this girl from the peripherals of my blurred vision. She took me by the hand and led me to a tent, sat me down and gave me a few swigs of water. My static vision reverted back to standard definition and I gained a bit more control over my movement. – Thank you. Was all I could muster to the lovely girl. – No worries mate, have a good night. Do you know where you’re going? She then pointed me in the right direction… It wasn’t till later I realised these were the Semaritans and were just giving me a helping hand. Must remind myself to drop a tenner in their donation box next time I see one. When I found my way back to the Leftfield Bragg was in full swing, as was I. Amy had also made us a new friend, a cute little Welsh number. Good work Am’
The set was your usual Bragg, classic politically charged folk backed by his great band, a lot of new album I didn’t really know but his favourites went down a treat. I felt a bit bad though because in my intoxicated state I kept falling into the bloke behind me… – Sorry mate I know I’m being a cunt I’m just bollockesd. Was my excuse to him. – Why cant you stand over there? He replied disgruntled. I offered him a drop of rum but he declined very dimsimisevly. – Think I’ve ruined that cunts night. I said to Amy. Although he looked like he had a good time singing along to ‘New England’ and ‘Great Leap Forward’ as did I. Me and Amy then lead our new friend to catch a bit of Trip-hop legends Portishead. Upon the way we stopped by a bar I got myself a double scotch, got Taffy a cider and we made a horizontal dash for the front of the Other Stage.
Portishead were on top form, Beth Gibbons was like a Siren calling ships to their death Taffy seemed to be enjoying our company very much so. I kept trying to persuade Amy to try and help me corrupt our new friend. But she was too busy behaving herself and Taffy seemed too fucking wasted anyway and went off to find her boyfriend, not before giving me a little kiss though. So ethically it all worked out very well I suppose…. Kind of.
It was then time to keep up our hard crew commitment and trot over to the new and improved, psychedelic looking Glade lounge for the Bangface night. It was a proud moment for all involved. Sarah and Sam clashed were clashing with such giants as the Artic Monkeys, Portishead and so on so we didn’t get to see Amen-tal. But I didn’t leave that spot for the entire evening… except to check the Arcadia display with Petch and Scottish Dave, which of course was its usual spectacular firey self.
The tent did peak at some points and was rammed and I heard from Liggin’s later on that apparently Phil Jupitus was having a right boogie to the Hard Crew heroes set. The only downside being that I got burnt for a gram of ketamine off 2 Turkish looking Del Boys, which was fucking stupid of me as I could see the cunts coming from a mile off and I knew as I was handing the money over that the gear they were selling me weren’t legit.
The night finished a success, we scanned the empty dance floor for drugs and money but found none. Then to the Stone Circle for a ritual burn of changa and a few suck on some balloons, a few chats with old friends, Hard Crew and genuine lovely humans. One bloke whilst walking past just said – you look like you need some rum, have a suck on that. Then let me have a chug ons his Mount Gay. No combination is better and as the sun rose I could tell Saturday was going to be a special day… I didn’t realise how right I was.
I awoke the next day to a text from Dylan telling me that it was the 20th Anniversary of G.G Allen’s death. This was an omen. An omen that told me that this night I was going to break a personal physical barrier of chemical bombardment… I was fucking right.
Sarah, Petch, Dave, Amy and Myself all caught a ‘trading songs session’ in the leftfield tent with Billy Bragg, Amanda Palmer and Sean McGowan. Billy Bragg dropped a cover of ‘Times they are a changin’ – lets drop some acid! I suggested. We all agreed. We spent an hour or so taking in the quality of the circus tent then decided to go back to the camp to prep for the nights preceding or Primal Scream then the mighty Rolling Stones. This included a costume change, a bomb of MDMA, a line of ketamine and another dose of Albert Hoffmans marvellous medicine.
I could have had 2 adventures that night, Rodriguez with Dave then wherever the night would take us or go see The Scream and then the Stones with Amy, Sam, Sarah and Petch. I chose to see Primal Scream, who in my opinion were on an off day. The whole crowd seemed just to be waiting to see The Stones, Bobby Gillepsie was really wasted, the wind was blowing the sound around and instead of a choir they just had these 3 birds who’s mics weren’t mixed properly for such euphoric tracks as Loaded, Rocks and of course Come Together, which all sounded pretty second hand.
During the set though Sarah found a floor pill, it was too dirty to put in anyone’s mouth, couldn’t crush it, so there was only one orifice were it could really be consumed and of course only one volunteer willing enough to stick it there. So with the influence of the suppository I was in well in the mood for The Stones. So much so I dragged everyone to a bar to get some drinks in, mainly because it was the only one on site that did a good Guinness. This however hindered our position for the Stones and the Pyramid Stage was looking like Hillsborough, not only this but every single one of us were tripping our rings off. Which made it difficult to navigate paths through the abundance of crowd infront of us however we found a spot… infront of a fucking bush! Morale was high though and as Arthur Guinness said ‘Good things come to those who wait’
The Stones played the obligatory greatest hits set opening with ‘Jumping Jack Flash’ I made a promise that we’d roll a DMT joint for ‘Gimme’ Shelter’ and as soon as that promise was made the first notes of the track came in. Sarah did the honours, we all had a heavy toke and simultaneously as I thought it Sarah shouted – Fucking hell man I am tripping!… –attack! Was my order, and we made a rush to defeat the bush and get a better view of the stage… still gridlock. Never mind though we’ll try again later.
Nature called for Petch and myself so we picked up the nearest empty bottles we could find bottles and went for the traditional festival piss. Sarah however was taking pictures and in her own voyeuristic, fetishist nature ended up getting the over flow of my bottle right in the face. As is accustom to such accidents and as a gentleman I gave her one shot, and she gave me a solid left hook to the jaw similar to the one Henry Cooper flawed Cassius Clay with.
As we swallowed more booze down our roaring, singing throats and shovelled ketamine up our ever narrowing, swelling hooters the ‘woop, woops’ started to sound to the opening of ‘Sympathy for the Devil’
We made one last attack to defeat the bush of which we started to believe was just a figment of the ride we was on. We did defeat it this time! beat a good few furlongs of people and had an amazing view. Flags swaying, what seemed like nearly a hundred thousand people dancing and singing along. A flare burst a few yards away and the red mist created a beautiful filter to the vision of the stage. Sarah was a vision in the mist, Amy was the epitome of euphoria and me and Petch made a vow – No sleep till Monday brother! This is it!
As ‘Brown Shugar’ dropped in I turned to my 3 loved ones and tried my best at being philosophical – This is it! we are stood on a hill watching The Stones in a field in England! We are winning!… NO! We have won!… Granted probably one of most smuggest of my speeches. But considering I’d smashed 2 tabs of cid, shoved a pill up my arse, smoked a super strength psychedelic and had drunk nearly 4 pints of my own home brew, whilst listening to a song about slavery, I reserved the right to be a smug cunt.
The Stones climaxed and we went for a tot around the wasteland. I found a pair of shades, a near full bottle of rum and coke, a new hat and Sarah had enough tat hanging off her that made her look like a one man band. We then had intensions of going to see Fatboy slim headline the Arcadia, however we got distracted by a bit of ragga and dancehall. We had a bit of a dance, then Sarah got quite excited by a few tunes and we went into what I thought was just an average tent/bar, instead it was a full on to scale shanty town stage with a teeth shattering, bass heavy sound system. –come on Liam we’ll do some daggering. Said Wombs. I needed no more encouragement.
Now I aint much a fan of dancehall, reggae, ragga or whatever sub genre that comes with it, but the selector this evening was a fucking professional! Scratching, mixing, chopping and teasing with tunes, even blaring over the mic in a way that kept the crowd moving. The clientele on offer were a sight too. A trio of beautiful dykey looking drink of water’s infront of us, rasta’s to our left, stereo-honkys to our right. Everyone was there giving it there all. It was the hardest I danced all weekend. I announced I needed a break, but just before one last dagger with my main bird Wombcorps.
We left sweating and took a seat next to a sound system playing Beatles pop. We had a sing-along to ‘All you need is love’ then headed to the after hours area, via the stone circle where we was set to meet Sam… which is where it all went wrong for me.
– You want a bit of K mate. Sam offered with a generous heart. Of course I took up the offer. The Stone circle was looking biblical… Fires and flares were lit, people circled, dancing, standing on the stones, the sound of drums laughter and nos crackers filling the air. After scooping a few corners of mothers ruin up my beak I lost my balanced and stumbled into someone’s circle. The fella’s who I fell on were lovely. Very concerned to see if I was alright, interested in who I was, where I was from and wished me a good night once Same helped me to my feet and got me walking towards the unfair ground… the most debauched ground in the entire city of Glastonbury festival.
Our plan was to get into Bez’s Acid House, it was running a one in one out policy and just as my brain felt like it was going to fall out of the back of my skull me and Amy had a row. Nothing serious but not something ideal to happen when on the back end of the biggest bender of our lives. We predicted we’d have a row because we usually do when each others company for a long period of time, but I was hoping it would be on the Monday morning when we was coming down and it didn’t really matter, not on a Saturday night when we was kicking arse and especially just hours before we walking down a path arms linked saying ‘You’re my best mate’ to each other.
I fell into a bar, ordered another double whiskey and stumbled back to the tent… I think I was crying but I can’t really remember. Maybe I was. I found the tent and from there heard Bradley suggest we go to the stone circle. If I hadn’t of just swallowed a handful of valium I would have taken the offer up. But I was a broken man and sleep was what I had just forced upon myself… Me and Petch had broken the pack.
The following day I was on a low. Not because me and Amy had a fight but because I had truly pushed myself to the fucking limit! A night of consuming a whole galaxy of uppers, downers, trippers, whizzers, happies, sillies, thought provokers and social lubricants had taken its toll. I should of never gone to bed. Should of just hoovered up more speed and tackled the demons like man.
Amy and I tried to discuss why we had a falling out, but I don’t think either of us could really express it properly. We were both in a fragile state and we did a too much walking to get breakfast and not a lot of talking. Despite this I felt no bad vibe. Which is why I love Amy, we can have a falling out and save picking up the peaces for another time. That’s a healthy relationship in my eyes.
The crew was suffering from the debauched night before. I asked Dave what his night consisted of; apparently he did 5 tabs of acid and can’t remember much of it but was sure it was awesome… Something made me wonder what that adventure would have been like if I saw Rodriguez with him. Apparently though The Shugarman was a bit poor so I didn’t feel too bad missing out. That day though we did see Ian in his full pretty much perfect Daft Punk costume in a Shangri-La instillation, this made my bloody day. Other then that Petch reminded me that Kenny Rogers was on and he did the “See what condition my condition was in was in” track from Big Lebowksi.
We dragged our weary broken and torn anatomies and took a seat on top of the hill of the Pyramid stage. I was a bit pessimistic about this ‘Legends Slot’ not really a fan of country at first, but this was a highlight. The geezer is a legend and Glastonbury is small fry to him. He even had the bollocks to slag the crowd off for not singing along so. Which is good because performers don’t really do that these days, They will suck dicks just because they feel the need to please the audience infront of them. But I do admit to you brothers and sisters, that your dear and humble narrator did actually shed tears to one of Kenny’s songs about friendship ‘Have a little faith in me’ Sheer beauty! He encored with a second rendition of ‘The Gambler’ and ‘Islands in the Sea’. Fantastic stuff! It’s inspired me to check out more country.
We got back to camp and I had plans to see the Smashing Pumpkins out of respect for my adopted father MaCleod at home, then finish the evening with soul legend Bobby Womack, instead I thought I’d put my head down for an hour… I woke up on Monday morning and missed them both and the rest of the festival.
Right so that is the memoir, here is the summary… Forgive me I’m on my my 9th can and I’m not editing this one…
So in terms of con’s. First off, I never had any alone time. I spent nearly every waking and sleeping hour with Amy. Don’t get me wrong, I love her to pieces and really enjoyed spending time with her and proving to her what an amazing experience Glastonbury is. I don’t consider this a bad thing, but I love my lone adventures, especially at Glastonbury, but also I was glad to see her enjoy herself so much. we were also missing a few heavy hitters; The woman, Tom ‘the nonce’ Radford, The Pritchard siblings, Dinn ‘Dennis’ Wise, Northern Al, Old Man Macleod, Jem Gurner, Snooker and the most dear to me, my heart and soul and much more, my Other Half… The Boy who cancelled at such short notice. Along with that I flaked earlier then expected and missed a lot of stuff I would of liked to of seen. Bobby Womack and The Pumpkins like I mentioned. I missed a feminist debate I would of liked to heckled, I missed Tony Benn again, Elvis Costello, Beans on Toast and Craig Charles to name a few. Also, and I say this every year, the whole thing is too fucking big for its own good to see everything you want… But fuck it! I had a corker and it was a pleasure serving with everyone I met there.
Here’s the pro’s…
Glastonbury festival is a British institution, whether you love festivals or not it is the epitome of British arts, music, culture, politics, social interaction and connection between our fellow man. It is the most organised project in the country and is broadcast by the pioneers of information to the world (The BBC) and I give much respect to the Eavis family for keeping it going for as long as they have (Woodstock couldn’t do it!) I may of missed 60% of what I said I was going to see but I still had an amazing time. Granted 2009 is still the best for me, but it was still a classic and partying in an environment where the advertisement is Wateraid and Oxfam whilst the Rolling Stones headline… Only a British festival can do that. It’s an institution, an experience, an historical event. In Medieval times tribes/villages would get together to drink mead, play music and enjoy each others company for a weekend, infact that would happen at the same sight…. Glastonbury is that but in the 21st century. Yes it is expensive, yes it is a mainly white middle class demographic who listen to Radio 1 there and will just sit infront of the main stages listening to Zane Lowe’s artist of the month. But they are still human beings and the fact we are stood within proximity of each other enjoying our own tastes and views in harmony together is a very beautiful thing. Glastonbury provides this on a huge scale, one that cant be perceived unless you see it in person on these green and pleasant lands. It’s the biggest in the world! The best? I dunno I aint travelled enough and seen many foreign ones. But regardless if you want to experience a true cultural melting pot with the people you love the most, then go to Glastonbury. I read somewhere that it was every Americans duty to visit the Grand Canyon… In my view it is every Englishman/commonwealth/empire’s member duty to visit the Glastonbury festival. Mainly because it proves that although this nation is flawed, we are an alternative nation of musicians, entertainers, poets, actors, personalities, activists and do’ers but also beautiful human beings, and it is this festival, this event for one week, where we create a city to express this talent and culture, where we gather to show the world how fucking great we are at partying in harmony.
Lahm Powder
Apart of me said said this would be my last Glastonbury before a break from festivals…. Same time next year guys? Been a pleasure serving with all those involved yet again.