What a difference a year makes….
I have flashbacks of last years Glastonbury and sometimes they make me quiver… The mud, the rain and the Brexit vote all playing a huge role in the atmosphere. The heavy Sunday meth induced comedown of no sleep, sitting in mud and drizzle nursing a Guinness with too much head on it and of course the tragic news of Pritchards passing – I saw the festival as test for the 3 months of globe trotting and festival adventures I was about to embark on. So 12 months and 10 festivals later I was due to arrive back at Worthy farm for the annual biggest party of the year. It would mark 10 years since I first ran off to the festival on my own with a pocket full of cash from my gardening job, a gram of coke and a few joints of weed and for some reasons 6 cans of fosters… 10 years on and my inventory couldn’t be anymore different, I have no tent, no sleeping bag and am chancing it with no waterproof either.
In the lead up to 2007 I was so excited and prepared. I’d bought myself a top of the range tent, sleeping bag and roll mat. Brought along all the handy things that I had read in the guide. Water proofs, wet wipes, bin bags. I even arrived on the Friday back then… What cunt does that now? I paid £150 for the ticket, I paid £250 this yea. Even though the rain was torrential all weekend and I spent most of my time at the 2 main stages and I knew that festivals were something I was going to devote my life to in some one way for as long as possible… 10 years and nearly 50 different experiences from almost 20 different festivals across 6 countries and 2 continents I think my enthusiasm has finally withered somewhat.
In the lead up to this years Glastonbury it was the first time where my usual excitement was replaced with the sense that the following week was going to somewhat of a chore. It dawned on me that I hadn’t had much money from weeks of time off and skiving from work. So my usual 500 quid burning a hole in my pocket with the full intention of spunking the lot werent happening this year. Like I said I had no tent, but Dean kindly leant me his and I had no sleeping bag either.. O also I had decided to cycle again, because that was such a beautiful experience last year… Also in my personal life I had recently had a few anxiety attacks and for various reasons was feeling anxious quite a lot of the time. The current climate in the country had reached a height that I’d never experienced before. Now that the very real threat of terrorism had reared its ugly head again Glastonbury was having to announce that it was upping it’s security measures… Never before had it ever crossed my mind that such a behemoth of an event could be threatened. For the first time I had doubts. The last 18 months had been a time where literally anything that could happen, did happen. But this was my beloved Glastonbury festival. The one where it all began for me, where I first experimented with LSD, where I first discovered how much a profound and life affirming experience live music in an epic setting could potentially be and where I learnt the importance of togetherness and community in society. The last time I missed a Glastonbury it was one of my biggest ever regrets and I knew that when I got there I was only ever going to have a good time. So I stopped being such a cunt about it and got myself in head space for the mission that is the biggest festival in the world.
The night before I made my way to the luggage drop off for the ‘Cycle to Glasto’ initiative. The lock up was in the shadow of Grenfell Tower so Latimer Road and surrounding bus stops were shut off and I had to walk through the area itself that was like that scene in 28 Days Later where Cillian Murphy’s character finds that wall filled with missing person posters. Posted on every available bit of space on phone boxes, shop windows and walls were pictures for everything from missing toddlers last seen on the 17th floor to an entire family unaccounted for. I’d never felt an atmosphere so chilling on a night so warm. At the lock up charity workers were organising donations into boxes for the survivors. I dropped off my bag and walked back to Shepherds Bush not being able to take my eyes off the tragedy that dominated the sky line. The Conservatives very own version of a Wicker Man. Stupid Tories. Burning the poor wont win you your votes back. That building will soon be their grave stone.
I met Dave after work at the same Halfords we’d set off from the year previously. Before our cycle I’d made the suggestion that we absolutely nail it in terms of speed – go as fast as we possibly could. Dave had booked the Travelodge check point at Devizes which was about 20 miles further away then last years grueling bed down. We noticed we were making good time as we stopped just before Hungerford to stick our lights on. Seeing as Dave was carrying the extra weight in his panyards and as we were about to hit some pretty steep inclines I told him I’d go on ahead and meet him at the Travelodge. He agreed and went off before me as I adjusted my lights. I stopped for a slug of my drink in Hungerford and could still see no sign of him in the distance. Then I peddled as fast as I could, stopping for nothing, even when I hit the hill that leads to Malborough I found I didn’t drop any pace. ‘I’m absolutely nailing this’ I thought to myself. The year before I seem to remember this hill resembling what I’d imagine Limbo would be like. A seemingly endless, dark, steep incline that was exhausting to climb, with only the bright lights of my head lamps to follow with no other soul in site. On this attempt I seemed to reach the summit in what seemed like only a few minutes and as I gained speed on the descent I started to wonder where Dave might be. ‘Could he have had an accident and was laying in one of those bushes back there’ I thought aloud. Then as I fired my way into Malborough town centre a figure stood out in the road pack of biscuits in hand. Dave was also on top form and his added weight counted for nothing. We were two men on a mission and managed to make it to our checkpoint just over an hour later. In all I think we nailed just under 90 miles in just over 5 hours. I was buzzing so hard I suggested we finish the job and just cycle the rest of the way, sleep under the stars in the que for the festival. A bottle of vodka helped sooth this buzz. Then when we awoke at 6 the next morning and made the decision to leave immediately before the sun got hot. I was totally grateful we didn’t go through with my previous plan. The hills approaching Glastonbury are relentless and steep though the surroundings are absolutely breathtaking.
Hitting the site on a dry year unlike the war zone we arrived to last time round was a plus. Finding out that because we were cyclist we got to go straight to the front of the que was a blessing. I picked up my bag no problem and despite seeing people getting fingered by security, when it came to my turn the geezer on the gate just smiled at me and waved me through. As we were waiting for our wristbands a very beautiful young lady smiled at me and took great interest in where I’d cycled from. She was working there at one of the bars, so I asked which one then forgot the name almost immediately. Considering the form I’d recently been on with the birds I saw this as somewhat of a good omen. Maybe this was the year I pull a bird at this place?
After a few communication problems we managed to find our camp mates whom this year was an experienced platoon consisting of Sarah, Petch and Dean who were busy erecting our tents on arrival. My dream of cycling to my tent was now complete… Although I did later moan that it was dirty and not assembled properly. Acknowledging at how ungrateful I was being I heard Deans voice from the neighbouring tent say ‘You fucking prick’ Another tent we had to assemble was for Ian and his wife Jenny and their little baby Miya. Despite the task of having to assemble large tents in searing heatbeing a crew ofveterans, professionals and good friends meant that everything was put in place in good time and with absolutely no drama’s. I passed the comment that for once I was attending a festival with people that I actually like.
The Wednesday was hot. I hadn’t felt it that hot since the Glastonbury heatwave of 2010. The year when I threatened to kill everyone, passed out and puked on myself and didn’t change my clothes for days, lost my phone twice, shit myself when tripping and got so constipated I ended up stuck in the long drops sniffing poppers in an attempt to relieve my arsehole thinking ‘this is a new low’… Luckily this year it was just Day Zero that was to be the scorcher and luckily we’d a hollowed out 6 man to use as a base camp chill out and Dave quite intuitively bought ice from the local Tesco and kept filling water bottles with fresh water so we could hydrate – still took me till the late afternoon to squeeze a piss out mind you, but I did also manage a siesta which was nice.
Already I’d found that we were imitating the general old gits that once we’d mock. We turn up to the same festival every year, camp in the same field, in the same spot then every Wednesday evening we make our way down to the Cider bus for a few strong ones before getting an early night. It’s a funny thing how age eventually mocks you in the end. I always used to think hair loss, crippling hang overs and impotence were just scary stories grown ups used to tell me when I was a teenager just to frighten me… Recently I’ve been able to confirm that at the age of 27 that all of these things are a very genuine and terrifying reality.
These days the festival pretty much starts on the Thursday, well in terms of music at least. I find personally this can be the best time to check out the Shangri-la or Naughty Corner as it’s also known. In recent years I’ve been more prone to long it off for just how Hillsbrough it gets down there. It aint comfortable dancing in a kettle of other cunts. The area as you probably know comes with a theme each term. This term it was mainly following a Heaven v Hell storyline of which I didn’t really follow as much as their previous dystopian revolution. This year however they’d change the theme and most of the art work and stages were made out of the horrendous squalor left after the festival. A nice use of over indulgence I thought.
This year in the area Nottingham’s metal label Earache were given their own takeover with their own stage inside a hollowed out tube train with a few day time slots on the Truth stage. Most notably Grindcore originators Napalm Death who at first we were apprehensive would be an understated booking for such a small stage but instead what we were treated too was one of the most aggressive mosh pits I’ve got stuck into for quite a while. Circle pits, crowd surfing – I know I left with bruises to the ribs and shoulder and even took a few painful ones in the tail bone for good measure. In the midst of the set I found a couple of geezers with split lips and busted noses who’s blood I wiped off and rubbed on my cheeks as war paint. The next day I ached from my injuries, but they were well earned. I hope they continue the injection of Grindcore and Thrash Metal at Glastonbury, to be honest I cant understand how it’s taken this long for arrive. Just goes to show what the popularity of chucking on a headliner in the shape of Metallica and another Pyramid slot to Motorhead can do for the culture of the place.
Even after 10 years it still takes me till Thursday evening to truly get my bearings of the festival site. What doesn’t help is that stages are moved and fields are angled differently each year. Then there’s also a new area just dropped in for good measure. This year there was the very impressive Cinemageddon area – A new cinema field modeled on an old timey American drive in with loads of vintage and novel vehicles to view the films from. The programme itself was also pretty impressive; on the Thursday evening Jonny Depp was making a guest appearance to introduce The Libertine. There was also screenings of that new black and chrome print of Mad Max. The Holy Mountain also got a viewing and then there was a b2b of Performance and Apocalypse Now, the latter of which me and Petch had the plan to watch whilst smoking meth until we got paranoid – ‘The horror!’ There was also a daytime cinema tent showing loads of new Indie flicks. Sometimes its nice to find the time to watch a film at a festival, the Cinemageddon is a perfect venue for it.
After 10 years however my defining ‘part of the festival furniture now’ moment came when I was wondering the road of the campsite one evening and crossed paths with Jay Macallaster, more informally know as Beans on Toast. I remember first discovering Jay back in 08 waiting for Frank Turner to perform an extra set on the Leftfield stage, arriving early was this geezer singing very frank and simple songs about shagging older women, if David Cameron was to hug a hoodie he’d get punched in the face and what I remember being the most incredible festival love song about getting off your tits with a girl on MDMA. Over the years I’d recommend Beans on Toast to everyone I’d come across at every festival and seeing as he lived in London I have many good times of the free gigs he’d put on at The Flowerpot/Wheelbarrow on Camden high street. His live sets were always different and always lively I’d always say hello at the end of a gig or at a festival and he’d always be up for a chat. However as I grew older I found his new material didn’t really do it for me and his live routines were becoming more of the same whilst when he did play his old tracks it all seemed a bit done to death so I hadn’t been arsed by his name on a lineup for a while now. That being said the geezer draws in huge crowds and often tours America and Europe pretty successfully and he’s achieved this just through hard work. So it was nice when I caught his line of vision through his shades, gave a nod and an ‘Ez Jay’ to which he stopped in surprised and said ‘Oh hello mate! christ I aint seen you around for ages how have you been?’ We exchanged general pleasantries and carried on our journeys… All those years ago I watched him in a tent of about 80 people most of whom were waiting or Frank Turner to start at about 2am. This year he played the same tent to pretty much a capacity crowd at 7pm on a Saturday evening. I’m pleased he found success.
We spent our Thursday evening listening to The Orb from afar in the Glade village. I got chatting to a friend of Sarah’s. Nice chap. Cant remember his name. We just shot shit mainly about how it was his first Glastonbury as you usually do with a virgin until it was time for us to move on. Unfortunately though Sarah told me he fell ill the next day and had to bale on the weekend… Such a shame as he seemed like a nice guy who was really looking forward to a lot of the grime artists that were playing over the weekend. I hope he’s ok now.
I awoke Friday morning in and alcohol infused benzo haze. The festival had begun! This is it! Christmas morning of the festival circuit and to kick it off I went for a recommendation given to me just a few days earlier. Bo Ningen were the lunchtime slot on The Park stage. I knew nothing of them before aside from them being particularly good live and yes they certainly were a noisy bunch with a lively stage presence. I aint listened to any of the bands records but a Japanese noise rock act was certainly a good call to start the day.
Sat back at camp we each drew up our plans for the day. I pretty much abandoned paying any attention to the line up after the first release of it. Although for the first time one of my AAA favorite bands were headlining the pyramid in the form of Radiohead the rest of the lineup at first glance looked a load of shit, nothing that I aint seen before or had no interest in. In saying that the other 2 headliners in Foo Fighters and Ed Sheeran are both well within their rights to headline the festival. Foo Fighters being one of the biggest stadium rock acts of a generation would be magnificent on the Pyramid stage and Ed Sheeran pretty much ownes the music industry at the moment so of course he deserves a place up there. As I flicked through the pages of the very detailed guide I decided I’d finally go and see Craig Charles DJ down in Shangri-la. So I got my bottle of Bucky and skipped off down the railway track, grin on my face, looking forward to my Friday afternoon. Unfortunately though Craig Charles proved to be a bit too popular and the Truth Stage was total Hillsborough. There wasn’t even the slightest opening from the side to make a worth attack of getting amongst it, and even if I did it be a bit too close to comfort to dance to funk. No worries though. Just one of those things init?
I spent the majority of Friday afternoon doing my usual stroll around aimlessly and wait for the adventure to find me whilst getting exceedingly drunk on a highly caffeinated monk made wine. I found myself in the poetry tent at one point, enjoying what was on offer so much I thought to myself ‘I could write a poem…. I will write a poem!’ From there I made it to the Leftfield to watch some of Billy Braggs radical round up where I chatted to the woman next to me for about half an hour on a subject I can no longer remember. A few refills of booze later I made my way back to bass camp to see who was about.
Food and drink prices remained at there usual from what I could tell. In the last 5 years I think the price of a pint at the Brothers bar has gone up 50p to £4.50 and food prices up from an average of £7 to £8 give or take. It is all pretty good value though mind you. Food is proper meals and the cider is of a good standard, and there are plenty of bars about if you fancy a particular ale or cider. The standard bars just sell either Magners or Tuborg at about £4.30 a pint. I was on a budget this year so was surviving mostly on 25p packs of noodles, haribo, biscuits and cold beans.
As the evening drew on we drew out plans at base camp to meet for the big one. The rest of the gang were settled on Future Islands on the John Peel stage. Seeing as I’d already dropped 30 odd sheets on seeing them live later this year I thought I’d save the experience for my faithful Brixton academy. In fairness my alternative was Alabama 3 on the Croissent Neuf stage. who anyone who’s spent more then an hour in my company will know are indeed my favorite band doing one of their acoustic sets which although lack the power of a live set are always worth a look in if you’re curious. As I sat and waited I sparked up conversation with a bird next to me who wasn’t a fan of the band but was a friend of their new female vocalist. Our conversation was cut short as the tent filled rapidly with fellow members of Presbyterian church of the sweet Elvis divine. I text The Boy to tell him I was thinking of him then sang along to every word of a stripped down greatest hit set. The new girl they got in weren’t bad either.
I skipped on down to the Pyramid stage where The XX were just finishing up their set to an already packed Pyramid stage. I plotted myself at the rendezvous point – The water aid, Oxfam and Greenpeace stall on the front left. Phone reception had been shit all week for me on site, it weren’t going to get any better now. I did manage to get one of the gang on the phone though and they were caught in the kettle coming in from the right of the stage. It was around now that I realised this was poor planning and a school boy error for so called experienced Glastonbury goers. The road leading from the John Peel will always have the bleed from people coming and going from both the Pyramid, John Peel and The Other stage. There was no way they were going to be able to arch round and meet me. So I thought fuck it. I bit an E in half and sent out a text telling the rest of the pack I was going lone wolf and attacked directly to the front centre as abruptly and as obnoxiously as possible, apologising for being a cunt for everyone that I pushed out the way… ‘You said it mate’ was one response that made me chuckle.
I found myself a good 100 yards from the stage dead centre and immediately made friends with a Dutch couple standing next to me, Marco and Sylvia was their names. It was their 3rd Glastonbury and each year they travel over especially for it. Said they get nothing like it in the Netherlands. To the left of me was a young lad clearly pranging out on whatever he’d taken. Kept asking everyone around him if they were all right, then kept confusing me with one of his friends and then panicked when he thought he’d lost everyone. I reassured him that everyone around him was absolutely fine and that his mates were right next to him and that I was his friend too and we were about to have the privilege of seeing one of the biggest and best bands in the world perform live on one of the most spectacular stages in live music. How could we not be alright?
The hype behind tonights performance was that not only was it 20 since the band first headlined. On that night Thom Yorke recalls that the technical difficulties during the set near enough cause him to storm off the stage. As he did Ed O’Brien stopped him and said ‘if you walk off now you’ll regret it for the rest of your life’ Thom stayed and the band became stuff of legends with one of the most infamous sets in the festivals history. It was also 20 years since the release of their seminal Ok Computer record, which to be honest aint my favorite Radiohead record – The Bends, In Rainbows and Amnesiac and Kid A still sit on top of it for me. Regardless the band had marked the anniversary with a remastered re release and an extended performance at Glastonbury. It was quite clear what tracks would feature heavily in the set.
Opening with Daydreaming in the unusual headline slot setting of dusk it was a solemn start to an epic 27 song set. I’d timed the consumption of my E to perfection and was very much up and rolling 3 tracks in. My Thom Yorke dance moves were interrupted during Full Stop when a young fella in front of me requested that I stopped bumping into him. ‘You dont come to many of these things do you mate?’ I responded. ‘This is my 3rd year actually’ he replied indignantly. I was far too flowered up to give the cunt a dressing down so I rolled my eyes, spat out a laugh and gurned at him. The elders often say how Glastonbury has long since lost its edge and that it no longer represents counter culture. I could only imagine this spastic snowflake attending the festival back in 1997 where his safe space attitude would have gotten him mugged, spiked and dismembered by a group of blood thirsty scousers on the then dangerous and darkened rail way track. However from experience this is more of a Radiohead audience thing rather then a contemporary Glastonbury clientele thing. I remember seeing the band in Victoria park in 2008 and watching a geezer take umbridge with a fella in front of him for having the nerve to spark up a joint. I can fully accept that Radiohead’s music attracts the kind of crowd that someone would label ‘autistic’ and by that I simply mean someone who’s really annoying, with a stupid hobby they like to talk about a lot, a sense of entitlement to their needs and who’s mother thinks they’re special… Not someone who is actually on the spectrum as it were… What say to these people is ‘welcome to rock n roll mate’ You stand near the front of a headline act you’re going to get pushed around. It’s how it works, you dont like it stand at the back. The dozen people around you shouldn’t have to suffer their pleasure for your personal comfort alone you selfish cunt.
The set rolled on with a nice balance of Ok Computer hits and latter hits. I felt like I was worshipping at a Baptist service with my arms spread to my waist and my eyes closed singing along to the back catalogue of prog rock hymns. They dropped Let Down and I asked Sylvia if I could hold her hand throughout, she consented and together we almost cried along to one of the most self deprecating songs ever written. The set mimicked the festivals vibe of being noticeably politically charged; climate change tracks such as There There and 2+2=5 being delivered with particular vitriol. A chant of ‘Oh Jeremy Corbyn’ was sung when Thom passed comment on useless politicians. It was a chorus that was to be sung several times throughout the weekend. He appeared to dedicate Nude to Theresa May after requesting that she ‘shut the door when she leaves’ and during No Surprises the lyrics ‘Bring down the government, they don’t speak for us’ ignited a triumphant roar from the crowd. There was an absolutely devistating performance of ‘Pyramid Song’ a track thats apparently meant to be one of those impossible to imitate live things. Either way it sounded incredible. Once the song had finished an excited bird next to me turned to me and said ‘who said they’d do this? It was you wasn’t it?’… I cant remember saying anything to her but she seemed please so I took the credit. They had also lifted the ban on the live performance of Fake Plastic Trees, a track they refused to play out since the former prime minister David Cameron said in an interview that it was his favourite Radiohead track and that one time he asked them to play it live for him and they did. The band made a statement that such a scenario never played out and then refused to ever play it live again. It was at one point my favorite record of theirs so I was more then chuffed to hear it in all its epic live glory. There was a surprise performance of Creep, which I never really rated as a tune to be honest but it was received well and audience participation really carried it. But the biggest surprise of the night was the re worked live version of Lotus Flower. Probably the phatest rendition of a melancholic single I’ve ever heard being performed live from any band ever. Then of course they played out on Karma Police and the chorus of ‘for a minute there I lost myself’ was sung into the night long after even Thom played one last acoustic rift to see the band off into the night. An abolsute perfect way to walk off from a mind blowing set. The best I have ever seen them perform by far and up there with one of my favourite Glastonbury moments… I just wish my friends were there to watch it with me.
I waited for the crowd to disperse and said goodbye and thank you to my new Dutch friends as well as this young lad in a Wolves jersey who did lots of jumping around with me. I circled the front of the Pyramid Stage reciting the chorus of Karma Police, then made my way back to base camp to rally the troops for a night on the tiles…
Along the way I stopped off at the Samaritans tent to finally give them the donation I owed them from years before. The lady who I spoke too was so grateful. I told her the story of how back in 2013 I was coming up hard on a pill and out of nowhere a girl came and took me by the hand, sat me down, gave me some water and just spoke to me. Then when I was ready to leave pointed me in the right direction. I didn’t realise it was the Samaritans til the next day and always said I’d slip the a little something next time I remembered. ‘You really dont have to’ said the womans manager. But I insisted and they said I could come back to talk at anytime I liked. As I walked away I got inspired for another idea. A radio play about a guy K-holing in his tent at a festival, as he questions his life, the universe and his surroundings he over hears a domestic drama coming from the campsite next to him and using his new found wisdom from his psychedelic experience, in the aftermath he talks down the person in the tent next to him from doing something very stupid…. Thats my initial idea anyway. If you decide you want to steal my idea and go ahead and make it yourself please let me know when you finished it so I can listen and see how it panned out.
I zipped open the tent to a cheer from my friends. Lines were being racked and spliffs being rolled as I entered our camp cotch. Then the bottle of GHB was handed round and I watched as Dean knocked back an entire caps worth then minutes later collapse flat on his back. Sarah then flipped him over into the recovery position. A classic case of the Heeby Geebies which was soon to floor Dave also. I opted for the ecstasy dose of just a few mil not that I needed it and Petch got to work racking up lines of Ketamine & MDMA cocktail. As he did the zip on the tent went up and a young man came stumbling in following over in the corner. I’ve now reached the point of being anti social enough to treat anyone who stumbles into my place of camp wasted with complete contempt until they feel unwelcome and leave, in this instance I was far too loved up and sociable to act in such a manner and as it turned out the young lad who stumbled in turned out to be a really lovely fella.
In his early 20’s from Manchester, studying a masters in material science, he was most excited to see The Foo Fighters who were his favorite band to which I reassured him would be the bollocks on a stage like that. Petch racked our guest up a line and off we went to paint the town red. He then revealed to us that he was actually camped far, far away near The Other stage so it was just a matter of good fortune that he was to stumble into a tent full of new friends. Over the course of the evening Petch and I loaded him up with beers and gear and chatted away to him taking him to the Glade ‘I really want to go stages like Glade but none of my friends are up for it. What kind of stuff do they play here?’ He sounded as adorable as that statement looks on paper. Unfortunately shortly after arriving at Glade a chap took an interest in me and sparked up conversation. Posh fella who worked in pharmaceuticals who was looking forward to seeing Ed Sheeran. He was blown away by the prospect of my cycling to the festival and his friend that he got over to hear the fact dismissed my claim. ‘up to you whether you believe me or not’ I replied. We chatted for a while then shook hands and he wondered off with his mates. I turned round and the others had gone so once again I was lone wolf for the rest of the evening.
What I quite enjoyed about those two encounters was that I got chatting to 2 people I’d otherwise never usually chat to in a friendly capacity, if I ever was to meet them at all. Whenever I’ve told certain friends about the festival they’ll usually snort that ‘aint it just full of cunts who are there to see Coldplay/Ed Sheeran/whatever gay headliner they’ve booked?’ and my response to that is ‘yea it is kind of. But it dont mean these people aint nice people who are worth talking to or even making friends with. Thats the point of festivals after all right? To meet new people from different walks of life with different opinions? It’s how we learn and come together as a community. Glastonbury is 175,000 capacity. Yea sure there are going to be a few dicks there and maybe a few wankers who’ll do your head in but I’ve always been surprised considering the population of the place just how totally sound every cunt is. Just because a festival aint inhabited by cunts with dreadlocks and a ket habit on their 3rd attempt of the 2nd year of a philosophy course who has a semi decent knowledge of jungle music dont mean they aint worth getting to know and just because a lot of the people there don’t own a strap on or have a clit piercing dont mean that they aint worth meeting and partying with. These are the kind of people that teach you shit you didn’t know about life.
I was a bit too wasted for my stroll on Friday night. I kept wondering around lost wondering where all these scousers had come from… ‘Has there always been this many?’ I made my way towards the summit of Strummerville. Stopped for a few minutes, questioned what I was doing then carried on. I got there and lay down for 5 minutes, then decided I might as well go to bed. On the way back I chatted to a couple of coppers taking in the impressive view ‘You’ve had worse shifts?’ I asked ‘Yea this is a piece of piss’ the copper replied. ‘Well I as long as I don’t get mugged, raped, murdered or attacked by a terrorist then my taxes are paying for the right thing’ I added. ‘Yea this ones pretty easy…. It’s just all the scousers!’ ‘YEA! They’re everywhere init!’ I agreed in excitement.
The following morning I awoke to the familiar feeling of an incoming cataclysmic hangover. After a walk with Dean to watch him eat breakfast – lifting my sprits with how last night after awaking from his date rape induced coma he stumbled to the to the toilets, was sick all up the path and fell over and cut his hand, yet despite all this still managed to take some photo’s with his camera. Then dave gave me a carbs supplement and then I managed to down a reassuringly expensive smoothy and it was danger averted. I didn’t have many plans for the early afternoon. But there was a talk on mansplaning and misogyny in the Green Fields that perked my interest and Sarah had agreed to pop along for the ride. So off we went to get woke.
What I’ve come to notice about these talks and panels is that they are mainly forums for the guests to plug whatever it is they’re currently working on. Now don’t get me the wrong the talk itself was insightful, balanced and friendly with some very worthy additions from the audience but it was more the work of the panel itself I was interested. It was chaired by an author who’s name escapes me, one of the only female political cartoonists working at the moment. One of the executives of the Green party and a bird who runs an organisation called ‘Safe gigs for women’ who promote and educate for gigs to be safer environments for women… hence the name. I found her cause to be the most interesting as getting molested in rowdy crowds and mosh pits must be pretty common place for birds. I know from my own experience as 14/15 year old boy who first started attending indie rock gigs at the Brixton academy on an almost weekly basis that one of the most exciting things next to seeing one of your favourite bands live and the energy of the live environment was being able to touch birds arses and get away with it in mosh pits. This was because I was never educated otherwise and obviously with age I realised that this aint the way to play the game. I guess now if I want to be the big dicked swinging woke alpha that I say I am I should probably make it my duty to educate these lads whenever I see them behaving in such a way at a gig? Just I thought I spose.
We left the end of the talk and hit the Brothers bar via the West Holts stage and caught the last 15 minutes or so of Thundercat playing the absolute shit out of a bass guitar. I’d really like to catch Thundercat live properly one day. His soulful voice and freak out groovy tunes are very pleasing to the ear… Inspired I dropped a tab of acid, then realised it was approaching 16:00 and Labour leader Jeremy Corbyn was due a speech on the Pyramid stage…
We arrived to catch Craig David well into the swing of his career revival, coming to the end of his set with early noughties chart topper ‘fill me’… a remixed version just to put off all of us trying to remember the words. One thing that was evident though was that this Corbyn speech was popular! I had never experienced a bottle neck like it to get into the Pyramid stage, it almost made me think that such a situation could easily go wrong at any moment. After a good 25 minutes of shoulder to shoulder action with thousands of people the satisfied looking Craig David fans started to clear, my trip started to kick in and we managed to find ourselves a clear spot on the hill. After a few minutes the clip of E.P Thompson rousing speech to a packed Pyramid stage in the 1980’s was played on the big screens, then the big man Michael Eavis came to stage to welcome Corb’s to an absolute rapturous applause and chants of his name to the beat of 7 Nation Army. Couldn’t help but think that just a year previous the geezer had to cancel his appearance on Leftfield as he was given the vote of no confidence on Brexit. Murmurs from camps back then were that he was finished, just 12 months later he was stood infront of what I’d guess was at least 60,000 people giving a speech on the importance of festival mentality in our society and reading exerts of his favourite poetry and then leaving to a crowd that was littered with Corbyn flags and an entire festival where stalls were selling shirts with his name on and nearly every other cunt you passed looked like they were wearing a shirt with the face of the man who in all likleness will probably be the prime minister in the next couple of years…. What a difference a year makes. The whole spectacle got me so emotional that I started crying, then I realised I was properly tripping by this point.
We left the Pyramid stage to Run Da Jewels taking the stage to an invigorated audience. We left to refill our drinks then watch a bit of Liam Gallagher from afar just to have a sing along to some Oasis tracks. Along the way we stopped opposite the Glade stage where Dave just happened to be walking in our direction. We found Petch and Dean in amongst the crowd dancing to Timo Mass – very German techno DJ. Watching some of Glastonbury’s finest odd balls crack their finest afternoon moves, most notably a tall wirey fella who knew all the words and beats to Pump up the Volume.
Then it was off to West Holts again for Toots and Maytals, here we also managed to find Ian and Jenny again. Unfortunately Toots had canceled and up next was Australian samplists The Avalanches. I like many of you listeners am a huge fan of the seminal record Since I left You and around the same time last year the lads came out of a seemingly endless hiatus and went back on tour and released a new record. A load of us were thrilled by this news and we had a great time watching their DJ set at Oval Space, basking in the carnival atmosphere despite some technical difficulties and some piss poor mixing. The follow up record however was a disappointment, but then it always was going to be. It’s not that I found it in anyway bad it was just very limited in absolute bangers unlike its predecessor. Regardless this was their first time playing the festival and the stage was absolutely rammed for a rare set from pioneers of their genre. So it was more of a shame that the set was plagued by some of the worst sound difficulties I think I’ve ever heard. It weren’t just a matter of it being a bit too quiet, levels seemed to be flying all over the place, fading in and out, lowering and then immediately peaking. The set list weren’t bad and the AV in the background was really funky and the live concept did work quite well. One of the few highlights of set was a warped clip (or at least it appeared warped, I was on my 2nd tab of acid by this point) of Nina Simone performing the chorus of Dont Let Me Be Misunderstood then dropping straight into a version of Frontier Psychiatrist that no one in the crowd could really hear. The closing number of the absolute marvel of a tune that Since I left you did get the crowd bouncing and humming along but over all I felt bad for the band and for those who’d probably been waiting years to see them… I also recommended the set to my Dutch friends I met at Radiohead saying it probably be one of the most danceable sets they see all weekend, I hope they missed it.
As the crowd dispersed the compare took to the stage and announced that next up was Solange, followed by The Jacksons, to which I heard Deans voice chime in behind me ‘The Jacksons? As in ‘The Jacksons’? The Jacksons?’ to which got me thinking that such a band would be the perfect Saturday night option. Petch had been super excited to see Sasha and Digweed perform b2b on the Glade stage and I was well up for watching Petch being super excited for a headline slot for once but a night of Motwown and RnB with Dean was too good an offer to turn down, we would have caught the last hour of Sasha and Digweeds set anyways. So off we all popped back to base camp and hoovered up lines big enough to fuel a Saturday night and we were on our ways!
We pitched ourselves nicely on the front left of the stage, chomping on water melon and nursing fresh ciders we decided to take a pew. As we were sitting down I clocked the lad in front of me using the camera on his phone as a mirror so as to tart his hair up, it took all my might not to lean into the frame and make the international sign for cock sucker but I managed to resist. There’s times to be tolerant and theres times to be a prick and at Glastonbury it’s always advisable to be the former rather then the latter. If that chap wanted to look nice for the Jackson brothers then thats totally cool, he’s enjoying himself, why should I give a fuck? Same goes for the ladies I was chatting too moments before the set started. They must have been in the latter part of their 40’s, one of whom was doing the whole VIP treatment of getting ferried to and from the festival from a BnB whilst her friend was in the glamping area at the top of the hill, said they couldn’t do it any other way. Festival purists will mock such attitude saying it sanitises the experience, but if such a service exists so that nice women like that can come and enjoy something as great as Glastonbury then let it be so. The festival is supposed to be for everyone.
The Jacksons were the fucking bollocks! A set filled with all their hits plus a few MJ ones too such as Got to Be Startin’ Something and the absolute banger that is Rock With You. Stand out tracks included Gimme One More Chance – which in my mind is one of the greatest bangers ever written and a tear jerking rendition of I’ll be There. Then there was even a point where Tito came up to mic thanked us all for supporting the Jacksons then announced he was going to be performing a couple of tracks from his new solo album ‘time to hit the toilets’ I thought allowed. But no, Tito turned out to be a total bad boy and delivered a fantastically soulful RnB number. There was slight technical difficulties with the vocals just not quite being loud enough but the wonderfuly mixed crowd of young and old carried every single track and danced to every single beat beauitfully and the lads themselves who must be in their 60’s by now were all dancing and spinning in sync all over the stage. There was a tribute to their late brother/most talented man that ever lived and that made me reminisce back to 2009 when news broke that he died and the entire festival just turned into people saying ‘Michael Jacksons dead’ When I woke up the next morning already someone was wearing a ‘Jackson 4’ shirt. I didn’t realise it but 8 years later I was wishing I now owned that shirt as I watched the finest examples of child abuse perform a blinding Saturday night headline slot.
A quick an easy walk to the Glade stage was made all the more pleasant by walking straight into the others. Sasha and Digweed sounded great on the hench Funktion 1 soundsytem on the Glade and the packed crowd was bouncing away. When they’d finished up we headed back to base camp for a few balloons and a few slug lines of Ketcoctail and made our way hand in hand to Arcadia where we all immediately lost each other. I paired up with Dave who was in depths of a deep, deep K hole. We watched Nosia blare out on the giant flame shooting spider and I suddenly remembered that earlier in the day Petch had handed me about a dozen or so tabs of acid on the instruction that I do what I want with them. Saturday also happened to mark the 10th anniversary of my first experience with LSD, so I thought it be only fitting I’d hand out free samples of the finest sunshine to the youth of the festival…
‘How many ya’ll like LSD’ I’d ask everyone that passed in a faux southern American accent. The majority of people were very welcoming. Giving me kisses and hugs and then getting confused when I refused any money… There was the odd one or two who’d look at me like I’d just called them a cunt when I asked them if they’d like a tab. There was a point where I suddenly came over all parched and could only ask for water, so Dave very kindly went to bar only to return with a pint of lager. When we did eventually find someone who could give me a swig from their bottle I offered them a trip in return and they bashfully refused. Later that night as the sun was rising I made my way to the stone circle in a further attempt to pollute the youth, although I think I just ended up confusing more people when they asked me how much they owed me when I put the paper in their hand and my response was words to effect of ‘Money is a construct that has no use to me’ I got rid of all my tabs then lay down at the top of the hill as the sky turned from red to blue. I took great comfort in a bucket hat wearing lad lying flat on his back enjoying a huge joint he’d rolled himself. The sight of that smokey hillside to the soundtrack of beating drums never ceases to appear biblical every single time I visit.
Again with only a few hours sleep I managed to wake feeling fresh and without comedown or hangover. We all laughed about our adventures the night before, how we’d all got fucked and lost each other at Arcadia, how I missioned off into the dawn to preach the gospel. I was ready for a relaxing Sunday, there weren’t much I really wanted to see on so thought I’d devote a chunk of my time to the circus and theatre fields. Always a wonderful place to go and relax. I loaded up on cans of K cider and off the two of us trotted via Cassete Boy and DJ Rubbish on the Glade where Dave then gave me another swig of GHB. After sticking our heads in at a mutual friends cinema tent, I left Dave to go watch a pretty good fringe performance in the theatre field – A one man performance from an Anglo Indian geezer about labels, identity, nationalism to the back drop of his own life story and heritage – I was very much engage despite rushing up a bit on the wheel cleaner. Always a good way to pass the afternoon in those fields. I don’t think people really appreciate how good the performances can be on there.
I met back up with Petch and Dave down by the West Holts, the weather had picked up quite nicely so I replenished my cider, got a delicious Goa fish curry and waited for the rest of the gang whilst listening to Oumou Sangare in the background. Petch then pointed out to me that he spotted that Fakear was playing in the on the Gully stage. Just a year previous Petch, me and Deirdre had tried and almost failed to see Fakear at Dour, after I’d spent the entire lead up convincing the two of them that he was the artist to see that weekend. A superb surprise to a dense lineup that I never bothered reading. Fair play to Petch for spotting it and not making it something I’d read back on the following week thinking ‘Shit I really wish I would have seen that’ That was our Sunday nights sorted at least. We made our plans to meet back at bass camp and I took one more swig of GHB for the road. On my way out I nodded some appreciation probably the hottest bird I saw all weekend. A larger number in a see through blouse laying on her back with the most incredible belly. ‘God your sexy…’ I said to her as I walked passed. She laughed, blushed and thanked me… That was pretty much the only interaction I had with any birds over the weekend.
Since it was such a fine afternoon I thought I’d admire the view and listen to some music up at the Strummerville stage, see if I could make some new friends in the proccess. I stocked up on ale and water at the bar and took a seat next to a fellow south Londoner on one of the sofa’s whilst listening to a pretty sweet sounding guitar band on stage. I dunno if it was a mix of the sun, the heat from the fire, the heavy weekend or infact the Heeby Geeby’s from a day of swigging industrial strength wheel cleaner but my eyes couldnt stay open and my head became heavy. My breathing became laboured and I broke out into a sweat. I woke a couple of times to an older geezer from Manchester rubbing my head ‘You alright son?’ and then to the sound of ‘ooo he has gone a bit yellow’ both times I was able to give the thumbs up – the international signal of ‘I’m alright lads’ I dunno how much time had passed when I felt fit enough to get walking again but it was about time we all met at bass camp again.
Despite my relaxed and possibly date raped daze of an afternoon I was on the ropes. I managed to swallow a heafty borrito , the usual antidote to any festival fatigue but still felt pretty drained. Earlier in the afternoon I found the other half of the pill Id taken on friday night in my bum bag. I made the executive decision to roll the dice and take it. It’d either completely wipe me out or I’d find some party left in me. We watched Afro-Celt Soundsytem on the Glade stage as the sun started to set, then as it approached 22:00 me, Petch and Dean made our way to the Dance Village – which I think has actually been called something different for a few years now but I dunno. By the time Fakear started the pill was kicking in and then I truly felt on the ropes. I had to be seated for the majority of the set but I didn’t mind as Fakears lush beats, a fusion of hip-hop, dub step and north African samples, can be enjoyed sitting down. Despite having to compete with ever Sunday night headliner on every other main stage he drew a pretty good crowd with a set full of his own tracks. There was a guy next to me who walked into the arena and asked the fella next to him who was playing, the guy responded ‘I dunno I just walked past and it sounded great so I thought I’d come in’ ‘Yea me too’ the other bloke said. After an hour he finished up and we headed back to bass camp to rally for one last hurrah. I was feeling like I was in the 11th round by this point. My mind was a murky puddle of chemicals floating around a fried serotonin gland. One more weapon left in the arsenal to get myself back on form. Heisenberg.
We spent our final hours in the tent talking bollocks and sniffing the last of any drugs we had. Me and Petch sparked up the pipe and sure enough within minutes I found another wind. Apocalypse Now was starting at 2am so we had a couple of hours to kill. Dave lead to thanks to fellow comrades for a great weekend. Shaking us each by the hand for another game well played before offering us the last of the nos canisters to toast the festival. This year had been great for a lot of reasons and one of those was the crew we’d brought along. We had each others backs at all times, whether it was offering to hold the other persons beer whilst they went for a shit, then offering them hand sanitizer when they came back, or sticking someone on their side when they’d passed out – you know? Gay shit that potentially saves your life. All drugs we had were shared evenly and if anyone was short on cash the other could spot them. Banter and conversation was strong all weekend with topics ranging from politics, feminism, history and pop culture and each respective persons comedic form was top of their game. I dunno how long we’re thinking of keeping this fesitval malarkey up but I’m happy to carry it on with those cunts for at least a few years longer.
So as Sarah went to bed and Dean and Dave hit the naughty corner for one last dance Petch and I stocked up on lighters and other supplies and made our way to Cinemageddon for Apocalypse Now. For a 20 quid deposit you’re given some wireless headphones, booking in advance for a vehicle is advised as when we arrived they were all booked out but were advised to have a look around to see if any emptied out during the film. We did exactly this and as we made ourselves comfortable and huffed away on our pipe watching Francis Ford Copella’s nightmarish masterpiece of a war drama, I couldn’t help that think this was a perfect way to send off a festival of such a spectacular caliber…. ‘The horror….’
The following morning we each battled our own variety of Xanax confusion, paranoia and exhaustion. Despite this we got our camp packed away quickly and I set off before Dave at about midday. Noting that on the way out the campsite looked a lot cleaner this year then that of previous festivals. I cant speak for the whole sight but it looked like people were actually taking their shit with them. The weather was perfect for a cycle home and I met The Boy at his boat in Newbury for about 6pm. We went to the pub and he bought me ale and a steak dinner, then offered me a bath and bed back at his place. I was definitely sun burnt, exhausted and dehydrated but all I could really feel was the warm after glow of an absolute high grade festival.
I’ve mentioned them several times before but I have my top 3 festival experiences of all time – Bangface Weekender 2008, Glastonbury 2009 and BOOM 2014. They each have their place in the hall of fame for different and similar reasons, the over lining one being that showed me the true potential of what a festival experience can achieve incidentally they are also the 3 festivals that I’ll try to never miss again for as long as I can. I’m never expecting lightning to strike twice and for me to ever experience a festival like those elite 3 ever again but I will say that Glastonbury 2017 came mighty, mighty close. Here’s a few reasons….
1. No expectations
Like I mentioned earlier I went into Glastonbury this year feeling anxious and not arsed. On first inspection of the lineup I thought it was a load of bollocks and where as usually in the weeks leading up to the event I’d be losing sleep with excitement and getting things planned and saving my money this time round I was seeing planning as a choir and was stressing about getting all my shit together and having no money and not really enough time off work. Things were only going to get better with a mind set like this…
2. My comrades
I dont want to suck these guys dicks too much because I already have a few times already in this post. But yea, I couldn’t have hoped to spend it with a more professional crew of festival goers. It was a shame that The Boy couldn’t get his work gig again this year which kept a few people out but a smaller crew is always nice. Sarah, Dave and Petch who are of course very close and dear friends of mine, but also Dean who is a top bloke who is great to sesh, party and generally hang with and special shout out to Ian and Jenny and little baby Miya, who I’d never really met properly before but it was great to have a family along for the ride. Miya will be too young to remember her first Glastonbury experience in the years to come but it was wonderful to see her eyes light up to all the sites of the place and to see both her parents totally own it when it comes to bringing a baby to a festival.
3. The weather
Goes with out saying really. In the past I’ve usually been quite tolerant of the mud. The biblical proportions of it can add to the atmosphere, what does piss me off though is when its stupid muddy and still miserable around me. This year the weather was pretty much perfect. A blast of heat on the Wednesday and then a perfect 24 degrees for the rest of the weekend. Sure it was a bit over cast and bordering on miserable on some afternoons but I think there was only 1 slight shower of drizzle on the Friday night and that makes the world of difference.
4. There was generally just something in the air
It’s been a long time now since the complaints of ‘it’s not the festival it used to be’ are made when speaking to people. I think a new generation has attended the festival since then. I’ve been going 10 years and I cant think of any explicit difference of change in the atmosphere – aside from probably this year where it did feel like the festival had gone back to its political routes of the 80’s and early 90’s when it was officially known as the Glastonbury CND Festival. Everything and everyone felt so woke. Shangri-la being made totally out of recycled rubbish, the amount of artists slagging off the current regime with so much venom, Corbyn bringing in the largest crowd of the weekend to the Pyramid stage, the amount of propaganda and t-shirts with his face on it worn by every other cunt over the weekend, the frequent chants of his name. The programme filled with talks from climate change scientists and work shops and debates on feminism. I think even Billy Bragg said that by the Sunday he had lost his voice, mostly due to talking to engaged and invigorated young people about politics all weekend. Even amongst our crew conversations would range from discussions of feminism, cultural appropriation and sexism… I mean obviously we weren’t totally PC all the time but it was a change to the usual shit we bleat on about. This year was probably the most politically charged festival I’ve ever attended. The old regime was on its way out and something new and positive was about to happen. For the first time in my life I actually felt like I was riding on the wave of change.
In this time of post referendum Britain it’s hard to show an ounce of nationalism towards anything British without being branded a racist, xenophobic, imperialist. But I think the Glastonbury festival is probably our last beacon of national pride because it celebrates what there is to be proud of being British. I’ll quote that EP Thompson speech that was played before Corbyn came out on the Saturday afternoon because it pretty much sums it up… ‘This has not only been a nation of money makers and imperliastst. It’s been a nation of inventors and of writers. Of theatre, poets and muscians. An alternative nation! And it is this alternative nation that I can see in front of me now’…
Fuck BBC coverage – your words immerse. Don’t stop.