I continued to try to link up with my friend sending text on the move while in search of Ray Davis. I wonder how Terry and Julie managed to meet up at Waterloo Station without the aid of mobile text messaging? with more success than me it seems!
I walked, my stick marking my stride towards the Acoustic stage with purpose, RD had started at 10.30 and it was now nearly 11.30 and I was beginning to wish I hadn't hung out so long with Neil.... I pass across the right turn which is the route back down to Jazz Work making note to self as I intend to head down that way later in search of Blockheads at Avalon.
A little further on I take a left turn just past the kidz zone and see the warm light spilling out from the Acoustic Tent and like a moth I gravitate towards it. The familiar Kinks sound speeds my pace. The whole tent is heaving and alive as the audience have all become backing vocalists for the band, and I want to join in.
Ray is as one with the audience and is enjoying it as much as they are, he has aged a little but is still slender and is instantly recognisable with his mouth, which has always reminded me of the joker from Batman, delivering one gem after another..Lola la la la la lola... it is magical
Ray tells us how early record execs proclaimed the music "not hit material" and "the lead singer too ugly" for either to be a success, as he launches into "You Really Got Me" ..well, he surely did get them and for that matter me and everybody else here too.. we couldn't get enough of him, he obligingly gave us about 6 encores and his generosity was rewarded with us all singing in unison with him followed by energetic and heart felt applause.
As I head back down the hill with my fellow vocalists I am aware that I am a little on the drag for my next musical appointment however, in what I now recognise as true Glastonbury etiquette, there is not a hint of a push or a shove as we all head towards the narrowing gate way which will lead us back onto the dusty (dusty might be a bit of poetic licence but the mud had begun to dry a little)high road again.
I had arranged with the boys to meet them again at our designated meeting place, the familiar Brothers Bar at 1am for our hike back to the yellow car park and the drive to mattress heaven. But prior to that I was keen to catch the Blockheads for a trip down memory lane to the time, back in the day, when I spent a year touring with them and my then partner, a psychotic (or as I described him at the time, shy) guitarist or as he described himself, an ex semi-named guitarist from Canvey island, as he spent a year recording and tour with them and Mr Dury.
These plans however were foreshortened by a role reversal situation with my son, who text me to say they were tired and wanted to go back to the B&B. Despite my trying to convince him that he really did want to stay another hour, there is no arguing with a tired teenager and so we headed off! me leaning on, instead of hitting, my rhythm stick.
Once again we reached the Jag feeling as though we had crossed the Sahara and reached a green oasis, our now wellie into the boot routine completed, we crawled on to the welcoming leather. Junior curled up immediately on the back seat and my new navigator politely tried to keep his eyes open in the co pilots spot up front.
Finally we tiptoed in stocking feet up the stairs of our lodgings, no plans for an early breakfast, I gratefully crawled into my single bed. As I lay down my phone was bombarded with delivery messages as all of my text to my friend had obviously just arrived, I hoped she wasn't at 1.30am trying to follow my SMS ginger bread crumbs around the site? The oil painted pair on the wall stared down at me again, the gruesome twosome! "I'm sorry" I said "but I'm afraid I'm am going to have to remove you till the morning, nothing personal"..
End of Part 7
Saturday, 1 August 2009
Wednesday, 29 July 2009
Part 6 - Drawn to the Pyramid
As I wondered through the crowd which ebbed and flowed around me, the sun began to set we moved magnetically towards the Pyramid like ancient Egyptian sun worshipers. On the way the warm air blew softly around my face and I felt relaxed and happy to be exactly were I was, I watched the people around me who were dressed as if they had raided a massive dressing up box in anything and everything wigs, hats, angel wings, magicians capes, tutus and two men literally covered from head to foot in mud. They swigged from beer cans and large paper cups; every now and then a bin over flowing with cups and cans doubled in size and took on the form or an abstract sculpture!
As if all following a silent siren only audible to them (and maybe dogs if they had been allowed in), the crowd continued to gravitate towards the space in front of the stage where Mr Young will soon appear. Again the extraordinary silent and seamless organisation behind the scenes delivers this and every show I see on time. Where I am going to park my self? I find myself in front of a platform which has been erected for disabled festival goers as they sit on chairs or in their wheel chairs I stand in front of it leaning gratefully against it with other Glasto comrades.
The couple next to me look as if they are in their 60’s and may have been there since Marc Bolan played the first festival here in the 70’s ( the chart topping Kinks were due to play but had pulled out, so Michael Easton had taken a chance on a new group T-Rex).
He (the man next to me not Michael Easton) had his video camera ready perched on top of some sort of post allowing it to peek above all the heads as Neil shuffles onto the stage with his band.
He appears in front of us both as a small figure in the distance and a much larger than life one on the large screens either side of the stage, familiar tunes, unique voice and an aging appearance, he and the bands playing is tight and musically very competent, I appreciate the talent and the musicianship but after 45 minutes disappointed that there has been no sign of a cowgirl in the sand I start to move off and spend a little time next to an ice-cream van, who’s driver has a birds eye view on the stage. His young assistant is friendly and happy to share his Glastonbury story of hard work, long days and happy camping.
I have been torn between staying with NY and moving off to seek out my old friend the acoustic stage and Ray Davis. Every since I arrived back at the yellow car park earlier I have been receiving on an off text from my friend who has arrived earlier than expected.
I had tried to meet up with her at the pyramid, texting my coordinates first from in front of the platform then by the ice-cream van.
End of part 6
As if all following a silent siren only audible to them (and maybe dogs if they had been allowed in), the crowd continued to gravitate towards the space in front of the stage where Mr Young will soon appear. Again the extraordinary silent and seamless organisation behind the scenes delivers this and every show I see on time. Where I am going to park my self? I find myself in front of a platform which has been erected for disabled festival goers as they sit on chairs or in their wheel chairs I stand in front of it leaning gratefully against it with other Glasto comrades.
The couple next to me look as if they are in their 60’s and may have been there since Marc Bolan played the first festival here in the 70’s ( the chart topping Kinks were due to play but had pulled out, so Michael Easton had taken a chance on a new group T-Rex).
He (the man next to me not Michael Easton) had his video camera ready perched on top of some sort of post allowing it to peek above all the heads as Neil shuffles onto the stage with his band.
He appears in front of us both as a small figure in the distance and a much larger than life one on the large screens either side of the stage, familiar tunes, unique voice and an aging appearance, he and the bands playing is tight and musically very competent, I appreciate the talent and the musicianship but after 45 minutes disappointed that there has been no sign of a cowgirl in the sand I start to move off and spend a little time next to an ice-cream van, who’s driver has a birds eye view on the stage. His young assistant is friendly and happy to share his Glastonbury story of hard work, long days and happy camping.
I have been torn between staying with NY and moving off to seek out my old friend the acoustic stage and Ray Davis. Every since I arrived back at the yellow car park earlier I have been receiving on an off text from my friend who has arrived earlier than expected.
I had tried to meet up with her at the pyramid, texting my coordinates first from in front of the platform then by the ice-cream van.
End of part 6
Wednesday, 22 July 2009
Glastonbury Part 5 - Not a stick in the mud
On our return from a well earned Siesta having managed to get loss yet again between Wells and Pilton, more dopey navigating from the bright young things..lots of moaning from my offspring in the back seat (the friend now travels in the front to avoid a repeat of the throwing up incident) that because we got lost, which of course was deemed my fault as the only one in the car old enough to drive, that they were not going to get back in time for GaGa, "just as well there are several hundred other acts to see then"I retorted, which fell on unimpressed ears.. truth is I was a little disappointed to have missed the Specials too.. but without the much needed lie down I would have been probably unable to walk at all by now.
On our return to our designated car park, I have to add an aside here, top tip - arriving on Friday and coming and going from the festival over the next couple of days we experienced none of the nightmarish traffic jams that you so often hear of as most people arrive at the latest on Thursday and stay till Monday, anyway back to Friday evening and our eventual return to the yellow car park, of course its not actually yellow that is just part of the Glasto organisations strategic plan not to have everyone trying to enter the festival through one entrance, there are several different color coded entrances and car parks.
Although no longer badly affected by my previously troublesome back I still from time to time do feel pain in my legs to vary degrees if I drive or walk for too long, having done both to excess in the last 15 hours I had already experienced quite severe pain earlier in the day, despite my little break in the afternoon I was still a bit achy and as such I made the executive decision not to don the high wedged healed festival wellies again, instead I was going to go for the calf length, light blue sailing wellies purchased last year from Noa Noa, still not stand bog standard black (one has to keep up standards even in the mud girls) but they were flat. In addition, even though not that good for the ego, I decided it would be a good idea to take with me the walking stick that was still in the boot of the car from the limpy days of 2 years ago, the boot not often getting a clear out can have benefits.
So off we go again, we had only got a few yards when one of the High Viz champs asked if we would like a lift in the mini bus, "the mini bus, what mini bus?" had we missed a chance to be delivered to Jazz World earlier by bus? The mini bus we were being offered was for less able people and was run by Bristol Dial a Ride. The limp and the stick had identified me as a customer and I wasn't about to argue with that, the pride had already been battered by the need for the stick.. The boys were very happy to accompany me, we were not delivered to the heart of the festival but were taken to the disabled camp site from where it was not so far to walk into where the action was taking place.
This had been another example of the amazing organisation I began to realise went into the preparation of this extraordinary event. The D.a.R crew could not have been nicer and more helpful if they had given us each a piggy back. They were volunteers, we also heard tales on the bus from a wheel chaired passenger of the amazing camping field were disabled people with any number of different conditions camped not only comfortably but with a great sense of community and a little unlike some of the other camp sites a degree of space.
My admiration for every aspect of Glastonbury, its organisers and hosts, its volunteers, its facilities which included a medical centre as well as all the special facilities for the disabled, its performers and all those that had turned up in their thousands was growing by the minute, it wasn't be long before I was thinking that Gordon Brown and all the opposition parties could learn a thing or to from these people about true democracy and community.
With a growing warm glow and sense of belonging I glooped my way with the assistance of my trusty stick, which from time to time got stuck momentarily in the mud, towards the pyramid stage to await with my new found compatriots the much hyped Neil Young. The boys had headed off to catch any remaining GaGa and block party I think. We had arranged a rendezvous back at Brothers Bar at 1 am. This time I felt a lot more confident that the lads were safe wondering around this new town of Glasto.
End of part 5
On our return to our designated car park, I have to add an aside here, top tip - arriving on Friday and coming and going from the festival over the next couple of days we experienced none of the nightmarish traffic jams that you so often hear of as most people arrive at the latest on Thursday and stay till Monday, anyway back to Friday evening and our eventual return to the yellow car park, of course its not actually yellow that is just part of the Glasto organisations strategic plan not to have everyone trying to enter the festival through one entrance, there are several different color coded entrances and car parks.
Although no longer badly affected by my previously troublesome back I still from time to time do feel pain in my legs to vary degrees if I drive or walk for too long, having done both to excess in the last 15 hours I had already experienced quite severe pain earlier in the day, despite my little break in the afternoon I was still a bit achy and as such I made the executive decision not to don the high wedged healed festival wellies again, instead I was going to go for the calf length, light blue sailing wellies purchased last year from Noa Noa, still not stand bog standard black (one has to keep up standards even in the mud girls) but they were flat. In addition, even though not that good for the ego, I decided it would be a good idea to take with me the walking stick that was still in the boot of the car from the limpy days of 2 years ago, the boot not often getting a clear out can have benefits.
So off we go again, we had only got a few yards when one of the High Viz champs asked if we would like a lift in the mini bus, "the mini bus, what mini bus?" had we missed a chance to be delivered to Jazz World earlier by bus? The mini bus we were being offered was for less able people and was run by Bristol Dial a Ride. The limp and the stick had identified me as a customer and I wasn't about to argue with that, the pride had already been battered by the need for the stick.. The boys were very happy to accompany me, we were not delivered to the heart of the festival but were taken to the disabled camp site from where it was not so far to walk into where the action was taking place.
This had been another example of the amazing organisation I began to realise went into the preparation of this extraordinary event. The D.a.R crew could not have been nicer and more helpful if they had given us each a piggy back. They were volunteers, we also heard tales on the bus from a wheel chaired passenger of the amazing camping field were disabled people with any number of different conditions camped not only comfortably but with a great sense of community and a little unlike some of the other camp sites a degree of space.
My admiration for every aspect of Glastonbury, its organisers and hosts, its volunteers, its facilities which included a medical centre as well as all the special facilities for the disabled, its performers and all those that had turned up in their thousands was growing by the minute, it wasn't be long before I was thinking that Gordon Brown and all the opposition parties could learn a thing or to from these people about true democracy and community.
With a growing warm glow and sense of belonging I glooped my way with the assistance of my trusty stick, which from time to time got stuck momentarily in the mud, towards the pyramid stage to await with my new found compatriots the much hyped Neil Young. The boys had headed off to catch any remaining GaGa and block party I think. We had arranged a rendezvous back at Brothers Bar at 1 am. This time I felt a lot more confident that the lads were safe wondering around this new town of Glasto.
End of part 5
Monday, 20 July 2009
Glastonbury Part 4 - A ray of sunshine.....
On my slow pilgrimage towards Hugh the rain suddenly stopped and some piercing rays of sun cut through the dark grey clouds and shone down on me and my fellow festivites. I'm not sure if it was this sudden change in weather or a resignation that I was going to be here for the next two days so might as well make the most of it, or if perhaps, that the Glastonbury magic had started to rub off on me, but my head and my spirits began to rise.
It was with a bit more purpose that I navigated my way to the Acoustic stage which as it turns out is right next to the Kidz Field, as I past I glanced in and saw what looked like a child's wonderland, I was amazed at how many people had bought children from small babies upwards, and I thought I had been brave coming with the adolescent youths!
I wouldn't say that I had a skip in my step, it would be more accurate to say I was limping, although I had made a full recovery from spinal surgery undertaken 2 year previously following 2 slipped discs, which had left me virtually unable to walk, the 6 hour drive the night before and the relentless mud march had taken there toil. My heart and spirits however were lightening in symbiosis with the increasing sunshine.
On reaching my destination I found a quiet spot to park myself inside the tent to rest my legs and wait for Mr Cornwall to start his set. What a relief, as I sat and observed the comings and goings of those around me it occurred to me that in the few hours that I had been here, despite seeing many drinking all sorts of concoctions of various strengths and who knows what else, I had not witnesses even so much as a raised voice, an impatient shove or even a cross word from a stressed parent or beastly ear piercing screech from a young mouth as often endured on weekly trips to the supermarket.
I concluded that even though it was now Friday afternoon and the first revellers had arrived on Wednesday to set up their camps and the party had been kicked off by Annie Nightingale at an opening party at the Pussy Parlure on Thursday, that I was witnessing the calm before the storm and I was sure that by this evening my worst fears of mass drunken brawls at every turn would be realised.
Even so, right now I enjoyed the peace and began to feel relaxed and to forget about all the work I had left behind and how I was going cope with the drive home and if I remembered to cancel the milk and was Nelson ( my well named dog with the dodgy elbows) ok at home with Mandy who had kindly agreed to dog sit him and of course had the boys been kidnapped and subject to psychedelic or psychotic drug experiments.....
Hugh hit the stage and with a rather impressive large breasted women on guitar started to grind out his songs with his gravelly voice, as my friend had said she thought he was quite a hotty I snapped a couple of photos for her in her absence. I was I have to admit enjoying myself only problem now was I had insisted the boys come to meet me back at Brothers Bar at 4pm to test out their ability to turn up when they were supposed to....problem was now that I didn't want to go back to Jazz World I was having far to good a time here.. I rang the boys but failed to reach them so had to drag myself away..
When we met they too were feeling a bit of festival fatigue and we all agreed a siesta was the way to go.. as we set off on our long march back to the yellow car park through the now gluppy sticky mud, they told me tales of stalls that sold anything from herbal, speed and XTC, (which you had to be 18 to purchase) to hammocks and hats and showed me there purchases of funky orange glasses and Arabic scarves...
As we past back through the sheep dip area to receive back the missing part of our tickets to ensure our re-entry later, I observed a couple arrive with three children all wearing colourful jester type hats and funky clothes, a couple of the High Viz army ever helpful had carried there tents for them and as they sent them on their merry way wished them well for there wedding at Glasto! good heavens I thought, no doubt there will be someone delivering a baby here to somewhere??
We finally reached the car, I had spent the last few hundred yards being propped up by my son as my legs began to go in to ache overdrive... we all peeled off our wellies and shoved them in the boot of the car and collapsed into the soft leather seats...off to recharge... back for Neil Young for me and Lady GaGa for them later.. we had made it and were now beginning to get the hang of this Glasto thing.
End of part 4..
It was with a bit more purpose that I navigated my way to the Acoustic stage which as it turns out is right next to the Kidz Field, as I past I glanced in and saw what looked like a child's wonderland, I was amazed at how many people had bought children from small babies upwards, and I thought I had been brave coming with the adolescent youths!
I wouldn't say that I had a skip in my step, it would be more accurate to say I was limping, although I had made a full recovery from spinal surgery undertaken 2 year previously following 2 slipped discs, which had left me virtually unable to walk, the 6 hour drive the night before and the relentless mud march had taken there toil. My heart and spirits however were lightening in symbiosis with the increasing sunshine.
On reaching my destination I found a quiet spot to park myself inside the tent to rest my legs and wait for Mr Cornwall to start his set. What a relief, as I sat and observed the comings and goings of those around me it occurred to me that in the few hours that I had been here, despite seeing many drinking all sorts of concoctions of various strengths and who knows what else, I had not witnesses even so much as a raised voice, an impatient shove or even a cross word from a stressed parent or beastly ear piercing screech from a young mouth as often endured on weekly trips to the supermarket.
I concluded that even though it was now Friday afternoon and the first revellers had arrived on Wednesday to set up their camps and the party had been kicked off by Annie Nightingale at an opening party at the Pussy Parlure on Thursday, that I was witnessing the calm before the storm and I was sure that by this evening my worst fears of mass drunken brawls at every turn would be realised.
Even so, right now I enjoyed the peace and began to feel relaxed and to forget about all the work I had left behind and how I was going cope with the drive home and if I remembered to cancel the milk and was Nelson ( my well named dog with the dodgy elbows) ok at home with Mandy who had kindly agreed to dog sit him and of course had the boys been kidnapped and subject to psychedelic or psychotic drug experiments.....
Hugh hit the stage and with a rather impressive large breasted women on guitar started to grind out his songs with his gravelly voice, as my friend had said she thought he was quite a hotty I snapped a couple of photos for her in her absence. I was I have to admit enjoying myself only problem now was I had insisted the boys come to meet me back at Brothers Bar at 4pm to test out their ability to turn up when they were supposed to....problem was now that I didn't want to go back to Jazz World I was having far to good a time here.. I rang the boys but failed to reach them so had to drag myself away..
When we met they too were feeling a bit of festival fatigue and we all agreed a siesta was the way to go.. as we set off on our long march back to the yellow car park through the now gluppy sticky mud, they told me tales of stalls that sold anything from herbal, speed and XTC, (which you had to be 18 to purchase) to hammocks and hats and showed me there purchases of funky orange glasses and Arabic scarves...
As we past back through the sheep dip area to receive back the missing part of our tickets to ensure our re-entry later, I observed a couple arrive with three children all wearing colourful jester type hats and funky clothes, a couple of the High Viz army ever helpful had carried there tents for them and as they sent them on their merry way wished them well for there wedding at Glasto! good heavens I thought, no doubt there will be someone delivering a baby here to somewhere??
We finally reached the car, I had spent the last few hundred yards being propped up by my son as my legs began to go in to ache overdrive... we all peeled off our wellies and shoved them in the boot of the car and collapsed into the soft leather seats...off to recharge... back for Neil Young for me and Lady GaGa for them later.. we had made it and were now beginning to get the hang of this Glasto thing.
End of part 4..
Sunday, 19 July 2009
Galstonbury Part 3 - A twist in the Tale
The rain is pelting down assisted by its friend the wind directly into our faces, this adds an extra edge to our seeking out Jazz World whilst wading through though mud that I have never seen the like of before, again referring back to my favorite childhood book - we have become like Omper Loompers wading through Wonkas sea of chocolate. Panic begins to sets in that I may loose the teenagers who are stomping on ahead desperate to get to the Brothers Cider Bar in the hope that they may be able to sample the wares, Strawberry or Toffee-apple Cider..My progress may be somewhat thwarted by my festival wellingtons, purchased by chance a few weeks before, in a "you never know when you might need a pair of wedged healed, calf length black wellingtons adorned with silver stars and finished off with a pink ribbon round the top I better buy them now" moment.
Keeping my eyes trained on the boys focusing on the sidekicks bright yellow jacket I trudge on, finally we reach the deserted railway line having past large circus like tents thumping out dance or is it trance beats, an endless streams of people moving purposefully in ever direction, they are dampened in every way but in spirit, it has been visual overload thus far.
So now where? we have only stopped for what seemed like less than a nano second with that question poised on our lips and as if by magic another high viz friendly faced helper appears, "do you know where you are going? can I help". I am a little thrown but very grateful for this unexpected help,"Oh Yes thank you, umm we are trying to find Jazz World" we are efficiently directed on to what thankfully turns out to be a relatively short distance and arrive at JW.
No sooner do we reach our destination than the boys hone in on the Brothers Blue and Yellow banner and I begin to feel a sense of relief at the possibility of a friendly face. My friends husband, one of the Brothers who developed the nectar sought out by not only by the boys but many festival goers, who had, it is later revealed, through their patronage, put the pear based cider on the map, greeted us and gave us a mini tour of the behind bar area including their Winnebago, an oasis in this desert of mud, rain and people.
This Winnebago will prove to be a much sought after refuge in the next couple of days not least for the luxury of a proper flushing loo. We are showed the huge tanker that is replaced daily that quenches the never ending thirst of the festival goers and the boys are allowed to sample just a small amount of the strawberry flavoured perry based drink. Now happy with both the taster and their glasto wrist bands they are desperate to dump me and get off into the throng to go and see the wonders of this extraordinary makeshift town that will in a few days once more be grazing land for dairy cows..
I feel extremely anxious at the thought of my precious boy going off unsupervised by my street wise eye, I had given instructions for all valuable except a little money and a mobile phone to be left at B&B base camp. After arranging a rendezvous later that afternoon and insisting that the phones are of no use if not switched on they head off, within 30 seconds they have vanished in the mass of mud and people, my friends husband has returned to the bar and I find myself alone, hungry and still wondering what on earth I was doing here, my friend is not due to arrive till tomorrow and at this point I just want to go to my warm home but as this is not an option I head for some Caribbean food being cooked in a makeshift kitchen in front of me.
I buy some rice and peas, veg curry and platen served on a paper plate with a wooden folk. My legs are now aching and I look round to find somewhere to sit, well with the mud river flowing over what was once grass, ground sitting is not an option and with a bottle of diet coke in one hand and the floppy paper plate in the other eating standing is not really an option either. I spot a white plastic table and four chairs and as I hover hopefully one of the chairs is vacated. As I sit I join in the "is this your first time at Glasto" conversation, turns out I am the only Glastonbury Virgin. I listen in disbelief as my fellow table dwellers tell with glee of their stay so far at this years event, camping no less.... I confess this is my idea of hell so far but they don't seem to understand why I would feel this way and look on at this stranger in their midst with a mixture of confusion and some pity that she obviously doesn't "Get It"..
A little disappointed that I have not bonded with these people who in normal circumstances I would have thought were of sound mind I decided to eat up and head off in search of the acoustic stage.... having looked through my programme I had spotted that Huge Cornwall was about to appear there.. I had not seen Hugh since the Stranglers days when I had seen him and the band play the pub circuit in London at the famous Hope and Anchor Islington in the late 70's. Off I trudge head bowed to the wind and rain, feeling like a figure in a Lowry paining.
End of Part 3
Keeping my eyes trained on the boys focusing on the sidekicks bright yellow jacket I trudge on, finally we reach the deserted railway line having past large circus like tents thumping out dance or is it trance beats, an endless streams of people moving purposefully in ever direction, they are dampened in every way but in spirit, it has been visual overload thus far.
So now where? we have only stopped for what seemed like less than a nano second with that question poised on our lips and as if by magic another high viz friendly faced helper appears, "do you know where you are going? can I help". I am a little thrown but very grateful for this unexpected help,"Oh Yes thank you, umm we are trying to find Jazz World" we are efficiently directed on to what thankfully turns out to be a relatively short distance and arrive at JW.
No sooner do we reach our destination than the boys hone in on the Brothers Blue and Yellow banner and I begin to feel a sense of relief at the possibility of a friendly face. My friends husband, one of the Brothers who developed the nectar sought out by not only by the boys but many festival goers, who had, it is later revealed, through their patronage, put the pear based cider on the map, greeted us and gave us a mini tour of the behind bar area including their Winnebago, an oasis in this desert of mud, rain and people.
This Winnebago will prove to be a much sought after refuge in the next couple of days not least for the luxury of a proper flushing loo. We are showed the huge tanker that is replaced daily that quenches the never ending thirst of the festival goers and the boys are allowed to sample just a small amount of the strawberry flavoured perry based drink. Now happy with both the taster and their glasto wrist bands they are desperate to dump me and get off into the throng to go and see the wonders of this extraordinary makeshift town that will in a few days once more be grazing land for dairy cows..
I feel extremely anxious at the thought of my precious boy going off unsupervised by my street wise eye, I had given instructions for all valuable except a little money and a mobile phone to be left at B&B base camp. After arranging a rendezvous later that afternoon and insisting that the phones are of no use if not switched on they head off, within 30 seconds they have vanished in the mass of mud and people, my friends husband has returned to the bar and I find myself alone, hungry and still wondering what on earth I was doing here, my friend is not due to arrive till tomorrow and at this point I just want to go to my warm home but as this is not an option I head for some Caribbean food being cooked in a makeshift kitchen in front of me.
I buy some rice and peas, veg curry and platen served on a paper plate with a wooden folk. My legs are now aching and I look round to find somewhere to sit, well with the mud river flowing over what was once grass, ground sitting is not an option and with a bottle of diet coke in one hand and the floppy paper plate in the other eating standing is not really an option either. I spot a white plastic table and four chairs and as I hover hopefully one of the chairs is vacated. As I sit I join in the "is this your first time at Glasto" conversation, turns out I am the only Glastonbury Virgin. I listen in disbelief as my fellow table dwellers tell with glee of their stay so far at this years event, camping no less.... I confess this is my idea of hell so far but they don't seem to understand why I would feel this way and look on at this stranger in their midst with a mixture of confusion and some pity that she obviously doesn't "Get It"..
A little disappointed that I have not bonded with these people who in normal circumstances I would have thought were of sound mind I decided to eat up and head off in search of the acoustic stage.... having looked through my programme I had spotted that Huge Cornwall was about to appear there.. I had not seen Hugh since the Stranglers days when I had seen him and the band play the pub circuit in London at the famous Hope and Anchor Islington in the late 70's. Off I trudge head bowed to the wind and rain, feeling like a figure in a Lowry paining.
End of Part 3
Wednesday, 1 July 2009
Glastonbury Part 2 - Shocking News
Having survived the night and unfamiliar bed syndrome, under the ever watchful eyes of my two young oil painting acquaintances, it was time to see if the forecasts had got it right? on reaching the window I was presented with the vision of a surprisingly beautiful garden accompanied by hideous dark grey clouds and lashings of rain! a little how I imagine captain Ahab was greeted when peeking out of his port hole, hoping to catch a glimpse of Moby!
My heart sank, surely it would have been better to stay at home and watch the tennis? what was I thinking embarking on this mission of madness? Ho hum! it was ten past nine and I had to wake the teenage boys so they could eat a hearty breakfast (always wise to refuel teenage boys at every opportunity) before heading off to Pilton in search of tents, mud, lots of wellie clad people and lets not forget the music.
The boys duly tucked in to what was an apparently delicious full English, while I chowed down on a very healthy bowl of muesli and fruit. Resigned now to my wet, wellied fate, I was now looking forward to see what the famous Glastonbury had to offer. As I and the ninjas chatted about what we thought the day might hold, our friendly landlady popped in to see if the breakfast was going down well, yes indeed, we assured her, then suddenly with a casualness of "could you pass the butter please" she dropped into the pleasantries, "Michael Jackson died last night" the odd thing was I thought she said "Michael Jackson died last night" but that couldn't be true, surely, my son and I asked her to repeat it several times before it started to sink in, even then after she had disappeared back to the kitchen, we asked each other a couple more times if we had indeed heard correctly!
This news added a strange backdrop to what was already shaping up to be an unusual day. having all donned our wellies, rain jacket, hats and mini rucksacks we again piled into the Jag
and sped off in search of sign posts to the festival and our designated car park. We had kept, as advised, our precious glasto tickets (as sort after as willie wonkas golden tickets) locked in the glove compartment for fear of highway men holding us up at every traffic light or garage stop.
We finally arrived, without being held up at gunpoint, and were directed to our car park. We were then directed towards the entrance, down this field to the end, turn right through the gap in the trees and ask anyone dressed in a high viz pink jacket for further instructions, off we trudged though the rain and mud, what mud? not too bad I'm thinking, grass a bit soggy but otherwise fine. Having reached the gap in the trees we were duly directed on again, "follow that walkway towards the porta loos and then turn right at the fence", Hmmm, seems to be quite a few people heading the same direction and a few rather grubbier ones heading towards us, had they had enough already? obviously not made of stern enough stuff.
We turn right as directed and are stopped by more High Viz foot soldiers, and have to wait while several vehicles are directed through, then we are pointed onwards and told to turn right again where the wooden fence is... getting a little more muddy now and quite a few more people in anything from angel wings and tutus to funky gum boots,mud splashed shorts and see though cagoules.. we are then herded through what, I begin to wonder, will turn into a sheep dip? our precious tickets are then checked ultra violetly and part torn off, we still have to keep the counterfoil under lock and key or we will not be allowed in again! again, not sure we are every going to get in at this rate, how much further? at this border crossing we are not issued with the much sort after security wrist bands, as we have been issued the tickets courtesy of my friend and her husbands famous cider distributors, we have to hunt down the Brothers bar near Jazz world to be issued with the final, your part of the Glasto tribe, colourful wrist decoration.
So we were in, now to find Jazz world, we stood in front of a "You are here" map and were talked though the route by yet another, helpful high viv operative. Its miles to jazz world and we have to find some deserted railway line and follow it, gawd help us, if in doubt, yes you guessed it, find another pink high viz jacket! so off again, we are finally in and OMG! here is the mud and the people..thousands of them....my heart sinks nearly as deep as my wellies in the mud, all of humanity is here as well as weird and wacky stalls set up like a gold rush shanty town, selling food, clothes, hats of every shape size and design, angel wings, feathers bowers and even a hair dressing and manicure parlour (Hmmm that's more like it).
End of part 2
My heart sank, surely it would have been better to stay at home and watch the tennis? what was I thinking embarking on this mission of madness? Ho hum! it was ten past nine and I had to wake the teenage boys so they could eat a hearty breakfast (always wise to refuel teenage boys at every opportunity) before heading off to Pilton in search of tents, mud, lots of wellie clad people and lets not forget the music.
The boys duly tucked in to what was an apparently delicious full English, while I chowed down on a very healthy bowl of muesli and fruit. Resigned now to my wet, wellied fate, I was now looking forward to see what the famous Glastonbury had to offer. As I and the ninjas chatted about what we thought the day might hold, our friendly landlady popped in to see if the breakfast was going down well, yes indeed, we assured her, then suddenly with a casualness of "could you pass the butter please" she dropped into the pleasantries, "Michael Jackson died last night" the odd thing was I thought she said "Michael Jackson died last night" but that couldn't be true, surely, my son and I asked her to repeat it several times before it started to sink in, even then after she had disappeared back to the kitchen, we asked each other a couple more times if we had indeed heard correctly!
This news added a strange backdrop to what was already shaping up to be an unusual day. having all donned our wellies, rain jacket, hats and mini rucksacks we again piled into the Jag
and sped off in search of sign posts to the festival and our designated car park. We had kept, as advised, our precious glasto tickets (as sort after as willie wonkas golden tickets) locked in the glove compartment for fear of highway men holding us up at every traffic light or garage stop.
We finally arrived, without being held up at gunpoint, and were directed to our car park. We were then directed towards the entrance, down this field to the end, turn right through the gap in the trees and ask anyone dressed in a high viz pink jacket for further instructions, off we trudged though the rain and mud, what mud? not too bad I'm thinking, grass a bit soggy but otherwise fine. Having reached the gap in the trees we were duly directed on again, "follow that walkway towards the porta loos and then turn right at the fence", Hmmm, seems to be quite a few people heading the same direction and a few rather grubbier ones heading towards us, had they had enough already? obviously not made of stern enough stuff.
We turn right as directed and are stopped by more High Viz foot soldiers, and have to wait while several vehicles are directed through, then we are pointed onwards and told to turn right again where the wooden fence is... getting a little more muddy now and quite a few more people in anything from angel wings and tutus to funky gum boots,mud splashed shorts and see though cagoules.. we are then herded through what, I begin to wonder, will turn into a sheep dip? our precious tickets are then checked ultra violetly and part torn off, we still have to keep the counterfoil under lock and key or we will not be allowed in again! again, not sure we are every going to get in at this rate, how much further? at this border crossing we are not issued with the much sort after security wrist bands, as we have been issued the tickets courtesy of my friend and her husbands famous cider distributors, we have to hunt down the Brothers bar near Jazz world to be issued with the final, your part of the Glasto tribe, colourful wrist decoration.
So we were in, now to find Jazz world, we stood in front of a "You are here" map and were talked though the route by yet another, helpful high viv operative. Its miles to jazz world and we have to find some deserted railway line and follow it, gawd help us, if in doubt, yes you guessed it, find another pink high viz jacket! so off again, we are finally in and OMG! here is the mud and the people..thousands of them....my heart sinks nearly as deep as my wellies in the mud, all of humanity is here as well as weird and wacky stalls set up like a gold rush shanty town, selling food, clothes, hats of every shape size and design, angel wings, feathers bowers and even a hair dressing and manicure parlour (Hmmm that's more like it).
End of part 2
Tuesday, 30 June 2009
Glastonbury Part 1 - First@Fifty Glatonbury Virgin
Sometime last year, in what seemed like an endless build up to my 50th birthday due in June 09, actually I guess the build up has been, well, fifty years! I digress, sometime last year I was talking to my to my dear and long standing friend about the up coming shocker and I happened to mention I would love to go to Glastonbury having never been, and what better than a first@fifty
Having forgotten all about the conversation I was shocked when a week ago 3 Glasto tickets arrived for myself, my 15 yr old son and his friend courtesy of my amazing friend!
Panic now ensued, I had a busy week at work, it was going to be a long drive, were the hell will we stay, I don't do camping! I spent all of that day and the next ringing every Hotel, B&B, holiday cottage, Winnebago hiring, luxury Yurt providing company within a 10 mile radius of Pilton (the real home of the festival), turns out Glastonbury is a red herring as I discovered when I nearly accidentally booked into an Angel retreat in said town.
Having been offered an Angel blessed room, a £2000 Winnebago and a cottage with a hot tub, sadly out of this years budget, I settled for the only place that I could afford that could fit all three of us in, the kind landlady having dug up an extra single room not usually let, so I didn't have to share with the boys!
So Thursday evening we set off in the trusty Jag, 6+ hours later having got lost due to my co pilot being more interested in his ipod than the map, we finally arrive at our welcoming B&B, now past midnight, the friend in tow decides to throw up over the car park, not a good first impression for our landlady I'm thinking, especially at such an unsocial hour, fortunately she seems to take it in her stride! As I crawled exhausted into my single bed with an oil painting of two children staring down at me, probably wondering what I was doing in their room, I have to say I was too....
Was I crazy? off to Glastonbury with two 15 year old boys with what was reported to be the worst thunderstorm and heaviest down pour of rain ever recorded in the history of Glastonbury festival! we had already witnessed, whilst getting lost, a storm of biblical proportions brewing with spectacular lightning show, which incidentally I have an equally spectacular terror of.
End of part one of first@fifty trip to Glastonbury
Having forgotten all about the conversation I was shocked when a week ago 3 Glasto tickets arrived for myself, my 15 yr old son and his friend courtesy of my amazing friend!
Panic now ensued, I had a busy week at work, it was going to be a long drive, were the hell will we stay, I don't do camping! I spent all of that day and the next ringing every Hotel, B&B, holiday cottage, Winnebago hiring, luxury Yurt providing company within a 10 mile radius of Pilton (the real home of the festival), turns out Glastonbury is a red herring as I discovered when I nearly accidentally booked into an Angel retreat in said town.
Having been offered an Angel blessed room, a £2000 Winnebago and a cottage with a hot tub, sadly out of this years budget, I settled for the only place that I could afford that could fit all three of us in, the kind landlady having dug up an extra single room not usually let, so I didn't have to share with the boys!
So Thursday evening we set off in the trusty Jag, 6+ hours later having got lost due to my co pilot being more interested in his ipod than the map, we finally arrive at our welcoming B&B, now past midnight, the friend in tow decides to throw up over the car park, not a good first impression for our landlady I'm thinking, especially at such an unsocial hour, fortunately she seems to take it in her stride! As I crawled exhausted into my single bed with an oil painting of two children staring down at me, probably wondering what I was doing in their room, I have to say I was too....
Was I crazy? off to Glastonbury with two 15 year old boys with what was reported to be the worst thunderstorm and heaviest down pour of rain ever recorded in the history of Glastonbury festival! we had already witnessed, whilst getting lost, a storm of biblical proportions brewing with spectacular lightning show, which incidentally I have an equally spectacular terror of.
End of part one of first@fifty trip to Glastonbury
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