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
Hey Lisa, this is very evocative. I can almost feel my boots sinking into the mud. I hope you are going to write some more - I want to hear about the music.
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