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
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