EVERYBODY’S looking for their Glastonbury moment and everyone gets one. But not all of them are positive.
Getting lost
Not losing all your mates in a fun way, being adopted by a drag queen and dancing with strangers to music you’ve never heard before. No, the getting lost after that: it’s 4am, you have no idea where you are or where your tent is, it’s pitch black, your phone’s gone and you start to cry.
Visiting the toilet
Toilets so comprehensively fouled they’re beyond usage are a Glasto tradition, and hilarious in retrospect. They’re less hilarious when you’re backed up with four days of falafel and cider and open a Portaloo door to find it piled high with human excrement.
Getting your stuff trashed
You can’t find your tent. This is ridiculous, why can’t you find your tent? Ah, it’s because it was near someone else’s, and they wanted their mate to camp there, so they simply tore up your tent with all your things in and chucked it on a path where 1,400 people have trampled on it. All part of the fun!
Missing your favourite band
Nobody sees what they intended to see at Glastonbury. That’s what’s so great about it! That’s what you tell yourself anyway, because you couldn’t get within a mile of the stage two hours before Dua Lipa and had to watch Idles instead, and they were shite.
Getting shit all over you
Whether mud, rain, lager, urine, or washable paint from an outrageous art group, you’ve got it all over you. And you’ve got to pretend that’s fine because it’s Glastonbury, it’s wild and chaotic, but it’s your favourite top and it’s ruined and you’re cold and you want to cry.
Queuing
Not even for stuff. Not even a queue with a reward. Just a queue to get from one location to another, spontaneously formed by sheer numbers, that you spend 30 precious minutes in because every f**ker in the world is here and it’s like a fancy Alton Towers.
Getting home
It’s all over. SZA’s finished, whoever the f**k she is, and you’ve spent the night in the porch of a stranger’s tent with snakebite-and-black in your matted hair. All you can think about is home. You stagger through the refugee camp the site has become to an endless sea of cars. A steward tells you that things should get moving by 6pm. You openly weep.
