Storm Francis came over last night, was pretty solid but passed through by late morning, so I wander down to the beach.

The car park is sheltered, and quite pleasant. On the beach, the wind is still very strong, in the gusts you’re struggling to stand up, the sand is whipping across, squalls of rain and spray, RNLI have the red flags out, it’s a very high tide and the sea is rough. It’s quiet when I get there, I’m one of the few hardy souls out and we’re all dressed for the conditions. By the time I’ve walked along the beach and back, got my feet wet, the rain has stopped and people are turning up.

I find myself exchanging wry smiles with the RNLI team as we laugh at people trying to put beach tents and blankets out, got to admire the tenacity of Brits on holiday I suppose.

As I go back into the car park, folk are heading over the dunes in droves, many carrying body boards for their kids, why they’re thinking it’ll be good to do that with a 40 knot wind I’m not sure, but one family, carrying said gear and obviously adventurous, then proceed to mask up as they need to go in the loo. One of them loses their mask in the wind and borrows one off the mother…

I head into the village to grab some lunch from the cafe. It’s like I’ve stepped into a scene from a Radio 4 play. Home Counties accents and John Lewis clothes aplenty. I overhear one lady complaining that they’re serving Almond Milk latte but the cakes aren’t vegan.

In an hour, I’ve been in the pretty wild outdoors, I’ve seen people determined to risk exposure on a storm battered beach, whilst others daren’t use a public toilet for fear of getting a virus that isn’t likely to be hanging around in a gale. Then i hear a complaint you could only get in a cosseted society.

I suppose it’s all part of life’s rich tapestry these days, but it feels very strange to me!

…and a bit of a Party

The Glastonbury Festival of Performing Arts (to give it it’s full name) means many things to many people, but is not the same for any two of them.

It’s increasingly become a bucket list item for many, or three days of TV watching for others. For some of us, it forms a big part of our lives and we struggle to do without it. Some people work there for weeks before and after the event, others of us, myself included, endure a stressful or so on the first Sunday in October as we join the ticket buying frenzy.

It wasn’t always like this, 2019 saw the 30th Anniversary of the first time I went. It was a very different gig back then, paid a man on the gate for a wristband and in I wandered, tent in hand. Two main stages back then, Pyramid and Acoustic, plus a bit of entertainment in the Green Fields, and the Travellers for something a tad more anarchic. Even so, it was very much a whole new world, much as it is now for first timers, albeit it’s now unrecognisable from the early days. Most people hadn’t heard of Worthy Farm until the TV cameras first turned up for a documentary aired in 1993.

Anyway, onto 2019. After two years off, excitement in our house was at what passes for fever pitch in these parts, I guess heightened by taking a friend, Col, who’d never been. Knowing that he was going to spend half his time wandering round in wide eyed amazement gave the whole thing an extra buzz.

There was a first time for us though as well this year. I’ve always been one for the early morning queue (in recent years at least) or rocking up later to find whatever spot is left. After a particularly tiring 2017 entry, we had a crack at getting a Worthy View tent, costly, but, as it turned out, a valuable investment! Sat eating breakfast in the nearby B&B, it got to 8.30 on the Wednesday morning, we looked at each other, jumped in the car and walked into our tent at 9am! Unloaded, unpacked and off into the main site for not long after 10 having had a full nights sleep. As I said, a tidy investment.

Staying at WV also means that you get a stupendous view of the site before you actually go in, it was a real ‘Wow’ moment, the webcam, or other people’s photos, don’t do it justice. The only better view is at night, more of that later.

Anyway, off down the hill we trot, it’s getting warm already but the sun isn’t shining as much as Col’s eyes as he tries to take it all in. I look across at him and he’s got a grin like a cat that’s found a fish mine. One thing before the partying though, time to use something I’m a big believer in, the Glastonbury Lock-Up. The one on Pennards, ably staffed by Brighton Peace and Environment Centre, was our stash point of choice for the weekend. Cider, clothes, water, money, it all went in to save hauling it round in the heat and meaning that long trips back to tent B3-553 were only for bedtime.

Wednesday didn’t really have a plan…and so it turned into a day long site familiarisation exercise, via nearly every stage, several bars and eateries, t-shirt stalls and culminated in us pitching up in the Green Fields for some tunes at Toad Hall and Croissant Neuf. I’ve never stayed at the south side of the festival before and it was great to be near all the really interesting stuff. Never again am I going to try and get near the Pyramid. Despite walking 10 of the total 46 festival miles, it was a properly chilled day and just what the doctor ordered, work forgotten, Thatcher’s Haze in hand, sun setting over the Tor, magic. All that’s left is the fireworks. Now, when your other half is terrified of loud bangs, and fireworks in particular, but still hangs around, you know it’s going to be an good show, first time right underneath the display was great and off for a brew at the WV cafe.

Oh, and I can confirm that the climb to WV isn’t anywhere near as bad as people suggest, or maybe that’s because I have to walk up a similar hill on the way back from the shop!

Thursday at Glastonbury is always a bit of strange day. It used to be setting up time back in the 90s, now it’s kind of 3/4 Festival day. There’s a lot of solid entertainment, but not quite full on. Add into it increasing temperatures, particularly for Col who struggles under a 40 Watt bulb means that a big chunk of the day is a search for shady bits whilst trying to soak it all up. We spend a couple of hours in the shadow of a speaker tower on the Pyramid field exchanging stories with a rather tipsy Wolves fan that’s demolishing beers at such a rate that leaves me convinced he’s not going to see much beyond teatime, let alone make the festivities in the evening.

It’s too hot outside, food and a chill is needed, so time to pay the Hare Krishna a visit. Wonderful food for the mind and body before heading up to the Park for more shade as the sun moved round, disturbed only by the Extinction Rebellion protests and a rather flat speech given the potential for motivating a crowd.

We try to get near the Baggy Mondays set. This wasn’t happening, so the much more chilled out Green Fields were calling. Toad Hall and other stages were great, a chap called Andrew Maxwell Morris especially stands out in the memory. Now, here’s where time changes those memories. Back in the early 90s, on a hot Thursday night, I saw two things that both time and probably cider have left a little hazy. One was an enactment of George & the Dragon, the other was seeing a cracking band called Kangaroo Moon. I guess the enactment has become the fireworks, Kangaroo Moon are still going. Unfortunately, they don’t hold the same pull for me 27 years later and it’s time to make a move into the night.

You’ll remember that my other half, Pam, doesn’t do fireworks, so she heads off to bed for an early night! Col and I wander across the site to see what Arcadia’s new creation, Pangaea, is all about. We get an excellent sneak preview of the full show, and kept warm into the bargain!

Friday kicks off with an early rise to beat the shower queue, we’ve paid for the privilege and, as a Yorkshireman, I’m going use it. The last time I had a shower at Glasto was in the communal wooden hut down in the Kid’s field way back in 93. With similar temperatures a good freshening up was called for. How different it is at WV, single cubicles and a changing area!

After the obligatory Guardian bag purchase, it’s over to the Other Stage for the opener. I remember seeing the Vaccines in Rock City on their first album release tour when tickets were only obtainable from touts. I’ve seen them several times since at Festivals and they certainly woke up a crowd embalming itself in Factor 50. Time to move on though, if you can’t go and shake a leg to some camp, mickey taking 70s pop-rock at Glastonbury then where can you? Bjorn Again were magnificent, dragging folk out of their beds into the furnace in front of the Pyramid, with several in great fancy dress already! Today was going to be a big effort to rack up a lot of bands, so it was straight off to the John Peel to see Goat Girl, rightly championed by Marc Riley. They were well on form, and it was in the shade, so we stayed to see a band from Dublin, that we knew little about other than having heard a couple of singles. Fontaines DC filled the now roofless JP tent. Part Pogues, part Joy Division, part A House (or at least I thought so), lead singer Grian Chatten spits out the lyrics in a harsh Northside accent to raucous acclaim. This won’t be the last time we’ll be seeing these lads.

Next planned stop was the Other Stage, with a double of the Lumineers and Charlatans. That’s until I happen to spy a small blackboard outside the BBC Introducing tent with the name of one of my all time favourites scribbled across it. Frank Turner isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but he’s my Lapsang Suchong and I leave Pam and Col to wander off while I grab my spot for a quick, 8 song acoustic set with 3 new songs never played before. A wonderful appetiser for tonight’s Avalon Sleeping Souls main course. I caught up with the others as the Lumineers played to a healthy crowd. I don’t know a huge amount about them, but was increasingly won over in between queues for water – got to say that the little milk churn water bottles are great.

Tim Burgess had tweeted that the Charlatans were helping out at the festival and they trotted out a greatest hits set in the evening sunshine. Nothing groundbreaking, pleasing enough but with much better fare on offer later, it was time to up and explore the culinary delights of the festival. The plan was to head for the Park, and we had chance to call in at the quirky Pier on the way. It was only just open and just didn’t seem to be right at this point, although I’m told it improved, we never got back. Idles pulled a huge crowd, but it just wasn’t for us, too shouty, too much in the heat and, of all things, an ice cream and a brew were much more appealing! Not sure who the two Belfast lads were that we ended up talking to, but they were working the festival and having a rare old time.

We managed to get a good spot for Michael Kiwanuka as well and stayed for most of the set, proper soul tunes as the sun went down, very different to my normal fare but quality all the same. Pam decided to head off for a late night shower leaving me to wander down to Avalon via Block 9, whilst Col headed for one of his must-sees with Interpol playing the JP.

I caught most of the Magic Numbers’ set, a bonus band if you like as they weren’t on my list, certainly enjoyable even if I didn’t know their stuff too well, but it meant I was down the front for my favourite troubadour Frank Turner, plus his band the Sleeping Souls. I’ve not seen the full band for a few years for one reason or another and was delighted as they rocked a huge, hot and sweaty crowd with a greatest hits set, joined for the encore by Beans on Toast and Frank surfing out front. Heading up the hill, I could only reflect that it had been a superb day musically and was going to take some beating.

Saturday dawned. It was already hot by 9am. The showers were off to preserve drinking water. I’m sure that the Proclaimers weren’t used to this heat in their Edinburgh home, but they got us well in the mood with a good natured trawl through the back catalogue. Definitely felt as though we were walking 500 miles today! Next up was a dash for the shade of the JP to see the protestations of She Drew the Gun. This is a band maturing whilst still getting their message out. Let’s hope the bigger audiences don’t diminish their edge. Outside I finally managed to catch up with a chap I’ve had lots of social media contact with, but never met. Rick Leach has written several books about his ‘middle-aged’ experiences at the festival. If you haven’t read them, they’re brilliant. He has a cheery, bubbly style that’s had me in tears and laughter in equal measure at times. Rick has massive musical knowledge and was reviewing several bands for the website http://www.getintothis.co.uk/. I could have left Col and Rick to talk for hours, but Col was turning into a puddle of sweat and we shuffled off to the Hare Krishna tent once again for a sit down.

It’s not just all about bands and singers at Glastonbury. We’d spent very little time anywhere near the theatre area and it was time for a bit of comedy (and shade – the mercury was nudging 32C). Unless you time it right, the Cabaret tent can be hit and miss. We nail it. Doc Brown used to be part of the trio De La Soul. I’m sure I saw them here in 1990 on the back of 3 Feet High and Rising, but for many years now Doc Brown has been doing his hilarious hip hop sketches, with full crowd involvement. It’s all about the timing.

We head back outside, the wind has changed direction and it’s clouded over. There’s a noticeable drop in temperature as a large crowd leaves the Other in time for us to get on the barrier for the godlike genius that is Johnny Marr. There’s not a lot more needs to be said. Riffs fill the air and bad dancing from the mainly 40 plus crowd can be seen all around us. Despite the somewhat melancholy nature of many of the tunes, the crowd leaves bouncing enmasse for the Pyramid to catch another of Manchester’s musical sons.

With Liam, you know what you’re getting. Sneering indie rock, singalong tunes and a lairy atmosphere. Coming onstage to a backing track of ‘Championes’, it was an hour of pretty much back-to-back Oasis hits, with a mindful ‘Cigarettes and Alcohol’ tribute to the late Keith Flint. You just know that it’ll be a cold day for Old Nick before we get the real thing and this just feels like he’s playing at it…

I used to like the Killers, that was before they went all Pet Shop Boys. The first album is great, the second good in parts, you know the live show will be popular, but with the Chemical Brothers about to start over on the Other, and knowing just how good that is going to be, there’s only one place to be. Pam heads off for another early one while I catch up with Col watching KT Tunstall before heading into a heaving Other Stage field. Tom and Ed deliver a huge show, with holograms, beats and bass booming out over a field lit by lasers and smoke. Two hours of bliss, and then the party moves up to Arcadia for another huge show into the early hours. I mentioned above that it’s all about timing. There’s a huge crowd and it isn’t until I check the program the next day that I realise it was Fat Boy Slim on the decks!

Ok, so old git that I am, I’ve never managed to get down to the SE Corner at night. We decide to take an late night/early hours wander to see what the fuss is all about. Block 9, The Temple, Shangri-La, these are all legendary names nowadays for the festival, so we spend an hour or so having our eyes opened vowing to make a proper go at it next year!

Sunday dawns after too little sleep and slightly cooler conditions, but still no sign of any rain. It’s always a bit of a downer on a Sunday as you start to pack away in preparation for an early Monday morning dash, however, we’re done in time for a wander to the Avalon for one of my highlights. As it turned out, it was a highlight for everyone who got themselves in the Avalon field that lunchtime…

The Bar-Steward Sons of Val Doonican (BS/VD for short – see an early AC/DC style logo) are three daft lads from Barnsley, fronted by the amiable ex-teacher Scott, with his sidekicks Bjorn and Alan. It’s difficult to describe what they do, other than to say that they butcher popular songs and take the mickey out of modern life in doing so, with hilarious consequences. Through endless touring, they’ve become a staple on the smaller festival circuit and are often found in a pub near you. This culminated in a main stage slot at Cropredy last summer in front of 20,000 which must have helped in getting this prestige slot at Worthy Farm. They’re met by a large and growing crowd, many of whom, like myself, are part of the cult following and sporting Doonicans Tshirts. Any newcomers (like Pam and Col – who seconds before we’re muttering “what have we come to” are quickly won over with a big shout of “I’ve always wanted to say this – HELLLOOOO GLASTONBURY!” and the band launch into ‘Massage in a Brothel’. Following up with the likes of ‘How Deep is your Glove’ and ‘Lady in Greggs’ and culminating in a dinghy based crowd surf to get a pint from the bar whilst joined by Hobo Jones for a Yorkshire based cover version of ‘Jump Ararnd’ (say it in a Barnsley accent), it’s a madcap hour. I leave feeling pretty emotional and incredibly pleased for Scott in particular, years of hard work have paid off. I can’t see them being absent from this slot for many years to come.

There’s a quick dash for another wonderful culinary offering (the festival is renowned for it’s food quality) and a chat with one of the Eavis’ neighbouring farmers who have come to see Kylie…turns out we’ve been at several festivals together over the years.

After listening to David Attenborough plug his next TV series (I’ll be honest, I expected something more profound – this was obviously down to the BBC) Col and I drop Pam off with friends in a rammed Pyramid field and get out of there, we’ve no desire to be anywhere near this particular legend slot. We head round to the Other to see Baby Metal close their set and have a chat with some younger folk who’ve been working alongside the security teams to make sure everything is above board. Sounds like they’ve had a great time – might need to look at that for next year if the ticket fairy lets me down. Next up are metalheads Bring Me The Horizon. A good stage show, lots of urging to ‘make a f***in’ circle’ and driving electro metal, but it all seems a bit out of place for a sunny Sunday afternoon.

So, it’s time to see if the lads from Dublin can do it again, this time in Leftfield, compered by the inimitable John Robb. It’s not a bad shout as the sun is baking again and there’s some lovely shade to be had. We see a punky outfit called Queen Zee, grab a cold pint of Proper Job from the Cornish Bar next door and watch the Fontaines DC deliver another stunning set. Fantastic stuff and time for a final visit to Gandhi’s Flip Flop.

I last saw The Cure when they headlined at Worthy in 1990. the set had to be stopped whilst they brought in a helicopter to evacuate a drug casualty. I remember they were good though. Even so it needs Col to talk me into not seeing The Streets and we set up in front of the Pyramid for the last time this year. Two hours later and I’ve seen one of my highlights of the whole weekend. Hit after hit covering the last 40 years, a driving bass line and Smith’s lyrics combine to make a stunning set, with the sound washing over us as the sun sets behind the Tor.

Unless you’ve been to the festival, you won’t know that it’s much more than that. It’s almost a way of life, certainly another world, that you can get lost in for several days. A final climb up the hill, a final look back over the lights of the site and it’s done. Memories in the bank.