04 Apr 2007
 | Last Sunday morning was spent with the laptop on my knee, and phone balanced precariously next to my ear. Fumble for the on button, feel for the redial button, then: "This is a BT announcement, the network is currently busy. Please try later." And repeat. Apparently the website went down half an hour before the lines opened, which is nice. It wouldn't be so bad if I could have sat and listened to some hold muzak instead of getting RSI on my left thumb. It still doesn't feel quite right. Eventually someone I know got through *miraculously* and ordered the tickets. Great success. It took nearly eight hours to get the confirmation email through and the money's not come out of my account yet. Until it does I'm not going to get my hopes up, but it looks like I'm going back to Glastonbury after 4 years, for my stag do to boot. I've been twice in the past, and to Reading back in 1996. I can't say I liked Reading much at all. It rained a lot and I ended up going home early, foolishly missing one of the last ever Stone Roses gigs (apparently it was one of their worst, but how was I to know they were any good???), so my only experience of festivals prior to Glasto was somewhat negative. Nestled deep in the Somerset countryside, Glastonbury is a small town in the middle of nowhere. It's the kind of sleepy little place you wouldn't even notice passing through. 27 years ago, the 'mother of all festivals' first opened its doors to a bunch of free-loading hippies. It's changed A LOT since then. According to the ever-faithful Wikipedia, "the town is particularly notable for the myths and legends surrounding a nearby hill, the Glastonbury Tor (with a strange looking narrow tower at the top of it), which rises up from the otherwise flat landscape of the Somerset Levels." It's allegedly the location of the first church in England, that was also meant to house the Holy Grail, 30 years after the death of Jesus. It's supposed to be the inspiration for William Blake's poem/hymn Jerusalem and the burial place for King Arthur and Guinevere. Lastly, it's also said to be the centre of several ley lines, which follow the locations of historical monuments and megaliths like Stonehenge. And it's easy to believe all that. As I stepped out of my tent in the early hours of Friday morning, back in 2002, I looked out across the Vale of Avalon, to see the tor rising out of the mist, like something out of the Lord of The Rings. Anyone who's been to the festival will tell you that there's certainly an odd sensation about the area. Something quite mystical, and it's got nothing to do with nearby dope smokers. Something ancient. This year is the first one since 2005, because they wanted to repair some of the countryside from all the damage that the crowds tend create on the farmland. The first year I went was in 2002. The festival was cancelled the year before due to problems with gatecrashers, so 2002 was the year of the evil fence, modelled like something out of Colditz. Glastonbury was always open to mockery from students who'd never bother buying tickets and would vault over (or through) the makeshift fences and flood the site. Not this time. They spent £2 million on extra security measures, including a massive 'impenetrable' enclosure. It was quite imposing, but if it served to create the feeling of safety and family atmosphere of the festival, then great. The first year I saw, amongst others, an acoustic performance from Robert Plant, lead singer of seminal rock band Led Zeppelin, Rod Stewart and Roger Waters. I also stood in a field pogoing in synch with 50,000 others to a euphoric Faithless anthem as the sun went down in the valley. That night I lay, my head resting on my jumper, feeling completely safe and warm, and watching 24 Hour Party People on an inflatable projector in an empty field. Lying on my own, but loving it. See you there. Can't wait. |
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