Wednesday, June 27, 2007

A Glastonbury report

This Friday the majority of the agency absconded to lose an important part of their brain somewhere in a field in Somerset, or drink fine wines in Tuscany or (most selfishly) attend the birth of their child in West London. Unfortunately a few people were in fact left behind to hold the fort, poor things. It seems a bit much to rub their noses in it with photo reportage of our fun. Still, you know, sod em.

Good things about Glastonbury
1) Hats
In many ways, Glastonbury is Ladies Day for hippies. Hats range from the functional (Army helmet, plastic visor over a straw stetson) to the peculiar (fungus themed). All of which was good news for our resident Hat Expert, Hattie who sported a range of excellent headwear over the course of the weekend:

2) Bands
For example, Iggy Pop and the Stooges
Actually in my opinion, even if Iggy Pop was the only thing on all weekend it would still be worth the money and the potential dysentery.
(although I imagine his security were less than enamoured with him after he instigated a thousand strong stage invasion of wrecked festivalgoers including a man protesting for the re introduction of the Cadbury's Wispa Bar, halfway through his set. Or at least wondering why he couldn't have done it for the final song rather than right in the middle.)

3) Trench Spirit:
The good thing about lots of people all taking MDMA at the same time is that there are lots of nice people helping each other out of the puddles. Also, the nature of the festival is democratic: even if you bought your ticket with a gold leaved chequebook and have paid several thousand pounds for someone to helicopter you in to a special waterproof teepee, if you want to watch a band you will need to share the trenches with the rest of us:

4) Dressing Up in General
People start the festival in silly clothes then just add whatever they've got that's dry or strange as they become more wet and or wrecked. By the end of it you are sitting in a hay bale (very cosy by the way, just the ticket in a wet field which is, I imagine, why it was such a Hit in ye oldene tymes) dressed in a silver space blanket, ski socks, wellies and 3D glasses watching a mediaeval funk outfit sing about wizards with not a care in the world except for the next odyssey to the dark side of the toilet cublicles. (The next three pictures show my progression across 3 days of silliness. NB: I've skipped the one where my stupid mimicking of the Kate Moss little-dress-and-bare-legs look led to my poor old legs being coated in 3 inch thick mud and scratches. Never ever listen to Heat magazine, ladies, keep those legs covered right up)

Bad Things about Glastonbury

The worst thing isn't the toilets, the potential to lose your tent in a monsoon nor the constant tramping knee deep through very clay-ey mud all day long whilst frantically texting your mates only to find out they have moved to the exact opposite side of the 5 mile long field....

All of these things can be endured, cheerily, if there's enough pear cider on hand.
The worst thing about Glastonbury are the aggressive eco-warrior hippies telling you off all the frickin time. By Sunday when my sense of humour suffered a massive mud induced rupture, I really didn't need to be lectured on the ecological impact of tampons, ("hey, sister, why use bleached cotton when there are brown rubber egg cups out there?") nor did I need a mime artist telling me to breed less, whilst several home-schooled tiny little Moonfruits and Jasmins splashed about my knees trying to sell me a poorly welded windchime one of their five Mummies had made. Yes, I know this is their festival really but I'm a mardy old media whore and Ive just paid them 17 pounds for some organic cous cous so they can bugger off, the lot of em. (Ive calmed down now)

Still, once you've shown the Sunshine Supermen your heels, its all lovely again. And there's nothing like living the lifestyle of a 12th century vagrant to make you enjoy the finer things in life, like for example sleeping in the back of a van on your way to a centrally heated toilet facility and a really really really hot bath. And, of course, returning to ones Karmarama workstation of course. Hurrah!