Glastonbury: My Two Pennorth

I've been musing on the fact that I've spent upwards of 200 quids paying for the sort of experience most people demand compensation for and have come to the conclusion that in fact, this is not so much a festival as covert survival training for Good People. When the amassed Dark Forces of McDonalds, Wal mart, Opus Dei, Bryan Adams and the Chinese have their way and the flood barriers come crashing down who will be prepared for life amongst muddy puddles trying to avoid trench foot? The hippies, the ravers and the Who fans, thats who! Yes sir, we shall be sitting pretty in our day-glo waterproofs with our head torches all aglow and spare wellies in our shower-proof rucksacks. The future is bright, the future is crusty (but I'm afraid the future is also poor bongo drumming, scrumpy and hemp flavoured chewing gum).
Off I march to join the revolution, armed with a poncho made out of a shower curtain, a silver poncho from Primark and some bin liners in my cowboy boots. Ill let you borrow my canary-yellow visor if you ask nicely...