Glastonbury

Bless me, Faithful, for I have sinned: it has been eight days since my last confession. And for five of them, I was a sinner indeed, a muddy, sweaty, inebriated, heady, hedonistic sinner at the Glastonbury Festival 2009. I'd had simply no idea it would be such fun.

I arrived at around 5pm on Thursday and the sun leant on me heavily as I began the walk from the car park towards the distant tipi field with my heavy rucksack and several additional bags. The sweat began dripping almost immediately but I was determined not to take things too seriously because a) that would be going against the festival spirit and b) I knew from Glasto revision that the walk ahead would be lengthy and slow. As I trundled along, I looked around me at the curious sight of field upon field upon field of tents, all left unprotected, all containing the possessions of one or more of the 140,000 festival attendees, and marvelled at the huge variety of attendees, all human but otherwise very different individuals - hippies, posh kids, babies, wrinkly old potheads, druggies, alkies, musos and people just coming along for the ride. Although actually, on reflection, it was almost exclusively white. Which is food for thought. What did strike me is that arriving at Glastonbury after a long drive in the baking heat, picking up all your stuff, trudging a couple of miles in the heat and then having to pitch a tent in already packed camping fields is about the most perfect recipe for a break-up I can imagine, and my admiration and respect goes out to any couple who has managed to get through this experience without a ruckus. It was a moment that made me delighted to be flying solo.

Eventually I reached the tipi looking like I'd just emerged from a downpour, took off all my clothes and stood there, alone in its surprising space (approx. 15 foot high in the middle, and plenty of room for six people to sleep in comfort on the ground) for a few seconds before I noticed a grassy square in the middle of the matting and, on closer inspection, saw something slightly unexpected therein: a human poo. I was too hot and tired to be repulsed and giggled to myself for a while before going back to the reception tipi and announcing to the five assembled tipi workers that there was a pile of excrement in the Blue Ant. To their credit, they looked suitably shocked and were swift to rectify the situation. And due to an administrative confusion, we ended up being in the Black Badger anyway. Ah, the Black Badger. I miss it already. The purchase of a tipi was undeniably a Good Thing, allowing large amounts of space outside the tent on which to lie at breakfast time or sit in the evenings, and a row of regularly-cleaned portaloos, and amazing solar showers.

Besides, I really didn't spend that much time in the tent. Within an hour of dumping my rucksack, I was in a vintage clothing shop while drinking wine, and bought a fantastic long pink dress for £8. And things got way better after that. There are apparently fifty stages spread over a site area that is a mile and a half wide, with a perimeter of nearly nine miles. On my last night of four, I discovered an entirely new area which took me over an hour to walk around. It is just absolutely vast. And everywhere is fun. More than the music, there are bars, shops, theatre acts, comedians, fortune tellers, restaurants, craft classes, yoga workshops... It was dirty and it did rain, and my clothes got damp, and the toilet facilities were often foul, and I showered only once in nearly five days, but - but but but but but. The sun shone a lot too, the music was varied and at times amazing, the food was delicious (I ate bacon butties, pizza, rotisserie chicken, fresh fruit salads, donuts, muesli, sweets, crepes and biscuits), the people I was with were unrelentingly wonderful, and - the biggest surprise at all - everyone else was unrelentingly wonderful too. In four days, I didn't see a single person get irritable. There was just the most incredible sense of understanding - no matter if the girl in front of you was the size of a mansion and wearing a miniscule tutu and a bad bikini, whereas in London I might have winced, at Glastonbury, anything goes, and I felt genuinely delighted that she was happy and confident enough to wear whatever tickled her pickle. If someone sits down in the middle of the thoroughfare, you step round them. There's no competitive jostling for good places at gigs. There's no pushing and shoving full stop. Even with 140,000 people who, while maybe not all drugged up or drunk, are surely all tired and a bit fractious, there was a permanent, and I mean permanent, air of laissez-faire gloriousness. Despite not getting involved in any illegal substances, I felt a bit like a delightfully stoned Shire horse all weekend, plodding around in wellies and a good natured haze, happily criss-crossing the festival site from one fun adventure to the next. Laughing highlights were finding out that Nick once fell asleep while skiing, and an incident involving Ses sitting on a man's shoulders at the Blur gig but somehow getting on the wrong way round so he was face to face with her crotch. I doubt she would appreciate me going into too much depth about it, but rest assured that it was possibly the funniest thing I have Ever Seen and last night I was still laughing so hard about it that tears were streaming down my face. Musical highlights were Bon Iver, Little Boots and Blur - the latter a highlight not so much because it was the best gig I've been to musically, but because I was feeling as happy as I've been for years, standing with a group of fantastic friends, while some of my favourite songs were played live a few metres away by a brilliant band, and bang next to us was a group of some of their biggest fans who joined in on all the harmonies, knew every single word and shared their whiskey with us. I don't even like whiskey, but on Sunday night, it, along with everything else, was delicious.

I left reluctantly yesterday morning and have been feeling emotional and bereft ever since, assisted by the footage and reviews that I have been watching and reading non-stop since my return, which is a bit like looking at old photos of exes after they've dumped you, but as Laura reminded me this morning, at least everyone else has gone home too, and it's not like the fun is continuing without me. God it was fantastic though. Bring on 2010.