Up earlier than feasible. Why on earth would a person get out of bed at five thirty on a dark and wet autumn morning. Answers on a postcard to the usual address.
Last night I was researching music festival attire, for trefbash. My experience of such events is limited. Music fests that is, not trefbashes.
I am, we are, registered to be eligible to buy tickets for Glasto. Tix go on sale this coming weekend. Quite frankly I don’t know why I stuck out names down. Did the same for the Olympics and ended up buying eighteen tickets for next summer’s games. Rugby and basketball. Crowd of us going.
Anyway re Glasto I was having a conversation. I said I would have to go glamping. Issue was whether that got me anywhere nearer the actual site where the bands are. Apparently not. Everywhere is a distant route march. A far cry from the early days eh?
Probs won’t go for Glasto tickets although you never know. Gotta try everything once, except heroin n stuff like that. Not my kind of thing.
Son Jose played at Glasto once. His band, The Pylons,therefore had tickets for the central artist’s campsite. If you look at an aerial photo of Glastonbury this campsite is the only green patch in view and is right next to one or two of the stages.
The green is because most bands rock up for the day in their long wheelbase transit vans and go home after their set. Not The Pylons, who took in every moment of the festival. The other benefit of being one of the acts is that your route in bypasses the massive queues of cars full of punters on their way into the public areas. Apaz.
Anyway gotta go. The kettle is screaming at me from the kitchen. Boil me Tref, boil me. THG must have her tea.