"Due to recession festival will close at 5pm today."
8am start from my parent's house not half an hour from Glastonbury. On our approach to the town we got snarled in traffic and spent nintey minutes listening to BBC Radio Somerset. They had a cop on a bike making semi-regular reports on the traffic which by around 10am was beginning to back up on to the M5. Rumours of accidents and bizarre traffic light systems began to filter through, after about an hour the traffic got moving again. On approaching the festival site we noticed that the traffic light system had been abandoned in favour of the police, hurrah! They sorted out the bottlenecks and we rolled in.
No six hour wait for a ticket this year, I had mine clutched firmly in hand. As we passed through the gates we noticed that the festival site had been extended. We'd rolled in through gate D on the south west corner and found ourselves walking through camping fields previously untouched by the festival. More camping space. More people. I kept that thought at the back of my mind as we approached the Park and our target of Pennard Hill. Even by 11:30am it was beginning to fill up, most people had decided that the weather was going to turn to shit by Thursday and so had arrived early.
The programme for Wednesday tends to follow the same patterns. Put up tent, go to the Brother's Bar, relax. It was certainly nice to be back and began to sizzle in the sun.
About 4pm we watched the First Wateraid World Cup. While we weren't too sure about which team was which the game was enthusiastically played and did raise some extra cash for Wateraid in front of the Pyramid Stage.
There now follows a cautionary tale. Don't accept flapjacks from strangers. I mean, it tasted alright and I was fine for a good hour or so and then horizon wouldn't stop moving. Pear cider, contrary to popular opinion, did not help. Finding myself sat with some complete strangers, I decided it was time for bed.
THURSDAY
‘Outside it’s raining but inside it’s wet’
It already felt like the campsite was full. Pennard Hill had filled out over night. I went to get breakfast. It took me a while to get going and so enjoyed the sunshine in the Jazz Field for a little longer.
The Thursday at Glastonbury should be a mixture of gentle cidered-up relaxation and exciting discovery of new locations. Sadly most of those new locations weren't erected yet, though the major obvious change was the missing Left Field. Maybe it was an indication of Glastonbury's fatigue of Brown's Britain, maybe Q and Sony made them an offer they couldn't refuse - whatever occurred the Left Field was no more, replaced with the Queen's Head mega-bar. This was to prove problematic when about 5pm the entire festival decided to descend to watch MAXIMO PARK.
Yeah, a terrible idea. The congestion caused by every single person getting down there snarled up a non-performace space. What were they thinking? That a few punters might pop by to catch a near-headliner from the Other Stage?
We went back to our tents for a rest only to be awakened by Zane Lowe firing up things at The Park. Like a teenager at the start of the school holidays, Zane was very excited indeed, like his GCSEs had just finished. Fair enough, the festival was on.
So that night the only other part of the festival that was really open was the Dance Village which had one major attraction:
EAST 17
Who promptly went and cancelled opening the Dance Longue moving to a later slot.
Rumours as usual abounded. We liked to think Brian Harvey hadn’t done enough drugs yet. Luckily there was plenty of time to see:
RAFFERTIE
Who is a superb party DJ cutting up old skool house and rave with some serious dubstep bizness and turns the dance floor into one rolling bass monster of enjoyment. Go see him now!
And
BEARDYMAN
By now legendary beatboxer who not only does the sounds but also the words and rapidly turning into a hip hop draw in his own right. Knowing his audience well he carefully wove in some shouts of ‘EVERYBODY IN THE HOUSE OF LOVE’ before finally giving way to:
EAST 17
Or some approximation of the original boy band with Brian Harvey leading who found time to do hits like ‘Steam’ and ‘Stay’ but also filled up the set with risible crap like that tune he performed with Wyclef, all copies of which should be delivered to the centre of a neutron star and crushed into a singularity. For Q this was a massive highlight of the festival and whilst I watched from outside the tent with a raised eyebrow (if only for the sheer volume of people who’d turned up to watch), I knew enough punters who came out with huge grins on their faces.
For some of us though, it was another 90s ‘band’ who were Thursday night’s main attraction. A shame as it was a 2 hour wait before they were on, time was spent waving glowsticks and supping beer. Then the phones started going mad with the rumours of Michael Jackson’s death. Any sense of shock was cushioned by the alcohol. We had more important things on our minds, watch your bass bins, I’m telling ya.
ALTERN-8
Pure old skool heaven. An extraordinary mix from rave pranksters and now, admittedly elder statesmen, Altern-8. They played a simple set… CLASSIC AFTER CLASSIC AFTER CLASSIC. A bit of shame because it meant prior to the festival even starting I’d pretty much peaked, I’d let these boys headline the Other Stage instead of the Prodigy any day, but then, nowadays, I am an old man…
