Months ago I decided that this year would not be a Glastonbury year for me. My first Glasto experience was last year, which I worked at. My main memories are of trogging around in the mud and staying awake all night to work. When the Monday rolled around I innocently thought I'd be safely home in Sheffield by early afternoon, not realising that Sheffield was flooded and inaccessible. There were a few anxious hours trapped in Chesterfield, watching the flood waters rise and listening to the sirens, car alarms and helicopters, wondering if the apocalypse was approaching. I need a lie-down just thinking about it.
But now Glastonbury 2008 is here, and I'm jealous. Very jealous. I want to be pitching my tent in Somerset while supping perry RIGHT NOW! I would even be happy to watch Jay-Z! Actually, I wouldn't. Glastonbury is one of the greatest shows on Earth, but it doesn't feel worth the effort of all that public transport, welly-induced blisters and financial outlay.
I'm still jealous. The coming weekend will be one of avoiding TV, radio and press coverage of Glasto 2008. Maybe I could recreate the festival experience by pitcing my tent in the park, build an unnecessarily big fire and tunelessly sing Oasis songs. Maybe not.
Wednesday, 25 June 2008
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