Screw Glastonbury: refreshing a webpage at 9am on a Sunday isn’t what festivals are about
I didn’t get Glastonbury tickets.
So in the spirit of humanity I’m going to do my best to spoil everyone else’s Glastonbury. I’ll admit I decided I wanted to go for sure today at 8.55am, five minutes before 120,000 tickets went on sale, and much to the annoyance of a very organised group of friends who already had a spreadsheet with everyone’s registration numbers, names and addresses locked down.
The above is not what festivals are about.
- Pouring a bottle of water on your hair outside a tent because you haven’t washed it in two days. Immediately regretting this but chuckling as your mate mistakenly takes an early morning swig of vodka.
- Sleeping with your bag right next to the zip of the tent and having £100 stolen on your first night. But huzzah! your retro Nokia phone was discarded like an unwanted Christmas present.
- On your way to sneaking a mate in who has come to the Isle of Wight and *forgotten his ticket* (I’m not even joking). Watching another friend drunkenly poledance round a dirty post then cut her leg falling over.
- Dozing in a field at inappropriate times of the day.
- Trying to decide if you want a late night visit to the portaloos or you can hold it in till 8am.
- Dancing to dubstep in a sweaty tent dressed as a group of Andre 3000s from the Hey Ya video complete with drawn on beard and riding helmet.
- Getting caught in a Spanish storm, watching the tent of the crepe stall fall down and forgetting you should run back to your tent. Returning to find your geeky scout-trained mates have put rocks down inside your pop-up tent and saved all your belongings. Including your passport.
- Joining a rave outside a Burrito van because the staff are pumping the tunes so loud.
- Standing way too close to Fuck Buttons so that you have to fill the melodies in with your head. But loving it anyway.
To me, festivals are about putting diamante stickers on your face and rolling about in mud. It’s about an escape and bumping into characters who you really, really hope don’t have a dull office job for the rest of the year. And it’s about being spontaneous, not getting stuck in a familiar loop or doing what everyone else seems to be doing.
That’s why I’m going to get over my Glastofail by going to a much cheaper, completely random English festival next year. There are so many of them, it’s not Glastonbury or nothing. If they ask for my photo for the ticket I’ll look elsewhere. If I have to get up in the morning on a Sunday to buy tickets, I’ll give it a miss.
I respect Glasto’s attitude towards corporate sponsorship compared to other festivals and my one experience of it, about five years ago, was special indeed but days like this do ruin the magic a little bit. It’s time to make our own Glasto elsewhere.