Week 26 - Sunday II

Week 26

Glastonbury – Sunday Part II

“Nicotine, Valium, Vicodin, Marijuana, Ecstasy and Alcohol, C-c-c-c-c-cocaine!”

I stuttered as I ordered our final round of the festival, in homage to the band who were finishing off the festival for us. I’ve no doubt Beyoncé’s show was fantastic, and I’m sure it was an ‘I was there’ moment for many, but I’ve personally never been one for ‘I was there’ moments, mainly because I’m usually not there. I may have mentioned that there are always amazing alternatives to the main attractions, and while there’s no bigger Gruff fan than me (did I mention I’m 7 ft 3?), I’ve never seen Queens of the Stoneage live. 

With the added benefit of being in sight of the fireworks that were launching over at the Pyramid, the Queens were brilliant, playing a set that featured all their fan favourites, mainly because they’d let their fans vote online beforehand for what songs we wanted to hear. I’d voted for ‘Single Ladies’ but it wasn’t to be. I consoled myself offerings such as ‘Feel Good Hit of the Summer’ a song which lists all the drugs K-May was selling to kids throughout the week and ‘The Lost Art of Keeping a Secret’, which I’d promised I wouldn’t mention but couldn’t resist.

‘Make it Wit Chu’, ‘Little Sister’ were highlights that I can’t be bothered making bad jokes about, while their finish would have made Beyoncé blush, with ‘3’s and 7’s’ ‘First it Giveth’, and ‘Go With the Flow’ in a row before the climactic ‘No One Knows’ turned out to be not so climactic when they finished on ‘Song For The Dead’ instead. That was that, Glastonbury was over until 2013 and with no one in the mood to push for a big night, we returned to the tents and regrouped, recalling our festival highlights over a final few quiet beers.

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By two o’clock most of our group were in bed, ready to rise early and leave no trace on the farm. Whilst Barlow and I shared our final cigars of the festival, he gave me a map of Glastonbury, with the Stone Circle highlighted. He was drowsy, drunk and delirious, and told me how he’d spent the previous night at the Stone Circle watching the sunrise, an experience he highly recommended.

“Go there!” he said in a thick Scottish accent, “it’s paradise!” he added.

Before I had a chance to ask him when he’d picked up his Scottish accent, he collapsed in a heap. I checked for his pulse, but couldn’t feel anything. The fact he was snoring was inconclusive, so I assumed he was dead and abandoned him.

I was intrigued, so I resisted the urge to squeeze in between Sandro and Candy in our tent and set off in a desperate bid to prolong the festival. It was around two thirty, so sunrise was some way off, but I was armed with a bag full of cans which would surely keep me awake. 

Once I reached the Glastonbury sign, I turned to survey the site, which was lit by thousands of lights. It looked phenomenal, and I realised what an extraordinary photo opportunity this was, so I cursed the fact that my Nokia 0010 could barely send texts, let alone take photos. Time was on my side though, so I decided to return to the tents and try to pinch Sal’s camera.

The caveat in my carefully crafted plan was that it involved crawling inside Sal and T-Reez’s tent, and rooting through their belongings to find the camera. Now, I’m normally completely at ease with such behaviour, but it can be hazardous when it’s gone three o’clock in the morning, and so it proved when T-Reez, woken by a strange yet handsome man rummaging in her tent, sprayed me with Mace. Worse still, I didn’t find the camera.

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It was already brightening up when I set out again, this time heading straight to the Stone Circe, where I met some charming Mancunians. They were still drinking cider at an impressive rate, one sip per minute, and had made the trip for the same reason as me. Stupidity. The four of them had been to see Beyoncé and three of them said she was fantastic, while one with a mop top was less impressed.

“Beyoncé at Glastonbury? I’m not havin’ it, it’s wrong,” he said, in spite of having made the effort to go and watch her for two hours.

It was gone four o’clock and the sky was brightening by the minute, but as well as light there was a sense of anticipation in the air. I’d heard stories of cheering and clapping, even spontaneous stripping in celebration of when the Sun appeared on the horizon, and people were chatting excitedly. And then, it happened. 

I fell asleep.

When I woke, the Mancunians were gone, as were the contents of my beer can, which lay horizontally across my crotch. The Sun however, had appeared, albeit shrouded in cloud. 

I was wet, alone and disappointed with my eyelids.  If people did indeed clap, cheer, or even strip when the Sun rose, they didn’t do it loud enough to wake me up. The miserable bastards.

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Concluded.

June

4-10 - The Subways & Gomez - ✓
11-17 - Marcia Griffiths - ✓
18-24 - Glastonbury - ✓
25-1 - Glastonbury - ✓