As it’s Glastonbury this weekend I thought I’d see if anyone had any tales of their own trips to Worthy Farm? I’m sure a fair few of us have been over the years and surely some of us can remember a story or two of your trip to (what no one outside of the UK calls) the greatest music festival on earth. The music, the mud, the long drop toilets- here’s the place to share your experience (the duller the tale the better, if mine are anything to go by).
Glastonbury Tales
by 24 Comments
Back in 2002 our friend Dan the hat (so called because he always wore a hat) consumed five separate dinners from five separate food stalls whilst walking through the market area between the Pyramid stage and the ‘Other stage.’ Dan was one of those friends in the group who never had money, didn’t work and generally appeared to Idle his days away. I suspect that nowadays this feast would set you back in the region of £60 and I’ll never know how he was able to afford five dinners, or even how he had a ticket to the festival in the first place. He’s kept those secrets under his hat. After this incident he was somewhat cryptically known as ‘Five Dinners Dan.’
Newlywed in 2009 we ventured off to the festival and found what we thought was a quiet spot in the Kidney Mead field. Camped next to us were a group from Essex, who were Glastonbury first timers. One of the cheeky scamps set up a gazebo next to his tent, scrawled the words ‘The Phil Collins Tent’ on the side with marker pen and proceeded to spend most of the weekend listening to the YCHL hitmaker on a small boombox. Not such a quiet spot.
Unfortunately, we had forgotten to pack any fresh pants for the long weekend (not a problem as youngster, but as a married man unthinkable), so we had to go on the lookout for new underwear. Bizarrely we were able to find a pack of fresh M&S scuds in the market area, as well as a fresh lime, which the owner of the Phil Collins tent had been desperate for. He seemed so overjoyed when we presented this to him that I thought he might even turn down his choice of music for a few minutes. Sadly, this did not happen.
A favourite storybook of my kids when they were young was about a cat. Six Dinner Sid.
I’ve been 13 times since 1981, though I stopped going in the early 00’s when it got too much and I discovered The Big Chill etc, but it used to be great in the early days honestly. The Guardian did a thing years ago which is still online when they asked for folks memories of the festival so I added my small contribution, I’m the one holding an envelope of magic mushrooms!
https://www.theguardian.com/music/2010/jun/04/glastonbury-festival-memories
I have also got scans of programmes and a lot of pics from the other years too, such as…
I once had a hash cake at Glastonbury that was so strong, I was convinced I was going to die. I didn’t, I just fell asleep.
In the late 80s or early 90s I went to the loo near the Acoustic tent at about 11pm (so it was pretty dark). It was one of those wooden-box-seat-over-a-trench jobbies, with an aluminium door held on by pop rivets. My pal Wendy was in the queue behind me.
As I stepped into the cubicle, the ground gave way under my left foot. I threw my left arm out towards the box seat, still had hold of the door (which came off its hinges) in my right hand, and my right foot still on solid ground. So I was now laying almost horizontally with one foot less than an inch above the effluent below and my head on the seat.
Somehow, tiny Wendy managed to get me upright, with my left foot only briefly skimming the septic surface. I walked straight back to our campsite near Shepton and, at midnight, stood fully-clothed under the shower. I threw my socks and boots in the bin.
I think we have a winner. It’s remarkable that you’re still alive.
Does remind me of one Reading (off topic) in the early 90s when the camping field was divided by a small stream which over the three days became well-used as a toilet. On the last night two arbitrary teams formed on either side of the stream of refreshed young men and an informal game of British Bulldog ensued. Not too long before several took a dip to huge cheers.
Were it not for Wendy, I might not have made it. I continued to attend until 2000, so it didn’t put me off (although I was much more careful about where I peed).
Two stories: one from 1997 where we decided to forego the last day as it was 100,000 people, a sea of mud and two plastic chairs. They had to shut several tent stages as they started sinking.
Second: one from the mid-90s, forget which one, I had several cans of Stella and we walked up to the spiritual field for a bit of a chill-out. At one point I decided it was a good idea to carry one of those large candles on sticks you put in the ground. Cue enormous amount of molten wax dripping onto my hand. So refreshed was I I went to sleep only to wake up the next morning with a blister the size of a gobstopper on my hand which, sobered up, was hurting like hell. We had one friend who would regularly do a ‘no tent Glasto’ – with enough drugs inside him he’d just burn through the entire three days. Probably a vicar now.
I’ve never been, even when I lived in nearby Taunton, which is just as well as those were two notorious mud baths – 1997 and 1998. I remember going to Exeter for a meeting on the Monday after the festival closed in 1997 and seeing the stairs of the station covered in clumps of mud as hundreds of students with thousand yard stares and an unenviable laundry day ahead of them staggered off the train from Shepton Mallet.
Oh gawd, 1997. Left campsite at Shepton early to arrive for opening of second stage by Ben Folds Five. Trudged through sea of mud to find second stage sinking, and sign announcing “stage shut”. Trudged for an hour through sea of mud to small patch of grass infront of Pyramid stage. Watched Beck on Pyramid stage for an hour. Patch of grass now sea of mud and leaking into walking boots. Trudged through sea of mud to exit, walked back to campsite, had shower, took down tent, drove home. Watched Radiohead on telly.
Never been to the festival but in 1980 I called in at Glastonbury on the way home, drank some very strong scrumpy with some locals and decided that I should sleep on top of the Tor, slept in the tower and woke in the morning to see a sea of mist below. It was like being stranded on an island with a sea of grey below. For breakfast I had muesli with barley wine I’d been given, I didn’t have any milk.
I have a cutting from an NME with an ad for the first festival, headliners The Kinks pulled out at the last minute and were replaced by Tyrannosaurus Rex, Bowie played a set which included Hunky Dory songs for the first time.
In 1982 there was not even a proper programme, only the local listings magazine with a few pages dedicated to who was on at the back with Fridays headliner unknown, I still can’t remember who it was. Van was big then of course but was dropped into the middle of the afternoon. Judie Tzuke was on again like the year before and as in 1981 they still couldn’t spell her name right. Highlights for me this year included Jackson Browne and Randy California.
Incest: TMFTl
Was that the Van set where some poor woman had an epic epileptic fit in the middle of the audience, whereupon the air ambulance was summoned, hovered and landed in front of the Pyramid while Van’s boys kept the Gloria vamp ticking over while they loaded her onboard and then picked up the song again as the chopper flew away?
yes! haha, I remember that now, happy daze
1987. The late Mrs Cakes and I checked into a nice B&B in Glastonbury, drove to the festival site and had a nice day of it. Went back to the car at night, dreaming of a clean bed and a full English next morning, only to find it surrounded by a sea of tents. We had to exist for a weekend with the money in our pockets, buying an apple to clean our teeth etc. and sleeping in the car. By the end of the weekend, we still looked like plain-clothes policemen, compared to most of the attendees.
Glastonbury (or Glastonphant) is for me eternally associated with Pete Loveday who sadly died this year, and his sagas about Russell. Here’s one of his excellent pages:
I’m not sure which senior AWer would be represented by the first four of this line-up, but @hubert-rawlinson is a shoe-in for Russell himself, and @Rigid-Digit could be his punk sidekick, Andy..
I hadn’t heard that Pete Loveday had died. I enjoyed the Russell stories a lot after finding a battered copy of the first one on a stall in Camden Market, which in those days felt like the perfect introduction.
Very kind of you @salwarpe, who could that handsome young chap in profile be? Why of course it’s young Hubes.
I went to Glastonbury once, walked up to the top of the hill to see the Tor and walked back down again. Was a lovely day, didn’t see any stages or hear any music though.
It’s a lovely view, innit?
Beautiful
I’ve got a funny one from this year involving Steve Hillage. Can’t be bothered to type it up right now though. Another time ay?