Glastonbury 2009
Wednesday 24th June to Monday 29th June
Wednesday / Thursday / Friday / Saturday / Sunday / Monday
Wednesday
Carefully planned logistics saw the Barlow/Newland party leave Leeds at approximately 1400 hours, with the Allen/Schofield party departing Manchester around 30 minutes later, both arriving at Strensham service station in Worcestershire (between junctions 7 and 8 of the M5, motorway service station fans) within minutes of each other, at around 5pm.
Refreshments and provisions acquired, and Allen taking the Ford Focus driving role, we cruised down the rest of the M5 as close to 80 mph as physically possible ("stop playing games!"), largely oblivious to what would await us. Well, that's not entirely true - the signs were there. In this case, large LED displays warning of traffic between junctions 21 and 23 (we intended to alight at junction 23). Sure enough, it swiftly became stop-start before we had even gotten off the motorway.
Relatively speaking, however, that was progress, as when we reached the A-road (the A39, A-road fans) it was rather more of the "stop" and considerably less of the "start". It was odd traffic progress - no movement for up to 15-20 minutes a time (enabling us to trot back and forth between the two cars for a number of tedium-breaking chats; some people even played football) then suddenly shuffling half a mile along, catching up the road-side walkers who had trudged on ahead. We tuned into local radio and tales were abound of horrendous journey times (comfortably eclipsing ours at that time), with mention of an unprecedented 60,000 having taken advantage of the good Wednesday weather (later updated to a gob-smacking 90,000).
After a few hours of frustration and ill-considered-but-rejected alternative routes, our mood became one of tired acceptance. So tired, in fact, that I found myself too exhausted not to stall it (oh it was still in first... shame). Finally, we did get there, but not until 1am had passed us by (meaning that it had taken us more or less 7 hours to negotiate the last 20 miles or so). The gate's traffic control gave no clue as to the strange pattern of movement; nevertheless we were soon parked up, which prompted mild celebration and semi-ironic bear hugs of joy.
Alas, this not being a hotel, there was no check-in, bar, lie down combo. We still had to lug as much of our stuff as we could physically carry to a campsite, find a place to camp and set up our tents. Being so tired actually helped a little, as it numbed the pain of carrying so much, despite going slightly the wrong way and having to retrace our steps up a hill. Mark's decision to carry lots of beers in one hand proved a little unwise and he tended to blaze a trail before waiting for the rest of the team whilst his hands recovered.
Once there, we pretty much picked the first decent expanse of grass that we could find. There was some attempt to vote on it, but it mostly descended into people muttering "this is fine by me" whilst dumping all their stuff to the ground. There followed some pitch black tent pitching, my much-mocked head-mounted flashlight coming in exceedingly useful. Our pop-up tent made things considerably easier and we were thankful to have practised its set-up beforehand. This whole process was made easier and less stressful by the thirsty consumption of remarkably cold and refreshing lager beers.
We had originally forecast that we would arrive there and be set up by around 9-10pm, which would then enable a late-ish barbecue. When were still halfway down the seemingly endless A39 at this point, we decided that this would still go ahead, no matter what. It turned out to be around 2-3am when we actually got the burgers and sausages on the go, eating them as much out of dogged determination as hunger, but they were welcome nevertheless. After more beers and chat, 4am soon passed and we realised, a little depressed, that it was beginning to get light and therefore time for bed.
It wasn't long before we were up and about. In fact, I had woken up at 6am and wondered whether it was worth trying to get more sleep - I did dose for a little bit longer. The adrenalin from the experience seemed to rid us of true exhaustion. And, looking at it in the cold light of day, we were quite happy with our tent pitch area, unlike these fellows.
We had deliberately set our tents facing each other, with a barbecue-and-drinking area in between (which was designed to be not quite big enough for someone to slip in a two-man tent). Here, Mark and Lynne belie their lack of sleep by looking reasonably upbeat. Well, Lynne does - Mark just looks puzzled. Or pissed off. Or both.
Schofield effortlessly demonstrates the cosiness of the Hi Gear DS4 tent.
It was then time to get the brekkie on, via our second barbecue of the trip (in total we had brought four, but one of ours was around five or six years old and failed to light). Sous chef Lynne prepared the garlic butter (garlic only because it was the smallest pack available), wearing her specifically-for-Glastonbury pink waterproof jacket. A couple of points of preparation needed but nearly there...
With the bacon, added as a tester, nearly done, it was time to add the rest, with the much-maligned frying pan working wonders. Beautiful.
Amidst the smoke, Mark and Kate concocted a plan for which bands they would like to see during the weekend. Whilst Kate's beer for breakfast seems excessive, it was actually more like noon by now (that said, Mark and I had consumed a couple already at that stage).
Trying to get our bearings, we had a look around. There were tents as far as they eye could see on what was turning into a gloriously sunny day.
However, there were easily more cider cans than tents, as people brought them in by the crateload (and lager too).
Barlow showed his keenness for the lager beer drink, shown here with two cans of Stella 4, presumably one for Travolta and one for L. Jackson. He's waiting outside the toilets, though. Not a great idea as they didn't smell too good.
We took the opportunity of the good weather to explore a little. Over in The Park, HMS Sweet Charity, evidently having taken a wrong turning, sat uneasily next to the Silent Disco (which we didn't try unfortunately).
It was all too much for Lynne and Kate, who proved the age-old equation: sunshine + daytime drinking = total wipeout.
Also in the Park: Sandalism, where the sand sculptors skilfully sculpted sand 'til Sunday, whereupon the rowdy revellers could reasonably ravage it.
On the entrance to the Park were the dark shadowy shapes of a variety of flowers which, cleverly, were all coloured in on the other side (as you left The Park).
Mark showed his drinking prowess/teapot impression before the stunningly beautiful backdrop of the power lines.
On our way back, having abandoned all hope of getting to see Maximo Park open Glastonbury on the tiny Queen's Head stage, we headed to the Guardian Lounge. The Queen's Head area was rammed and there were no other bands playing at that time, which didn't help. A little while before they started, the whole area was made restricted access. So we chilled, listened to music and read the Guardian. In the Guardian Lounge.
There was a meeting of equine minds on the way back to the tent. Nothing to see here. Move along.
Increasingly, the weather forecasts were predicting that it would rain its arse off on and around the Friday. As we merrily BBQ'd on the Thursday evening (burgers, sausages, halloumi, chicken tikka, buns and wraps), the clouds darkened and closed in, and before long the storm was in full flow, with thunder and lightning galore. I foolishly/bravely stayed out to tend to the chicken tikka in my waterproof coat (cheers Matt) whilst the others cowered in their tents.
It soon passed and we could watch the passing storm in the distance for a brief time. But it soon closed in again and, having had little sleep the night before, we were pretty bloody knackered and we fell asleep in our tents at about 10pm, before waking at about 1am and going back to bed properly. We needed the rest - we had a long weekend ahead of us.