The return to Glastonbury

I’ve been to the fields many times, but I’ve been on a Glasto-ban for the last few years. Now, I’m ready to rise like a phoenix in 2024.

I’ve had time out. Admittedly, I needed a break. Glastonbury is a beast of a trip. You have to be mentally and physically ready if you’re going to do it right. And I wasn’t in the right headspace.

You need to remember how best to attack the place and most importantly, let all your barriers down about toilet issues. When you gotta go you just go. No matter what the smell or situation. Just release.

When I first went to the festival, I was a tabloid journo and my job was to get the goss. I literally had no idea what I was doing. I remember going with a suitcase and I stayed at a local B+B. I thought it would be easier. It wasn’t. Tredging out in the early hours of the morning and searching for a taxi which I then had to direct to my inn wasn’t the one. Don’t forget in 2001 you didn’t have the luxury of Waze or Google Maps. I had to remember in my drunken haze where I lived. It’s literally a miracle I made it back to sleep at all.

I’ve had two, maybe three, years out from going to Glasto. I just wasn’t feeling it. The FOMO was real watching friends at the front for TLC. But I was smug about being clean and fresh watching highlights from my sofa with a crisp Sancerre and knowing I wasn’t pushing myself to the limits with the 20k or so you end up walking a day and hammering your body with far too much booze and far too little nutrients. The truth is, I’ve gotten a little older.

Crowds aren’t something I yearn for. I don’t like being too close to people and feeling trapped. In some ways I’ve just got a little too cosy and comfortable with the luxuries of life.

But I had a u-turn. This week I decided it’s time to return to the fields of Somerset and get my Glastonbury wings back on track. I’ve booked snazzy accommodation at a fairly huge cost. I’m in hospitality, obviously, and I’m going with my friend who is practically sober (does a few mushies, obvs) – mainly hoping it’s going to give me a completely new experience at the festival. I can’t wait to show her around the place.

My days of being an absolute wreckhead have dispersed somewhat. I mean, I can still knock it out the park…but at 43 you pay for it for days and I don’t want that cloud hanging over my head for three days after a bender. I really can’t be arsed to put myself through that. I avoid the monster hangys where humanly possible.

Over the years, I’ve had the best fun at Glastonbury and gotten myself into all sorts of trouble. I woke up with a carrot drawn on my face one year. No idea how it got there. Then there was the time I interviewed Belinda Carlisle off my tits and started with “Firstly, I loved you in the Bangles”. Doh. Plus a load of stories I might tell one day – but wouldn’t want to delve into right now.

The first year I went I interviewed No Doubt backstage and got to meet one of my idols, Gwen Stefani (above). My god, I hope No Doubt are playing this year. They seem to be on the comeback trail, so we can only but hope. I looked like a yeti in my fleece top. Gwen is majestic.

In ye olde days when I was a columnist, Glastonbury meant a four-day bender without fail. Plus having to ensure you could file your copy for the column the next day. We didn’t have smart phones either – we’d have to make written notes and then call copytakers in an office and read out our words to these snooty women who clearly thought showbiz journalism was a pointless part of the industry.

I bloody loved the wildness of Glastonbury. I’d have a frozen Margie for brekkie alongside a bacon bap which inevitably was the one proper meal of the day. I indulged in every way and would often end up in the Rabbit Hole at 3am with Prince Harry on one side and some huge pop star quietly larging it on the other. It was a lot of fun. Exhausting, but fun.

The last time I went with the Mongoose (the trademarked name for my ex) we gave it a pretty good whack but managed to have eight hours sleep each night. In fact, on the Saturday last time round the Mongy went back to our PodPad at 8.30pm to change and pick up a jacket ahead of the chilly evening and literally went missing. Dermot O’Leary’s wife Dee turned to me during the Chemical Brother’s opening tracks and said: “Are you sure he will be OK? Maybe you should go back and check on him?” She had a point. We’d had quite the day of partying.

I trudged back for the 40-minute walk and knocked on the door of our hut with no answer. After a few minutes of knocking, the Mongoose answered the door in his pants, and he’d submitted to the sleep monster. He was wrapped up in a duvet. I looked at him, said fuck it and joined him. We slept for nearly ten hours on the main night at Glastonbury and woke up the next day like new people. Missing all the Saturday night antics in the process and dodging a bender and a half. This meant we were extremely fresh for Kylie’s mega set the next day :-)

There is one other rather crazy momeny I want to tell you about at Glasto. It involves the year Florence and the Machine replaced the Foos very last minute. I love Florence! But none of my friends did. So, I looked around in the Frantanamo Bay area backstage for whoever was up for coming to see Florence.

I found a little gaggle. Pixie Geldof, Jack Guinness, Daisy Lowe, Alexa Chung and her then boy toy Alexander Skarsgard. I mean, truth be told I’m not sure they wanted me tagging along. But I was feeling the love, pretty wasted and very cuddly…shall we say!

We minced across to the Pyramid Stage together and had a nice amount of space to dance and enjoy. I was struggling to take in all the lights and the sound by that point - but very happy with the situation. I caught this light in the sky that was shiny and fabulous. An intense light. But I couldn’t work out what it was and that troubled me. I was squinting and trying to focus so hard.

Alexa was next to me on the shoulders of her handsome True Blood hunk and he could see I was struggling with the source of the light. I can remember this moment like it was clear as day. I happily slurred in his ear: “What the hell is that light above the stage?”

He chuckled and squeezed my shoulder and said: “Dude, it’s the moon.”

THE SHAME. I mean, what the fuck. I remember it looking super gorgeous nestled above the top of the Pyramid in the sky. I had to have a word with myself and said ‘right, that’s embarrassing you need to get the fuck out of here immediately’.

“OK, gang who wants a drink? I’m buying.”

I took a full order from everyone, spotted a bar and literally sprinted across the field in the direction of the bar with ZERO intention of going back. I didn’t feel humiliated or anything – I was pissing myself laughing like a crazy person - but I knew I wasn’t in the right head space to socialise or have to deal with actors I didn’t know pointing out planets in the sky.

So what did I do? I went to the mega mega sketch out dance zone Arcadia on my own and “danced it off” on my own to a jungle, or it might have been drum and bass, set. In normal life I couldn’t even begin to try and cope with jungle music. I think Goldie might have been playing. I eventually found some friends. The joy of being a man about town back then – I would always find a friend in a crowd…even with over 200,000 people at a festival.

You could describe this as the perfect “Just say no” situation, Kids.

So in 2024 I’m feeling pumped to be returning but in a super different capacity. Sure, I’m going to have fun but these days it’s more about sleeping well, having the right warm outfits and generally knowing the limits on when to go to bed. I’m forever thankful that I’ve always known when it’s time to get the fuck to bed. I fear if I hadn’t been assigned that skill I’d have definitely had a few issues with the grog (and the rest). But alas I’m able to navigate the joys of partying with ease these days.

Also, let it be known I went to Mighty Hoopla last year and had the best time completely sober. I drove my car there, still saw tonnes of people I know and was on the best form. The joy of being at a festival and not having a gross hangy the next day was a delight.  

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not going to be sober at Glastonbury. But there’s a definite sway with mindful choices these days. I guess you could say I’m much less of a fucktard.

So Glastonbury, I’m really fucking ready to ride you. And this time I’m going to make sure I do it right.

Final picture, the year I introduced Emma and Matt Willis to the festival. That was a LOLFest.

Until next week, Kids.