Jun 05


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Arriving on site has changed a bit over the years, there’s no longer the trek up hill and down dale (past the happy clappies with their free orange squash and bibles) from the bus-stop to the gate. There’s also no longer the hanging about looking for a dodgy scally to shepherd you through with an iffy handstamp for ’20, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing…

Hopefully, despite “increased security measures” they won’t be checking everyone’s passport/driving licence/citizen card, in the same way they didn’t last year, or they will have got a lot more stewards in, there’s nothing more soulsapping than being this close to being in and having to wait an hour in a queue.

Without fail, once I am in, a stupidbigfat grin crosses my face, as I look enviously at those who already have their camps sorted and are getting on with the serious business of having fun. Once you are camped, maybe even grabbed a cheeky pint whilst you wait for your friends to sort themselves out, the rituals begin. Scanning the programme for bad journalism, checking when bodger and badger/pronghorn/ozric tentacles are on, making wildly unrealistic plans to, y’know, actually see some theatre this year. And then the casual saunter, feeling smug walking past the latest arrivals, wondering if there’s ever a good time to buy poppers, realising there have been a few small changes (ooh look, that food stall is here this year) but it’s still basically the same, until you reach the promised land, “yeah mate, just give us one of those big bottles of perry and three cups please”

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