1. Wandering over to a book stall on Thursday evening and buying Impossible Possibilities, a book on “the miracles of the future” written by two Germans in 1968. Strolled away when the aged proprietor called me back. “Did you hear,” he said, “Of the boy who could turn a tennis ball inside out with his mind?”. “No” I said, truthfully. “They studied him – and then he couldn’t do it any more.“. Ahhh.
2. Crossing the flooded site for the first time on Friday morning to get provisions. Wild-eyed man in front of me in the queue: “ten mars bars” Provisions man: “ten??” Wild-eyed man: “make it fifteen”.
3. Returning with provisions my way is blocked by a bus grinding slowly through the rivers of muddy water. At the front are four baby-faced musician types in notably dry-weather gear: they look apalled and sickened. “It’s the Thrills” cries somebody. Somebody else cries “Fuck off!”
4. The fabulous moment when I realised that my camping chair wouldn’t sink.
5. Reading a text on Friday night saying “Kinga and Orlaith must go” and realising that the weight of water had actually shifted the whole of Glastonbury into some ridiculous counter-earth populated by bad fantasy characters.