My Glas-ton-breee! Or more Stout than Lithe!
Wed, Jul 7th 2010
Before I set off to Glasto, something wonderful happened! I was rushing around my office phoning schools to get business ‘bits’ out of the way and I phoned Julia, a deputy head. “Oh” she said, “I am just off to Glasto. My head has let me take two days’ unpaid leave so I can go. She insists that she wants all her staff to feed their souls whenever they need to”. Wow, I was knocked out! What a wonderful head teacher. Staff well being is the key to happy organisations – and, lets face it, Glasto is the happiest festival ever!
Mind you, everyone’s Glasto is unique. It is a veritable goulash/pot pourri/magic porridge pot of delights, lows and highs. For me, this time, something amazing happened. For the first time ever I had a whole day on my own, on the Thursday before it all kicks off. With the sun on my back, ice cream in my hand, I wandered around the Greenfield, not having to rush anywhere. Lying in the Poet’s Tent I was moved by the ballad from the dreadlocked bard of Glasto, but I was particularly touched by a young lad who had never read aloud before. He asked if the lure of Facebook and all its cousins, meant we didn’t ever make real time to talk or visit our next door neighbour. I love old Josephine next door and felt a shiver of guilt and resolve.
Meandering over to some seats in the sun next to an old piano, suddenly others appeared carrying guitars. A sing-song spontaneously took off. Out in the open, honky-tonk piano tinkling, swaying together, we sang beautifully out of tune, all the old favourites, but the one I loved best was the one we made our own – the Beatles ‘Let It Be’, morphed seamlessly into “Glas-ton-breee! Arms around each other’s shoulders we swayed away! So went on this golden day. Bathed in joy I unsuspectingly fell into the shadow side! That night in my innocent little tent, I was suddenly surrounded by an anarchic, off their faces, loud group. “I am cold, anyone fancy a shag?” was howled often into the night and soon put paid to my lyrical, romantic, ‘I love Glasto’ mood. They boomed, crashed, and splintered their way round until the shadow side felt very chilly indeed.
Still, sleep wove its magic – and three more days of hedonism followed, although my own personal shadow emerged quite quickly. Being back at Glasto, maxi dress flapping gracefully in the dust, flowers woven through my hair, I began to feel I was young again … to dare to hope that sleep and joy (yes, and make-up!) had somehow transformed me back and then I caught sight of myself in one of those long stall mirrors – where once was ‘lithe’ was ‘stout’. Portly even. What a blow … further hammered in by a stupid newspaper selecting me out of 180,000 people to give a photo of an “older reveller”! Ah well. To counteract this image I am putting up on the blog a photo of me with Richard, a young reveller (my friend’s son!), one of my daughter and I (carefully chosen!) and just a few others to give you a feel of how Glastonbury is. (I have just heard that Richard has got a first – a B.Sc in Occupational Therapy – the NHS is lucky to have him!).
If anyone is interested – I adored ‘Faithless’ and their lyrics, best young band for me was the ‘Temper Trap’, best oldies were Stevie Wonder and Ray Davies, best veggie stall, ‘Leons’. I missed ‘Mumford and Sons’, but I heard they were brilliant.
I have now packed away my skimpy clothes, pink hat, flowers, camping kettle and am full of resolution and energy to face some gruelling work weeks ahead where my portly body, oxen-like, comes into its own. As always, I plod positively onwards!
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