Surviving Glastonbury 2007

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Glastonbury. The granddaddy of all music festivals. The iconic one that everyone’s heard about, the festival where it doesn’t matter if it’s sunny or muddy, you’re guaranteed a good time. The Glastonbury Festival of Contemporary Performing Arts began in 1970, as a two day festival with a £1 entrance fee, on the farm owned by the organiser, Michael Eavis. Now the largest green field festival in the world, there is a year’s hiatus after every four consecutive festival years, to give the land - still a working farm - time to recover. 2006 having been a rest year, 2007 was my chance, and tickets were high on my wish list.

I’m constantly asked what Glastonbury was like, by those who haven’t been or missed out this time around. I find myself unable to explain fully - overflowing with superlatives, time and time again I fail to give a proper picture. Hopefully this feature length blog will give those who actually manage to wade through it some idea of my Glastonbury experience.

The battle for tickets
Glastonbury has a long history of gatecrashers and ticket scalpers, and to put paid to them cashing in again, a new ticketing system was put in place. The “good old days” - when ticket equated to climb over the fence and the festival population numbered twice or three times as many people as the amount of tickets sold - are well and truly over.

The groundwork for attending the 2007 event began in February, with a month long registration period. Prospective festival-goers all had to register with their full details and a passport photo. Registration was open to anyone in the world, and when buying tickets several months later, your personal registration number would have to be provided, making anyone not registered ineligible.

As people realised how it was going to work, an enormous flood of registrations rolled in, and the organisers had to extend the deadline to cope with the traffic. By the time registration closed in early March, some reports said as many as 5 million people had registered for the 277,000 tickets.

A month of planning phone trees and swapping registration details followed, as everyone got on as many people’s lists as possible. Up to four tickets could be purchased in one transaction, as long as a registration number was provided for each ticket.

Some might think it apt that the tickets went on sale at 9am on April Fools Day. Hundreds of thousands of hopefuls sped to computers or phones early that Sunday morning. Like many others, I had decided on work as my command centre, because I could use several computers at once while also trying the phone lines. Best laid plans often go awry: I had forgotten about the firewall firmly in place at the BBC, which meant the site took too long to connect, and again and again I got the “busy” message.

An unsuccessful hour later, one of my friends similarly ensconced in her office gave me a call - she had gotten through twice already, and promptly added me, Jenny and Sam to her next batch of requests. A few minutes later we had won - we were all going to Glastonbury!

Or so we hoped… The tickets had all sold out within three hours, totally swamping the company controlling them. Although in possession of confirmation emails, the ticket money sat resolutely in our accounts, and the unpaid for tickets hung in the balance for nearly a month. With bated breath we waited, all because of the fine print - if the card transaction was declined, there was no second chance - the tickets would be reallocated and on-sold. What if one of us had misread or mistyped a digit?

Finally the money was taken in early June, we collectively began breathing again, and started to plan. We were going to Glastonbury!

Journey to Glastonbury
Several friends snagged parking tickets and organised carloads to the venue. A few had bought the combined coach and ticket deals, and were tied to catching their allocated coach, as their personalised photo stamped ticket would only be given out on the bus as they neared their destination.

Jenny and Sam and I had seen the (awful) weather forecasts, and judged that arriving on the Wednesday night would be a good idea, in order to find ourselves a good high place to camp. We weren’t too keen on ending up under a mudslide or in the middle of a muddy lake. We decided to take the train, leaving from Paddington Station after work on Wednesday, and arriving at Castle Cary in Somerset, where a courtesy coach would collect us, taking us over the twisty farm roads to the site.

Paddington was packed with people either wearing wellies, or carrying them. It felt like the three of us were members of a huge family going on holiday together, and soon enough we were packed aboard our train with the countryside sliding past beside us. I glued myself to the window, and realised how little time I had spent outside London since arriving in the UK. (Working on fixing that, promise!)

Things were surprisingly well organised at Castle Cary, and we boarded our bus almost immediately. Necks were craning to catch a glimpse of the site as it grew dark, and soon enough we could see a rough rectangular outline of light in the middle of nowhere. Pools of coloured lights and waving spotlights dotted randomly through the grid, giving us clues to the locations of the stages, and there was an odd flickering at one corner, which I soon guessed to be fire.

Worthy Farm, Wednesday Night
Disembarked and carrying our packs across the large dirt car park that served as the bus station, we got through the gates. Laden with maps and goody bags, we looked at the huge map of the site to get our bearings - only to find that the guides had already closed off large sections of campgrounds too full to admit more campers. So much for arriving early!

We decided the Home Fields, (the campgrounds either side of the farmhouse, directly above the Pyramid Stage,) would be our best bet. Even though the guides had not yet closed any of them, we had a very difficult time trying to slot ourselves in. Groups sitting outside nearby tents guarded many a likely place: “stop, that’s for our friends, they’ll be here any minute!” We moved on and on through the dark, stepping carefully over guy ropes, and eventually found a small patch in the field called “Michael’s Mead”.

Thankfully it wasn’t raining, and we could take our time setting up our unfamiliar tents and squeezing them into the space available. Our tiredness was quickly shaken off as we worked away to the sound of random cheering echoing around the camp - everyone was so excited to be there they couldn’t contain it. The spontaneous outbursts were like nothing I have ever heard before.

I got my tent up as quickly as I could and started writing while Jenny and Sam sorted themselves out. I was overwhelmed by the atmosphere, and the first paragraph of my diary entry for the day reads:
“I’m at Glastonbury! Wristbanded, sitting in my tent and absolutely overwhelmed by just how GIMORMOUS this place is. It’s incredible, it really does stretch for miles and miles, and the different areas are noticeable for the different coloured lights they display. The Pyramid Stage is still being assembled, but it has a lit up tip. The circus tent is shooting beams of light into the sky. Up around Lost Vagueness is covered in flares and flaming torches. There are people EVERYWHERE…”

Despite the fact that it was past 1am by this time, everyone else was up and we could not resist exploring. We tried to commit landmarks to memory as we walked down the hill and past the enormous bulk of the famous Pyramid Stage. Even at this late hour it was covered in workers hoisting up lighting grids and building the stage up under the shaped cover, which in previous incarnations was a barn the rest of the year. (I'm not sure if it still is - it's all pretty hi-tech now.)

Jenny, Sam and I thought we’d try finding the famous cider bus, but not having gotten our bearings yet, we failed and settled instead for the first large marquee bar we found. We explored the flat, and then wandered up the opposite hill, passing stalls, shops, random sculptures and lots of flags. We climbed the to the Sacred Space, the home of all the flaming torches we had seen from the bus. On a hill overlooking the entire campsite, it features a Stone Circle, and is always a special gathering place. This year it also contained a second circle - the urban artist Banksy had been, and left behind a ring of colourfully graffitied portaloos in the shape of Stonehenge. That first night, people covered the hill, sitting around campfires, holding torches, leaning on the stones or perched on Banksy’s loos. Many groups had sleeping bags and were obviously keeping vigil here to mark the first night of the festival - which also happened to be Summer Solstice. The air of anticipation was tangible, fanning the flickering flames.

We headed back down the hill to the area that quickly became known to us as “The White Flags.” It was the area by the Jazz World Stage, but it also housed a number of refreshment stalls, most importantly the Brothers Cider Bar, home of pear cider, which we discovered that night. Buying ourselves a large bottle, the three of us settled on the pleasant grassy area beneath the fluttering flags. The streams of crazy people all around us, including an Irish group who attempted to climb the flagpoles, kept us entertained. Our party was cut short by a sudden and thorough drenching - we took flight at the first drops, and made it to a general store (still open at 3am!) where we bought some very sexy yellow plastic ponchos to keep ourselves dry on the walk back. We called it a night just as the birds began to greet Thursday morning.

Thursday: city of 200,000 tents
Not a festival day as such, Thursday was a brilliant day of getting ourselves into the swing of it all. We slept late, awaking to a cold grey morning. The sky wasn’t promising anything better, so we set off in our wellies, carrying our yellow ponchos. Starting the day with hot drinks from Lulu’s, the breakfast café at the foot of our camping hill, we found the information point and collected our free recycled paper toilet rolls, looked at band t-shirts, and stumbled across the cider bus we had missed the night before. I was unenthused by my sample of the warm mulled cider, and Jenny and Sam agreed that the pear cider of the night before was more special.

We shopped our way up the stalls selling everything any camper could need, from tents and sleeping bags to hats, inflatable chairs and clubbing costumes. At the large striped Leftfield marquee we heard some indie bands, and sampled French cuisine for lunch: cheesy wine-y potatoes with sausage - hearty festival food, although it certainly sounded fancier in French.

After lunch we found a clay sculpture installation in the Fields of Avalon, and spotted a craft tent where we could create our own versions. An opportunity to play with a lump of pleasantly cool and mouldable clay? Not to be missed! We smoothed, rolled and squished with gusto. Ever the perfectionists, Jenny and I took time over our Kiwi and Gumboots respectively, while Sam rapidly turned out a perfectly smooth Cricket Ball. Our efforts will be dried, stored, and put on display at next year’s festival, along with all the other creations.

Streams of people were arriving all through the day and into the night. Every so often amidst the partying we’d see a small group, packs strapped to backs, anxiously looking for a patch of grass to call home. Somewhere among tem were several of my friends. The day was showery off and on, but the site wasn't yet too muddy, so a lot the late arrivals made the decision to stay on the flat. We thought of our home on the hill and were glad.

We had been wearing our wellies all day, to be on the safe side - and to be part of the crowd, since the only variation in festival footwear was the brand and colour of wellies you'd chosen. It was dirt underfoot, though. The showers throughout the day hadn’t made too much of a difference, so when we turned in that evening and blithely pulled them off, our wellies were still clean. We had no idea.

Friday - Welcome to Glastonbury!
I was already worried about the charge running out on my phone - however could I survive without it? - so I got some power into it at the Orange Chill & Charge tent before meeting Jenny and Sam for Modest Mouse. Sliding along the slick walkways, we grabbed burritos on the way, and we and the band arrived at the Other Stage just in time for a torrential downpour. They played through it, and hoods up, we stood through it. I had never heard the band before, but liked them - even though what I now remember is mostly the rain and the already ubiquitous mud-covered beach balls, which flew kamikaze like at our heads throughout the gig.

We met Patrick in the crush of people leaving the field, and he joined us on our quest to locate and purchase cider to take with us to the next gig - Amy Winehouse on the Pyramid Stage. I had no expectations - Amy is absolutely huge in the UK media, famous as much for her beehive wigs and strange taste in body art as she is for her voice, but I didn’t think I had ever heard her before.

I was utterly blown away. She was completely out of her skull, drunk or worse. When she tried to talk to the crowd, she made no sense at all, and was saved more than once by her band launching in to the next song, just to stop her rambling. She was very attached to a large cup set at her feet, and at one point she missed her cue while swigging from it, and the band had to start again.

As oddly as she was acting, her voice was incredible. Her state didn't seem to affect her singing, as far as I or anyone I’ve talked with since could tell. From the moment she walked on stage I was fascinated; from the moment she started singing I was a fan. Her gravely, soulful and amazing tuneful voice is fantastic, and if you can get past the obvious eating disorder, horrible hair and ugly paint she adorns herself with, she has a truly gorgeous smile as well.

The moment she finished her set, she flung herself around a bloke at the side of the stage, presumably her new husband. They were locked in a kiss for several minutes before she skipped off the stage. I’m now hooked on the Amy Winehouse drama… but I think most of all I’d like to give her a hug and ram some food down her throat.

Next up on the same stage were the sweet and catchy Magic Numbers. By turns mournful and optimistic, they played a lively set. They're English, but hold associations with the US for me, since they formed a large portion of the musical backdrop to the famous Jenny and Ju road trip last year. The mud wrestling began in earnest during their slot - the downpours earlier and the more or less constant drizzle since, coupled with the thousands of feet stamping around the main stage, had mixed up several bogs and a good sized lake in front of the Pyramid. I was suddenly very glad of my wellies…

Patrick left us to pursue other bands, and the other two reckoned it was time for some more food, so we headed back cider-wards, collected some fish and chips, and started quantifying the different types of mud (getting as far as OMG, LOTS!) on our way round to the Other Stage for our next pick. Wanting to be in time, we arrived early and caught Rufus Wainwright's show stopping finale - he was prancing around in fishnets and a miniskirt, singing show tunes - it was raucous good fun, and I’ll be on the lookout for his gigs in the future.

Arcade Fire are an ensemble, all of whom seem to be able to play multiple instruments. They were all over the stage, taking turns and swapping the spotlight in an apparently spontaneous fashion. They were energetic and rocky and folksy and loud and quiet and generally awesome. Jenny and I stayed in the crowd after their show finished, and managed to work our way to the front in the long wait before Björk came on, so by the time she stepped out in a odd white robe with enormous helmet-like hood, we were in the second row. Her haunting voice and crashing backing echoed and wafted and pierced our heads. She was so cute, skipping about the stage, by turns gleeful and heartbreaking. She is simply incredible live, and anyone who thinks otherwise needs to get themselves to one of her gigs. I loved it. And yes, she did do Hyperballad.

We met up with Sam again afterwards, and attempted to visit the famous (or infamous?) Lost Vagueness - but everyone else in the entire festival seemed to have the same idea, and we found ourselves part of a mass of people, pushing along the rapidly liquidising path. Even the gaily-painted giant wooden flowers lining the way failed to make me happy about the heaving crowd. The wardens had made Lost Vagueness a one way strip to cope with the onslaught, and it felt like we were on a moving walkway with nowhere to get off. There were massive queues outside all the clubs and tents, and we were swept past without seeing a single interesting thing. It seemed to me that Lost Vagueness had been found - and the charm it was meant to have was stripped from it in the process. Or perhaps I was just tired.

Back on our hill we joined the group at the taps, to wash off the small countries sticking to our boots. Mud had colonised every single welly on site. The pretty prints visible the day before had vanished under thick brown sludge, and some people were even having trouble walking because of all the extra weight. It was a relief to get it washed off and walk light footed back along the ridge to our tent, where we fought our wellies off and succumbed to blissful sleep.

Saturday - in the middle with you
Breaking point - no one was ready to leave, but man the mud and rain were getting old!

Lulu’s was so busy in the morning that we went elsewhere for our breakfast, but I didn't enjoy my overpriced, undercooked bacon and mushroom butty. Jenny and Sam needed cash, so we went our separate ways: they queued for hours to use a cash point that worked, and I explored around the Circus tent. I didn’t catch any particularly good acts, but outside I found a strange installation which I spent some time examining. A group of blue metal posts rose vertically out of the mud, inviting you to walk amongst them. Motion sensors inside each post triggered flashing lights and different sounds, which rose in volume the closer you, got. While I walked between them, a barely clad young man stepped into the middle in slow motion, expressionlessly rolling a gleaming class ball fluidly around his body, down his arms and back again. He entranced a small crowd amidst the eerie wailing of the posts for some time, before calmly stalking off again through the mud, carefully holding his glass ball.

On my way back to the stages, I got stuck in a field of mud so thick people were resorting to all sorts of strange methods to get through it - including bending over double and holding the rim of each gumboot, enabling you pull as you step! Crabwise, I managed to cross it without losing a boot, and back at the Pyramid, I caught half of Dirty Pretty Things on my way to meet Mel, Karl, Jules and Amy.

Chatting, we stuck around by the Pyramid Stage, to see Lily Allen. Since I'd found Smile just about the most irritating song of 2006, I wasn’t prepared to enjoy her set, even though I’d heard she was good live. That turned out to be an understatement - in a bright pink version of her trademark retro dress, Lily was every inch the performer, and commanded the stage as much with her banter as she did with her songs. She veered between funny, childish, irreverent and downright silly. Granted she has a bit of a potty mouth, and a tendency to be outspoken when she should be circumspect - but she was never boring. Her songs matched her changing moods, with catchy lyrics and tunes. She got a huge cheer when she admitted that she was bowled over by being invited to play on the Pyramid. And I sang along to Smile.

On my traverse to the Other Stage I picked up a Giant Yorkshire Pudding filled with mashed potatoes, sausages and mixed veg and covered in gravy. It was far too much food, but absolutely delicious. The group had gotten distracted along the way, so sharing the last of my Pudding and his spare beer the friend of a friend and I waited for Babyshambles. They were late starting - I think some didn’t expect them to turn at all - but eventually they stumbled on to the stage and played an enthusiastic set. Huge cheers greeted the appearance of Kate Moss, who parked herself on the side of the stage with friends, and even came out at one point to give the incredibly incoherent Pete a kiss. Their set disintegrated towards the end, as they bumbled around the stage and threw a few bottles… and then walked off.

I dashed from the shambles at the Other Stage across to the Dance Village for Fat Freddy’s Drop in the Roots tent, which even twenty minutes before their performance was packed to overflowing. Unfortunately the group seemed to have ideas of an epic gig, but starting in their usual rambling style slowed the pace a little too much - they got the tent thumping and ended on a high note, but it was the sort of performance that would have gone on for hours at home, and I think anyone experiencing them for the first time would have been disappointed.

Back on my cross country challenge, I zoomed back to the Pyramid Stage to catch the end of the Kooks, before The Killers came on in a burst of light and energy - quite literally, they had fireworks! They played a great gig and looked fantastic, but I was lagging by that point. I couldn't get enthused, and just wanted to sleeeep, so after the gig I left Jenny and Sam to get up to mischief at the bar, and headed back to my neglected little tent, where I wrote, (quite possibly with my eyes closed,) in a meandering scrawl across my diary:
I am absolutely exhausted. It’s quarter to two, I’m sitting in my tent about to go to sleep, even though the sounds of a small city throwing a shindig are all around and enticing… There’s thumping from the dance tents, and thousands of people cheering, talking, singing - having a great time. The problem with this place is there’s just too much to do!

Sunday
Although I woke to find my cheap tent was finally giving up its waterproofing and everything I had was just a little damp around the edges, I was still sad it was to be the last day. I felt I hadn’t seen half the site yet, so I set off on a desperate mission to see as much as I could. While getting dressed I could hear strains of Copland’s Theme for the Common Man wafting up the hill - the National Youth Orchestra were playing on the Pyramid Stage, and getting huge cheers, too.

I stuffed myself with muesli bars, ate an apple, and set off to explore the area on the opposite side of the site, The Park. New to the festival this year, it was designed and overseen by Emily Eavis, Michael’s daughter. Walking up the hill (and trying not to find myself back at the bottom again immediately - it was a mudslide) the first thing visible was the 12m high “Ribbon Tower” a viewing platform surrounded by multicoloured neon ribbons, which glowed red at nighttime. Signposts pointing here, there and everywhere dotted the Park’s entrance, and then the Wishing Tree caught my attention - apparently a wizard lived in a boat up a tree, and would pull your written wish up in a bucket. He didn’t appear to be in, though… this was a place of randomness. A strange wooden boat - the Junk Boat - was perched on a mound of grass and mud. A huge sandpit held a sculpted dragon lying across hills with little trees on them, amazingly fairly undamaged by the rain. Shops, stalls and bars lined one side of the main thoroughfare, which was a complete bog, and faced the Young Performers stage and the Silent Disco tent on the other side. At the very top of the hill were the Park Stage, the Ribbon Tower, a tipi field and the Rabbit Hole Café. Goose-stepping my way up the path, I joined the queue for the ribbon tower.

It was quite a wait, but Fionn Reagan followed by Euro Childs were mellow entertainment on the Park Stage, and we were high enough even at the foot of the tower to see over most of the site. The view from the tower showed the extent of the festival spread - the place is massive. No wonder it took so long to get from one lace to another - it wasn’t just the mud. The organisation it must take to put it all up, and then the cleaning and dismantling later… wow.

I also got a good view of The Fence from the tower, as the back of it ran just behind me. Trespasser proof, tall, shiny and intimidating, it was a snaking silver ribbon surrounding the entire site. There was a cherry picker parked outside the Fence behind the Ribbon Tower - I’m not sure whether it was security or someone trying to get a freebie. They wouldn’t have been able to hear anything, but it would be a great view.

From the Park I traversed the across the hills to the Stone Circle, as I had only been up at the Sacred Space in the dark. By afternoon light it was still covered in small knots of people, but suddenly had banners decorating the fence, gardens, and all sorts of other small details invisible in the dark.

Walking back, I had just time to purchase and wolf down a delicious meal from one of the vegetarian places on the corner of the Green Fields - easily some of the best food I have tasted in a long time - as I trotted off to see Dame Shirley Bassey at the Pyramid Stage. Dressed in ruffled pink (and with pink studded wellies to match, I later found out!) she performed a catalogue of her most famous hits, including two show stopping all-singing, all-dancing renditions of Hey Big Spender.

After the Manic Street Preachers I went to find some food. I had to cross the exit from the backstage area, and waiting by the gate for the four wheel drive coming out. The driver looked awfully familiar… and I realised it was Michael Eavis, the man who owns Worthy Farm, founded the festival, and still organises it twenty years on. Everyone in the vicinity started cheering and he smiled widely as we yelled our thanks to him.

I met Jules, Mel and their group in front of the Pyramid for the Kaiser Chiefs, which was a riotous party. They had the lights, the crowd’s devotion, the great sounds and a fantastic vibe. As it grew dark their backdrop was torn down to reveal a giant flashing “KC” and if possible, they got even better. Even the drizzle couldn’t put us off, but there was an air of sadness to the end of their show. The band next up were eagerly awaited, playing the headline slot in their first ever Glastonbury performance, but after that it would be all over. By the time The Who came on it was raining in earnest, but we didn’t care - it even added to the show. The musicians seemed in awe of the crowd’s response, enthralled as we were. They seemed like they could have gone on forever, and we were willing them to… but the organisers ran a tight ship, and drew the evening - and the festival - to a close.

Some of us weren’t content to let the evening die, and took a walk to see if we could catch the end of any of the other performances. Taking the long way round, we caught a glimpse of the Gossip going wild in the Dance Village, with an enormous crowd spilling out of the tent into the mud, and reached the Other Stage just as tides of people were leaving from the Chemical Brothers.

Not to be disappointed, we headed to a café, and had hot drinks and brownies before going on a mission to Lost Vagueness. On the way we found a huge metal fire-breathing dragon, with drums built in, on which drummers were going crazy. The beast had steam and smoke and fire pouring out, and flashing red eyes. As it was on wheels, we wanted to see where it might go, but we also thought there might be some Last Night Traditions to be seen, and the dragon was on too small a scale and seemed to be remaining fairly stationary. We continued on our way. In The Chapel we found a strange sort of drumming contest, and further along a cabaret type performance inside a large chandeliered tent. But still we wanted more. Convinced somewhere something big was happening, we went in search of the dragon again, by way of a late night Chai Café. The steamy atmosphere and hot drinks felt good on such a cold drizzly night, and we felt much refreshed - but when we passed the dragon’s spot again he was gone. We went up to the Stone Circle and found a small crowd releasing hot air balloons, many of which did not want to fly and resisted every effort to launch them.

The flat grey dawn of Monday morning was emerging, and Jules conceded defeat, leaving to find her tent in the half-light. I would have to leave in just a couple of hours, so I resolved to continue wandering, and the last of our companions, a Canadian called Dan, came with me up to the Park. After getting stuck in the mud, Dan was helpless against the attack of an extremely muddy group of ravers who wanted to hug everybody. We decided enough was enough, and went our separate ways back to our tents.

The Refugee Train
The queue for the bus was one and a half hours of pure misery. The drizzle had continued while I packed up my tent, and it was showing no signs of abating at all. Everyone at the bus station was exhausted, cold, and soaking wet. The hastily assembled barriers containing the meandering lines were assembled ad hoc as the marshals panicked at the sheer numbers of us, so rows of numbed, partied out people threaded slowly through a metal maze which slowly forced us to rotate 360 degrees at the perfect rate to ensure we and our packs were evenly soaked on all sides.

Finally making it onto a bus, I sat in silence with water dripping down my neck and my heavy pack resting uncomfortably and muddily against my leg. There was another queue at the train station, and a massive push to get under the gazebos the staff had erected. They brought some relief from the persistent rain, but only about a quarter of the waiting crowds fir under them.

I managed to squeeze on to the first train that arrived, and immediately set to, stripping off the clothes I had been wearing since the previous morning, replacing them with comfortable and mostly clean and dry gear. The carriages were filled with wet, muddy, utterly beaten people. I could barely concentrate, and was obsessively and repetitively concerned with two things: a hot shower, and the chance to sleep, and sleep. The wonderful Glastonbury camaraderie was still apparent. Too tired to talk, we smiled at each other, knowing that we weren’t strangers - we were the survivors of Glastonbury 2007.

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Photos

Lights on, lights up
The Pyramid Stage on Thursday night - still being built and rigged.

The witching hour
The Stone Circle in the early hours of Thursday morning.

The Pyramid
An imposing sight from directly underneath... silhouetted against that rarest of commodities - blue sky.

Bright yellow and oh, so cool
... it was ugly, but it was a faithful poncho. It kept me dry all festival - no mean feat - and only ripped on the train home.

Clay figures from the 2005 festival
The figures made in 2007 (including some miniture gumboots, a kiwi and a cricket ball) will be displayed at next year's festival.

White Flags - Pear Cider lives here!
On Wednesday it was a quiet grassy dell. By Friday, there were thousands of people drinking cider, but no grass at all.

Downpour at Modest Mouse
The first band we saw, and when we started to realise exactly how muddy things could get...

NZ represents at Amy Winehouse
Despite the changeable weather, the scary hair and all the paint (removeable and permanent) Amy's was an awesome show. Plus there was a Maori dude at the front waving our flag!

The freeview option
A paraglider swoops low over Worthy Farm. He circled over the Pyramid Stage, then soared off over the rest of the festival.

Mud Dancers
In the rapidly expanding lake in front of the Pyramid, Friday afternoon. General consensus was that if you fell in, you made the best of it. Luckily I didn't!

Magic Wellies
While watching the Magic Numbers we became really aware of the rising mud, churned by the crowds.

A paddle before dinner?
Jenny and Sam demonstrating the depth of the Liquid Mud, Friday evening.

Arcade Fire revolution
Flag carrying and arm waving crowds - don't we look just like we're about to storm the Bastille?

The otherworldly boy
Performance art in the mud...

Behind you! Bubble man at Trash City
An area full of sculptures mad of scrap, most on a massive scale.

A Killer Show
The boys from Las Vegas headlined Saturday's lineup, putting on an exuberant show including fireworks.

Glasandbury in the Park
I let sleeping dragons lie.

Pleased Tipi here!
(Come on, I had to.) The Tipi field certainly looked more private, less muddy and more comfortable than tenting it!

The view from the Ribbon Tower
The Park area is below. Camping fields stetch to the rounded Other Stage in the middle of the picture, which backs on to the Pyramid, facing more campgrounds on the other side of the site.

Dragon
Someone told me he'd been carved with chainsaws during the day on Wednesday.

Green Futures
A whole field was dedicated to stalls and charities with environmental messages. The arch spanned the entrance back down to the Jazz field. (And pear cider!)

Officially the best food in the world
I can't remember the name of the stall, or even exactly what it was, but it was an incredibly good and filling vegetarian feed.

Kaiser Chiefs
Everyone was having a great time, especially the group of Aussie pulling each other into the mud in front of us!

The Who?
The festival headliners wrapping things up, Sunday night on the Pyramid.

And the rain came down
As the Who played on, the rain got heavier, and looked so awesome in the lights it actually added to the show.

Firebreathing dragon
He had five drummers inside him, and whirling bicycle lights for eyes

Outline man
By day he looked like an oddball, with dull neon tubing all over him - but by night he stood out. He had a couple of different lighting themes - he could also change into a devil.

Little Tent, and the early morning drizzle
which turned into morning drizzle, which morphed into mid-morning drizzle, and by lunchtime rolled around, was just damn weather - but by then I at Heathrow picking up Amy and Ross, so the rain didn't matter so much.