I definitely enjoyed Glatonbury. The one small chink in this assertion's armour is a memory of a friend of a friend who was in the same 'camping circle' as us, dominating proceedings and rather than iritating me (as he would today), making me feel inferior and awkward.
But the rest was awesome. No doubts there. U and I would plough our way to the front (she was particularly short and would have spent the whole weekend seeing nothing) to see Lemonheads, Lenny Kravitz, Porno for Pyros and the resurrection of the Velvet Underground. We thought we also saw a particularly cool acid jazz outfit at the very end of the weekend and instead found out, after the event, that we'd seen Wynton Marsalis.
There was, as you can tell from that last comment, a great deal of smoking going on. Less drinking. Even less eating for some reason (we kept forgetting - apart from the newfound joy of cinnamon donuts). But alot of smoking.
Amusingly this fact was particularly scrutinised by D - an old friend from school who we'd bumped into (the Thursday afternoon ritual of bumping into unexpected people remarkably included me) - she was also there with friends but had found the whole experience to be in direct contravention of and contradiction to her evangelical beliefs - she'd decided to spend the rest of the weekend 'witnessing' and my rollup was not what she'd hoped to, indeed, witness.
The weather was amazing - nonstop sun - and the atmosphere was relaxed - it was, in many respects the final fling of Glasto's hippy origins, before it started its journey towards today's supercool/expensive status.
It was exhausting - I spent the entirety of the Orbital gig sitting on the floor, amongst thousands and thousands of standing, swaying gig-goers.
I came back - to Uni - very dirty, very happy and dying for the loo - there was no way that I was using one of those 'long drops'. No way.
