Day 2 Glastonbury

I woke up with my head in Sarah's crotch, which was a little disarming. More for her than me. I think we had camped on a slight slope and Rob had rolled onto me and, like a tiny string of dominoes, I had rolled onto Sarah. The sound of rain pitter pattering on the top of the tent sent alarm bells ringing and I lay there wondering what excuse we could make to leave and go back to the comfort of home. I couldn't think of one.

We had been told that we could get breakfast from the Security Guards tent, which was one field away, but when we went in there, it was a bit more complicated than that. We did get boiling water for a cup of tea, which we drank in our 'Glastonbury' chairs, probably the best investment we made. The rain had stopped, though we did not like the look of the sky.

There were a lot of inconsistencies at Glastonbury. The stewards and security guards seemed to make up their own rules randomly. We decided it usually depended on one thing - the tabbard instilled a certain sense of power, but not of meglomaniac proportions. This was obtained from the possession of a walkie talkie. Walkie Talkies + tabbard = power crazed Fascists, sort of 'more than your jobs worth' types.

We eventually managed to find some breakfast in the Park. Never has a bacon butty tasted quite so delicious, probably because by this time it was about midday, so was actually our lunch, and having traipsed about a hundred miles in the somewhat slushy conditions, we had worked up a fairly large appetite. We combined this 'brunch' with a recky (if that's how you spell it?) of our stewarding venue, which was the BBC introducing tent, where new acts play a slot, normally about 4 songs, and, if you're lucky, you get to meet people in the 'business'. Of course, we were dying to promote 'Yes Sir Boss'.

To be honest, we couldn't really see why six fire stewards would be needed in what is basically an open tent, just quite a large one. We never did figure that one out.

That day we basically spent sheltering from the rain in the Pussy Parlour, where 'Yes Sir Boss' were playing. We met up with a huge crowd and managed to get a table, and listen to YSB and actually started to enjoy ourselves. Despite the fact it was tipping it down.

As complete stewarding novices, we were taking the rules very seriously and hardly drank anything, and we arrived at the hut where we signed in and donned our pink tabbards. We felt just a tiny bit important, and strutted down to the BBC tent.

At the venue we got our first inkling of what we had let ourselves in for. We were greeted by our 'manager', an affable guy, though possibly not the most scinitillating company (No Personality Pete). We knew we each had a shift with him and I wondered what we would talk about for 6 hours solid! Anyway, this particular shift Rob and I were put together, so at least I knew what to expect. Pete sent us over to a bar/cafe type place opposite the BBC tent, where we were instructed to stop people from smoking inside. Thrilling!

I have never seen anyone so grateful at being relieved from their post as the two people we took over from. After about half an hour, I could see why. I began to long for people to light up, just to give me something to do! In fact, this became my opening line - 'Thank God you've lit a cigarette. Now I actually have something to do, would you mind smoking outside?' People were very nice about being asked this, though Rob refused to force people to move, though he would have been up for putting out a fire. If only anything so exciting could have happened!

I ended up clearing the tables, just to be doing something. After about an hour, Pete came shuffling over in his wellies, which were too small and chafing his somewhat ample calf muscles. 'They need you over at the sand monster pit. You have to guard it. Luckily, there's been no incidents'. This said with a sucking in of breath, and then a major exhalation. 'Thank God'. I would have given anything for a major incident.

So, we stood by the sand monster, watching it develop and grow, which was quite interesting, for about five minutes, but not really sustainable for two and a half hours (by now it was 10pm). We wondered what sort of a fire risk this sand monster actually posed? Perhaps you can tell me? Eventually we sat on a bench and just chatted to anyone who sat with us, striking up conversations out of sheer desperation, though everyone was good fun and we actually had quite a laugh.

Then, disaster! Pete came over, really quite flustered this time. An INCIDENT had occurred! Someone had climbed up a pole upon which were hanging a string of lights and broken one of the light bulbs! Oh no, CRISIS. Pete was very excited and getting alarmingly breathless.

For some reason we were then separated - Rob to a place called 'The Glass House', which is sort of a glass gazebo type thing, and me to this tent where people came to chill (can't remember what it was called) in a few deck chairs and a hammock. The music was great, Andrews Sisters and boogie woogie type things, but where was anybody? It seemed entirely empty.

At about 11.30pm (one hour before our shift ended) it started to fill up. My first encounter was with a young man who puked up more or less on my wellies and then proceeded to lie groaning at my feet. I did my civic duty and asked him if he was okay, which he was, at least he was alive. I watched in eager anticipation as several people lit up near the back of the tent and I trotted over to tell them to go outside and soon, the tent was empty again and everyone was standing on the edge of it. All of them smoking. I observed some people rolling what I thought was a joint (or spliff, I should say) but then, when they put it to their nose and leaned forward, I realised how naive I am about drugs. Since it wasn't really my duty to stop anyone snorting anything, I didn't bother. In any case, I felt a bit more vulnerable on my own.

I was delighted to be chatted up by someone young enough to be my son, but, what the hell. He was also blind drunk, but I still felt a little flutter. I haven't been chatted up in years. I was not very sophisticated, going bright red and stuttering, but he didn't seem to notice and soon turned to a much more suitable girl and started chatting her up.

Finally, it was 12.30 and shift over. We met up with Sarah and Sam, who had had a fantastic time at the BBC tent, meeting Annie Mack and the head of Radio One. I couldn't help feeling a little bitter and twisted, but they promised that they would get us in the actual tent the next day, using their 'contacts', so we felt better.

Back to our 'home', more wine, tumbled into bed, having survived our first shift, but now knowing what the next two held. Christ......