Exhaustion

It is now over two weeks since our return from Glastonbury and I don't think I have yet recovered. What an exhausting experience! Or am I just a total wimp? (or possibly too old?)

I made some notes to remind me what actually happened, which is good because it is all a sort of fog in my brain. So, I'll start at the very beginning:

Day 1: As we got within a two mile radius of the site, which resembled a large refugee camp, the heavens opened. I couldn't help feeling a sort of warped sense of satisfaction because this proved all those positive thinking types wrong. I obviously wasn't surprised, since I had known it would rain. Still, my heart did sink, knowing from my brief visit last year what it was like when very wet. I tried to look on the bright side, but the only thing I could come up with was that my thigh muscles would get a good workout as I slithered and slid in the knee deep mud. Kate felt the same. She is not a good camper and, like me, values her home comforts, especially toilets which don't have piles of shit spilling over the top. Call us fussy, but there you go. Sarah was more optimistic and up beat. Rob was quite quiet. Since he hates walking at the best of times, and Glastonbury is basically like a very uncomfortable walking holiday, I was a bit concerned. Ben just couldn't wait to get there.

We were met by a possy of young people (our kids) who helped us unload our stuff, which hadn't seemed much until you faced the prospect of carrying it, in the pissing rain, quite a considerable way. My wheelie suitcase proved a disadvantage, as it kept toppling over, since no surface at Glastonbury is smooth. How inconvenient! So I trudged behind these cheerful, excited, youth, who relished being the Glastonbury veterans and told us all about what to expect. At least they were having a good time. But the sun had been shining up until our arrival.

When we FINALLY reached the campsite and managed to find out tent, my heart sank even further (if that is possible as by this time I was drenched through and blisters were beginning to form on the sides of my ankles). The tent we had found in the loft and put up on a 'dummy run' in the garden and decided it would be fine, if a little squished, for three people, now looked as if it had shrunk, and would only be suitable for one very very small person, possibly a toddler. How on earth had we managed to convince ourselves it would do?

At this point I nearly suggested trekking back to the car and going home, but Sarah, being an ever practical person, had realised that our optimism about our tiny tent was a bit misplaced and had been to Milletts and bought a 3 man tent that very day. Hallelujah!

We put all our luggage in the tiny tent (it acted like a garage) and quickly pitched our mansion of a tent, helped by Robert and Sam, who are seasoned campers. I stood around feeling useless and rather soaked and just a little desperate for a drink.

The next problem was a pump. We didn't have one. Sarah produced this amazingly thin mattress which self inflated in an instant. Ours took up most of the space and was not self inflatable. I headed off in search of one and was delighted to spot a fellow steward (for we were in the 'stewards campsite') leg frantically jigging up and down and asked him if we could borrow his. In the sort of war time Glastonbury spirit, everything is shared. As a thank you, I invited him over to our 'house' for a drink.

There we sat, in our little 'patio' area, legs stuck out in front of us so as not to muddy the interior, sipping some sort of cheap, boxed wine from plastic cups, and getting increasingly more optimistic every sip we took. The powers of alcohol.

We tumbled into our beds and slept like babies, soothed to sleep by the pitter patter of raindrops on the tent. The lullaby of Glastonbury.