Glastonbury

Post-Glastonbury depression is tough.

The world is too quiet, I can't see any tents and it is no longer socially acceptable to dance instead of walk. One week has passed and I'm still retiring to my bedroom at 3 for a mid-afternoon kip. That, my friends, is the sign of a flipping great time.

Glastonbury was undoubtedly the MOST AMAZING 6 DAYS OF MY LIFE. I might not be a natural tent-dweller, and I do prefer showers to baby-wipe baths but who cares when you can have breakfast with Mr Nice, lose your mind in Shangri-la and (in my case) embark on a journey of self-discovery.

Honestly, I learnt a lot about myself down on Worthy Farm. Maybe it was the hippy vibes... maybe it was the 3 litres of vodka.

1. I'm going to grow my hair, thicken my eyebrows and become a Haim sister
2. I need to marry Winston, the Mumford & Sons banjo player
3. I want a pet monkey, or alternatively to find the lovely little man who was dressed in a gorilla suit. He let me drag him around and play pretend for a good half hour, so now my heart is set on a primate pal.

  

This week's fun format is reminiscent of primary school. You know, the one where you have to spin off a word or phrase from each letter of the big important word (in this case GLASTONBURY). Here goes …

Grooving - The real world is dance deprived, seriously. Everyone. Dancing. All the time. 

Love - I FOUND LOVE AT GLASTONBURY! Honestly I did. I saw him one day and wouldn't stop talking about how amazing he was. Then I was sat on the STAIRWAY TO HEAVEN (this is movie material) and he sat next to me and INTRODUCED HIMSELF … #Fate. 

Alex Turner - Well hasn't he turned out well. When the Arctic Monkeys first came on the scene, females dismissed him as a scrawny teenager. No more. He looked scrumptious in that dinner jacket, with his hair slicked back like Danny Zuko. Very good Alex, very good.

Shangri-la - There are no words. It's the best/weirdest/craziest place where you can party all night long amongst condom chandeliers and giant headless babies.   

Tepee - Do not purchase from Argos. They flood and collapse. 

Oaty Disappointment - The low point of the weekend for me. I bought a slab of flapjack from a local farmer (a cunning disguise maybe?) for £3.50, believing it was 'the best in the world'. Worst in the world more like, pal.

Next year I … will take more money and take advantage of the vintage shops and hippy stalls.

Bring Wellies - Don't be fooled by one day of sunshine, Glastonbury mud is lethal. I've never understood people who wear flip flops. Is it really that fun to be caked in mud up to your knees? No. 

Uplifted - Physically, not spiritually. I've always resisted sitting on people's shoulders for fear of crushing them. However watching Mumford & Sons above the rest of the crowd was definitely a highlight (and nobody was crushed!).

Rolling Stones - Watch them on iPlayer and tell me they weren't amazing. He got them moves like Jagger, that's for sure. 

Yabbadabbado! -  How Fred Flintstone would describe the weekend. Seriously, it was that good.

 

So whether you're a festival-virgin or a die-hard fan, register for free on the Glastonbury website and come party/embark on a journey of self-discovery with me next year.

Naptime x