An unstoppable force meets an unmovable object

Mud, sweat and beers

So we survived Glastonbury Festival of Performing Arts.
We were dropped off in an enormous field full of tents, where one woman was practising yoga, another guy sleeping in the rain with a beer in his hand... And we survived.
They say in France that bad singers provoke heavy rain - well there must have been a lot of bad singing going on while we were in Glastonbury. It rained for five days. But thankfully, we didn't see any of it. No, instead we saw The Killers (under the rain) who were amazing, Damien Rice (under a tent) who was even better, Klaxons, Kooks and Kaiser Chiefs (still under the rain), and, my favourite, Martha Wainwright (on the hay).
And it was there, laying on the hay that had been laid on the mud, singing along to Bl**dy Mother F***ing A**hole, that I chose to lose my wallet. My wallet full of money.
Draggin my wellied feet as I realised my mistake, I got sprayed with mud by some idiot, and then another threw a beer over me. Even if the good times are really good at Glastonbury, it suddenly became difficult to understand why people undergo this torture...
And that's without mentioning the toilets, that medieval row of holes in the outdoors surrounded by a pool of liquid mud - or what you hope is mud...
But, still, the music and the rest were worth it. And coming home from this wet weekend reminded me how I love being warm, dry and home. I really have become old. But at least I'll be comfortable for a whole year until the next festival.
What am I talking about? Do I really want to submit myself to this amazing hell one more time?!
The proof in pictures...

posted by The rat and the monkey @ 2:41:00 PM