“It’s a magical place. It’s not so much a festival as a destination,” says my partner, who has a glint in her eyes as she talks about Glastonbury — or rather the festival that’s staged on farmland near that town, in England’s West Country, for five days each June. She’s been several times before, and would go every year if she could, but this is my first time.
Being honest, I never really fancied going to “Glasto”, and had been content watching the festival’s musical highlights on TV from the comfort of my living room sofa without having to “rough it”. You know — sleeping in a tent and dealing with all the mud that churns up the festival site if the heavens open. But I have decided to go with the flow.
It would, I think, be silly not to after winning the “Glasto” lotto — securing one of the 200,000 or so tickets that about 2.5 million would-be buyers scramble for online every year. Truth be told, though, after just a few hours here, Glastonbury has quickly trapped me in its spell.
I’m blown away by its size and scale, the good vibes and all the incredible creativity bubbling here, from musicians I’ve never heard of (and several I have) to artists whose surreal and spectacular installations adorn a site that sprawls in a beautiful grassy valley by the Somerset village of Pilton. The festival spreads over 600ha — a bit larger than the city limits of Fremantle — with additional areas for campers, glampers, campervans and carparks. After .