Arriving
 
So here we go, it’s that time of year again. All the hassle of buying tickets is now long behind us and it’s time once again to have the best weekend of your life.
 
We’ve all seen the weather reports, news stories and survival tips, but to be honest nothing will surpass the unbelievable scenes from 2005.
 
For the third year running we are arriving on the Thursday. This used to be quite standard practice when we first started going to the festival, but nowadays the crowds arrive earlier every year. There are some friends of ours who arrived yesterday to save us a tent space so we make the inevitable phone call: “Well we saved you a spot, but it’s a bit minimal,” comes the reply. Images of five people complete with rucksacks, food, and sleeping bags squeezing into a two-man tent spring into our heads.
 
This year the drop-off system has changed. In order to accommodate the extra 20,000 or so people into the site, a compromise was reached with the local council that these people would all arrive by coach. Carbon footprints and all that. To make this happen National Express have commandeered the old drop off point – situated right next to the site entrance – and we now have to be left at the Bath and West Showground (a good seven miles away) and catch a bus in.
 
After all this palaver we finally make it to the unusually quiet pedestrian entrance, swap our tickets for wristbands and set off on the mile hike across the site to our campsite, Pennard HIll.
 
Now if that name rings a bell for you, it is because that is where the majority of the flooding happened last Glastonbury. Apparently Mr Eavis has installed a drainage system costing £100,000, so the scenes from 2005 of Portaloos and people’s tents floating away in newly-formed rivers should be a thing of the past. As we approach the hill, it’s like we’ve never been away. The Other Stage is still being built, but looks as grand as ever, the Dance Village looks even bigger and better – including the intriguing new Pussy Parlour – and the usual mud and mayhem surrounds us everywhere.
 
Having finally reached our campsite to find the ‘minimal’ space is literally just the size of our tent, which we have the usual fun and games erecting, it begins to set in that Glastonbury really is back.
Incidentally it turns out that up until the small hours of Wednesday night / Thursday morning there had been a large space left for our tent, in the usual circular fashion. That is until a couple of guys decided to put their tent right in the middle of it, not only separating our whole group, but also taking away our campfire and eating space as well. Whatever happened to the friendly, unselfish Glastonbury of old.
 
Anyway, back to the festival. As I mentioned earlier, virtually all the proper festivals goers (the ones who paid for their tickets) tend to arrive by Thursday afternoon now, and as such the festival has learnt to accommodate this. All the market stalls are fully open, and every stage apart from the main three or four has something going on. The highlight of this today is down at the Left Field.
 
The Left Field is the perfect example of how the festival has expanded. What started off as a small tent for lesser known bands and speakers to put across their political views, has now turned into a huge, dare I say, almost corporate brand of activism. The tent itself now has its own bar and two separate stages. Tonight we venture down there on one of those ‘Glastonbury tips offs’ that The Beat will be performing. Before that we catch blues legend Seasick Steve (Left Field, 6pm), who is brilliant, even if he loves to sing about his dog. But with a beard like that, who are we to argue.
 
Sure enough The Beat (Left Field, 10pm) come on, introduced by Left Field stalwart and political rights activist Billy Bragg. Playing a set full of ska that is more than skankable to, they go down a storm. They also produce one of the best covers of the weekend. Spotting a guitar in the crowd, lead vocalist of the re-formed band Ranking Roger exclaims: “You know who that reminds me of? One of the most missed people in music. Joe Strummer. This one is for him” before launching into a sublime version of Rock The Casbar.
 
And so its time for bed. Thursdays at Glastonbury used to be about sunbathing and Pot Noodles. Not any more. What a start to the best festival in the world. Roll on tomorrow.
 
Thursday, 21 June 2007