BBC HomeExplore the BBC
This page has been archived and is no longer updated. Find out more about page archiving.


Accessibility help
Text only
BBC Homepage


Contact Us

Like this page?
Send it to a friend!

Festival Diaries

Friday 22 June

Trevor Lord

A torrential start but the people still smile

Trevor Lord

Discarded wellies

Welly Box

15:00 - Of Worms and Wellies

For the worms of Pilton Farm it's a special time of year; normally they live in a fairly predictable audio landscape, the sound of cows' hooves, and maybe - if they're lucky - the sound of a tractor.

And then, for one weekend a year, everything changes. Not only is there music, but there's the footsteps, millions of them, billions of them - walking, dancing, and stamping.

When it's dry it sounds like an endless roar of thunder, and when wet and muddy it's a wall of ambient sound, an endless variation on the squelch sound, 'squooth, squatch, squooch ...' And that's the first music of the morning - and it's very strange and pretty, like an orchestra of mud conducted by a soil god Brian Eno.

What makes this sound so rich and varied is the Wellington boot, the footwear of choice on a muddy day like this.

And it's a visual treat as well. Paisley wellies, puritanical black 'old skool' wellies, day-glo monstrosities and, my personal fave, the leopard skin ... very chic.

Could there be a market for Vaseline here?

Though it's not all good about rubber boots; they do have a few drawbacks. Some festival goers were already complaining of chafing around the upper calf, especially when their boots were rubbing on naked skin. Could there be a market for Vaseline here?

Or maybe the trusty Dutch para-boot is the answer - beloved of dreadlocked crusties (and they know a thing or two about mud). The proud owner of one pair has worn them for 10 Glastonburys, and claimed his feet remained as dry as toast throughout.

But what happens to the boots at the end of festival? Many are thrown away (a Wellington boot is for life, not just for Christmas) - discarded and forgotten. Fortunately, enterprising hippie types collect them up and sell them back, at £5 a pair.

Enough of footwear. I'm going out to find out more of rain, music, sweat, and lager ...

Back to the diary homepage

Zombie girl

One of the many zombies on-site

20:00 - Zombies and Super Furry Animals

The Magic Numbers are warbling, Bright Eyes are shining, but I fear that tens of thousands of us are turning into Zombies.

You've got to find your focus at Glastonbury - and if you don't, you're doomed, doomed to wander the festival forever looking for rest, but never finding it.

I try the Hare Krishna tent, there's a nice sofa, some free stir-fry, lots of chanting and hardly any people (too early, it'll be crammed with casualties by Sunday). I leave. It's not a good place for the undead.

The Country and Western bar is no better. I've always found people dressed as Cowboys disturbing.

And the mud is starting to build up. And for the first time I start to notice grown up mud larks, just a few scurrying here and there, frightening the beautiful people, and rejoicing in their filth.

This is all getting a bit dark...

I leave. It's not a good place for the undead.

But then it's over - I'm watching Super Furry Animals' set and I'd forgotten how much I like their particular brand of Celtic psychedelia. And everyone around me is behaving like they're their favourite band, people are kissing and hugging - and Glastonbury is brilliant again.

Feeling energised, it's time to check out the Dance field ... but it's only early, and despite the best effort of a pair of topless electro DJs wearing Mexican wrestling masks, things aren't quite kickin' ... maybe a bit later.

And then a wave of tiredness hits, but I don't start to get the fear this time, I'm just getting into my Glastonbury rhythm. I wish I'd brought my own deck chair though, like the couple in the middle of the 'Other Stage' field ... they look settled in for the evening.

Back to the diary homepage

Bjork

Bjork on the Other Stage

1:00am - Ladies' Night

So, settling-in trauma over, it's time to focus on the reason we're all here – to enjoy one of the world's greatest music festivals.

And that's not as easy as it sounds – the choice is vast. The big act on the Pyramid stage tonight is Sheffield's young pretenders: The Arctic Monkeys – would my nephews think I’m a cool if I saw them (unlikely)? I liked their second album, but ...

Icelandic future-pop princess Bjork is playing the Other Stage, and I LOVED her last album, and she's a better dancer than Alex from the Monkeys ... she's the one.

Decision made. But that's hours away, so it's off to see Amy Winehouse, at 'Jazz World'. And get lost and confused again ... and start to wonder if Jazz World is a theme park rather than a stage. Ride on the John Coltrane Helter Skelter, go down the Billie Holiday tunnel of love, have a drink at the Charlie Parker juice bar ...

Reality comes back into focus when I hear a soulful wailing in the distance, I follow the sound and finally arrive at Jazz World (as in World music, you fool). Amy's wearing some fetching red (short) shorts, her hair is freakishly ENORMOUS - hair extensions, a female festival goer reassures me.

Passing one tent a young man – a stranger – taps me on the shoulder and tells me he could put up with me during the first half, but now I'm really bugging him.

The audience loves her – until she talks between songs. I think we can safely say the Camden diva is not a great public speaker, or she’s a little drunk, or both. ‘Get on with the singing Amy’ – and she does, and it’s loud and true, and we know love has not always being kind ...

Amy’s over and it's back to wandering/wondering, and for the first time I begin to encounter people whose minds have been a little 'altered'. Passing one tent a young man – a stranger – taps me on the shoulder and tells me he could put up with me during the first half, but now I'm really bugging him. He's a big lad. I move on, smiling and walking quickly.

Time for Bjork; I've made it, nearly getting crushed to death on the way only added to the experience.

It's hard not to be a bit gushing – despite my English reserve. Some people with talent piss me off, "You can sing, dance, and do quadratic equations for breakfast – and don't you just know it, the basis of your art is you're better than me". But there's such generosity, such soul and heartfelt emotion, such a desire to communicate, to Bjork's performance – I don't feel any jealousy, I just want to feel what she's telling me and wonder at her talents.

Safe to say, thousands of others agree with me...

See photos of Bjork and watch her live set

Back to the diary homepage



About the BBC | Help | Terms of Use | Privacy & Cookies Policy

The BBC is not responsible for the content of external websites.