I missed Glastonbury tickets – this secret trick got me in for free

My first shift was on Wednesday morning, and I was instantly convinced I had made a major mistake (Picture: Amy Overd)

The crowd was tense with anticipation. 

We were packed in, shoulder to shoulder, everyone was craning their necks to glimpse the stage. The speakers swelled in epic proportion.

I was watching Irish post-punk band Fontaines D.C. headline at Glastonbury’s Park Stage earlier this year and music had never felt closer – like the bass was in our bones; like we, the crowd, were all experiencing something that would never happen again, jumping and moving with the complete freedom only this festival could provide.

The threat of a 5:30am wake up couldn’t have been further from my mind.

Months earlier, with absolutely no regard for my already struggling student finances, I tried desperately to secure Glastonbury tickets. But as the fateful day arrived, I was met with nothing but the dreaded loading screen.

Although I’m sure my bank account was secretly overjoyed, I was gutted.

It was then that some uni friends, who had worked the festival the year before said they were thinking of applying again.

Glasto was still months off, in June, and I had no idea what to expect (Picture: Amy Overd)

I was all in.

A couple of months later, slots opened up at CTM, Glasto’s traffic management company, details of which my very organised friend Bobby had found the year before. 

After that, we were signed on to work five days at Glasto 2024, after a slightly painful £400 deposit to hold the place and make sure we didn’t run off without working when we got there.

At this point I felt more relieved than excited: Glasto was still months off, in June, and I had no idea what to expect.

In a haze of uni deadlines and thesis writing, before I knew it we were weeks out, and a frantic trip to Go Outdoors ensued, grabbing camping chairs and blow-up beds to try to make the seven days roughing it slightly more glamorous. 

Once the festival itself finally arrived, we made the infamously long trek from the car to the campsite, just outside the festival grounds on Tuesday. 

My first shift was on Wednesday morning, and I was instantly convinced I had made a major mistake. It was the day that everyone arrives, and I started at 4:30am – I was shaky. At first, I had no idea what I was doing and was running on a mix of caffeine and anxiety.

Turns out, trying to direct 10,000 impatient cars to park in a straight line is surprisingly hard on a measly four hours of sleep. 

We all had the full day off on Saturday, so Friday night I took the opportunity to explore (Picture: Amy Overd)

My team leader was lovely – but everyone was stressed. It was a 16-hour shift, with a break for lunch at about 3pm, sunburn and a long-empty water bottle just to keep things interesting.

Despite the initial intensity, my next two shifts were a comparatively easy 13 hours. By then, most cars were already parked up, so we could sit on our camping chairs, straining our ears to try and figure out what we could hear from the nearest stage.

We finished at around 6pm most evenings, which was just enough time to get back to our campsite, have a shower (yes, there were fully functional, temperature adjustable, stays-on-for-more-than-30-second showers) and trek into the festival site for the evening.

We all had the full day off on Saturday, so Friday night I took the opportunity to explore. 

By the Park Stage, we discovered Scissors, an amazing lesbian club with an entrance disguised as a characterful hairdresser’s.

By the Park Stage, we discovered Scissors (Picture: Amy Overd)

On Saturday, we finally had a much-needed lie-in before enjoying a beautiful afternoon set from Michael Kiwanuka, and finding some gorgeous handmade goods at one of the market stalls.

My group of friends headed up the hill to get a view of the Pyramid Stage, framed by what seemed like an endless crowd. The iconic Coldplay rainbow lights from here were a spectacle.

So, it was pretty much my ideal day.

Then, 6am sharp, we went back to work – the Sunday and Monday shifts were a pretty rough nosedive back to reality.

I don’t know where all that Glastonbury peace and love goes, but for some, it vanishes the second they get in their car. Back in the parking lot, people were begging, lying, cheating and screaming their way to the front of the queue to get out.

My partner Mia certainly got the worst of it: a woman blaring her horn, revving her engine and screaming threats to run her over, all for the crime of explaining she couldn’t just cut to the front of the line. 

I did only manage to see about half the site in the time I had off (Picture: Amy Overd)

Despite all this, I truly think that working at Glasto is the way to go. If I’m lucky enough to get a place again, you’ll see me back, parking cars and rocking a hi-vis and walkie-talkie.

Not only are you saving the £350+ on the ticket itself, but after travel costs, food spend and the amount I shelled out on equipment, I was still at least £500 better off than when I arrived after my £750 pay cheque came in the next month. That, combined with the return of my £400 deposit, I basically felt like I’d just won the lottery.

I did only manage to see about half the site in the time I had off, and the mile-long walks to get anywhere really do add up when you’ve been on your feet since 6am.

But in some ways I was blessed with 2024’s controversially slightly lacklustre line-up; I was lucky enough to see almost all the music I wanted to and eat from almost every food truck I fancied.

The stereotype was more than true for me. Glastonbury spirit was infectious, and I left with dreams of quitting my job, buying a van and living off grid in true hippy style.

I say: However you can get there, get there. I truly believe you won’t regret it.

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing James.Besanvalle@metro.co.uk. 

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