It’s not quite how I had imagined Glastonbury would be (Picture: OLI SCARFF/AFP via Getty Images)
It was 11pm, Coldplay – who in fairness were great – had just finished their set and it was raining. Again.
I was cold, tired, and just wanted my bed.
But rather than closing a door on the world and sinking into clean sheets and a soft mattress, I was trudging along muddy makeshift paths to find our tent.
As we searched I remember fearing that I’d fallen victim to the common stories of people having their tents wee’d in – or worse, destroyed and set fire to – by fellow campers enjoying a no-holds-barred weekend.
Luckily, when we did locate our temporary lodgings at least an hour later, it was still in one piece. But I knew I’d still have a sleepless night ahead of me where I’d be woken by the noise of people who sounded like they were enjoying themselves much more than I was.
It’s not quite how I had imagined Glastonbury would be.
Aged 28, I’d had ‘Glasto’ on my bucket list for some years – especially after other friends had declared how life-changing it was.
So, in 2010, despite not being entirely convinced it would be worth the then £195 ticket price, I joined my uni friends in losing a morning of our lives to desperately refreshing the website as we tried to get hold of tickets for the 2011 event.
In previous years nobody had seemed to be too bothered by bad weather (Picture: Ellen Manning)
There was the inevitable rush of excitement when we realised we’d actually got our hands on some of the coveted tickets, albeit slightly marred by the huge dent it was about to make in my bank balance, and the stress we’d gone through trying to get them.
As the festival weekend got closer though, the excitement built. I was particularly excited for the likes of Beyoncé and Elbow and to soak up what so many people had declared a life-affirming, unrivalled experience.
That feeling was only slightly marred by the weather forecast’s suggestion that no, we weren’t going to have the sunniest weekend of our lives and could well end up being another Glastonbury year that made the headlines more for the mud than the music.
In previous years nobody had seemed to be too bothered by bad weather – and some even made wading around in the mud look fun, and like the ‘real’ Glasto’ experience, so I girded my loins and refused to be put off.
Yet when the day finally came to join the tens of thousands of people heading down to Worthy Farm, my reservations once again reared their head.
I was emotionally exhausted and in desperate need of a shower (Picture: Ellen Manning)
As we sat in hours of tailbacks trying to get on to the site, I wondered if that £200-odd quid we’d spent on tickets – not to mention the probably £200 at least on top of that on camping gear, outfits, and supplies for the weekend – would have been better spent on a holiday somewhere hot.
This thought kept coming back to me as we hauled our bags, kit and drinks for the weekend across what felt like a neverending trudge through fields to the campsite.
Of course, over the next few days we did make some wonderful memories.
Coldplay’s performance of Yellow was pretty magical – when else are you going to sing along with thousands of people as the night sky is lit up by yellow laser lights dancing above your head?
And Beyoncé was, unsurprisingly, equally impressive. It didn’t matter that we were a few miles from the stage where she and her dancers cavorted, we were still wowed by the stage show, epic production and songs that had become our anthems of recent years.
The whole weekend required rocket scientist levels of organisation (Picture: Ellen Manning)
We also did all the things you’re meant to do – exploring the site and all its different parts, drinking cider in the rare moments the sun shone, and rocking the Glasto fashion statement of shorts and wellies.
But in spite of all this, Glastonbury sticks in my head as one of the more challenging and stressful experiences I’ve undergone in my 41 years.
As enthusiastic as we were of taking advantage of the hefty ticket cost – touted by so many as great value because of the number of bands you can see for that – we quickly realised that actually that’s a bit of a myth.
The whole weekend required rocket scientist levels of organisation and planning. Even if the acts on our hit list hadn’t been on at the same time on different stages, we found we needed huge buffers in time to allow us to navigate from one area to another, often giving up because it was just too stressful.
It wasn’t like we could just sit around drinking either – well maybe we could have but that would have defeated the whole point. Besides, getting drunk at Glasto is harder than it looks.
It’s not quite the experience I had imagined Glastonbury would be (Picture: Ellen Manning)
The distance from stage to stage and campsite to stage was so far (Picture: Ellen Manning)
Having spent all our money on tickets and getting there, it left very little for expensive bar prices. And yes, I know you can take your own, but the distance from stage to stage and campsite to stage was so far it meant carrying your own drinks became a feat of athletic endurance.
By the time we left on Sunday night I was emotionally exhausted and in desperate need of a shower and my own bed.
I don’t think I was alone – we all seemed a bit done and while we gallantly declared it had been the ‘best weekend ever’, any talk of coming again in the future was fairly vague and we were more focused on getting back to our homes and getting clean.
When I got home, my husband asked: ‘Did you have the most amazing time?’
The honest answer was ‘kind of’ – some parts had been great, others less so.
Because while it was certainly a unique and a bit of a once-in-a-lifetime experience, I was happy for it to stay that way. I was glad to have checked it off my bucket list but also had absolutely no desire to repeat it – and nor have I.
There have been eight Glastonbury Festivals since then, and not once have I been tempted to go again. That’s partly because tickets are nearly double what I paid back then but mainly because it hadn’t quite delivered on the unrivalled joy I’d been hoping for.
I’m not anti-festival (Picture: Ellen Manning)
It’s not because I’m anti-festival. In the years since my Glasto experience I’ve been to plenty of other events from local sausage and cider festivals, to festivals of ‘ideas’ like ALSO in Warwickshire to Chris Evans’ CarFest.
Granted, most of these are smaller, cheaper and easier events to navigate. Yes there are crowds, but they’re not on quite such an epic scale, and the whole thing just seems a bit calmer and less frenetic.
This year we’re going even smaller and heading to BugJam – a car-themed festival at Santa Pod Raceway where a full weekend ticket has set us back just over £100 each for a full weekend including camping.
No, Coldplay won’t be there, but we also didn’t have to save up for months to buy a ticket, then spend a weekend wondering if it really was worth it.
And while I have a few friends who are die-hard Glastonbury fans, most of the people I know have been once, and not again.
Maybe I missed something, who knows? Or maybe I’m not alone in wondering if it’s all a bit overrated.
Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing jess.austin@metro.co.uk.
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