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Right, now that's off my chest... WEDNESDAY 23 JUNE: Couldn't fit everyone in the car and then the car broke down. Good start. Arrive on site admidst howling gales and pissing rain. Setting up the camp was surprisingly swift, however! Got a good spot near the Stone Circle. Created new construction techniques to prevent a half-height gazeebo blowing away. A roaring success! Once everyone was settled, a wander was in order. There were quite a few people about and the odd splattering of music oozed out of the odd cosy caf, so we were happy, if knackered, glasto-bunnies. THURSDAY 24 JUNE: Lots of people arrived today, as did the sun! Wahey! The site soon dried up which made today's wandering far more bearable. Come the evening, 60,000 people decended on the Pyramid Stage to watch The Bloody Football (TBF). What with being at a lovely big festival with shit loads going on, I could think of nothing I'd rather do less than watch TBF, so I decided to take lots of mushrooms with people who weren't taking lots of mushrooms, and await the return of my gang who were tripping to TBF. Of course, TBF went on for ages, and it soon became clear I'd taken waaaay too many of the nasty little fungal buggers. It also became clear that, ironically, I would infact rather be watching TBF than having this decidedly edgy trip. llama kept me sane though with stimulating conversation, although I'm not sure how stimulating I was in return... Anyway, TBF finished and the site was awash not with rain but with pissed up, angsty twats (PUATs). Well, amongst others of course, but PUATs have a way of making their presence felt over and above the 'ah well, its only football and we're at Glasto' crowd, who were, admittedly, in the majority. One way acouple of PUATs demonstrated their vanishingly miniscule intellect and sought to quell the pain that seared in their peanut brains having watched a bunch of blokes they don't know play a game hundreds of miles away and lose, was by nicking my hat from atop my head. My festival hat. I liked that hat. F*cking PUATs. So, seeing devils in the clouds and wading through swaggering hoards of PUATs without my festival hat, a rather intense and edgy tour of Lost Vagueness and back to the Stone Circle ensued. After which I could finally take it no more (people were mean that night, anything but fluffy, happy, glasto-bunnies to my eyes), so I retired to my lovely, safe tent. To dreams of being murdered with a knife in my sleep, evicted from my canvas abode by Scallies, and robbed. Hallucinogenics are off the menu from hereon in. Read Part 2 - The Middle
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