And at 4 o'clock on Saturday afternoon the clouds parted and the sun shone. How better to celebrate than a couple of cold beers and a burger cooked on the barbie? Catching up with old friends we'd not seen for an age (I remember the days when I'd see these mates a couple of times a week - usually in a pub).
I'm a lightweight these days, blaming our toddler for the lack of big nights out, so we were home in time to catch Elbow at Glastonbury showing on BBC3. Guy Garvey looks such an unlikely rock star. He's the sort of bloke you expect to see ahead of you at the queue in the bakers. Maybe the everyman bit is part of his appeal.
My highlight from the show was Mirrorball - I used to play this one constantly during my wife's pregnancy and during the early days following our daughter's arrival. It still makes me grin and sigh - euphoria and melancholia at the same time.
And for a few minutes I sort of wished I was there in Glastonbury, sharing these emotions with the rest of the festival goers. Then I saw Garvey's boots and trousers - slathered in thick, dung coloured mud (or perhaps mud coloured dung). If not even the stars can avoid getting smothered in mud what hope the plebs? No. I am too attached to civilisation to spend a weekend peeing in a hole in ground whilst walking around in lakes of cow feces.
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