Here’s an entirely random list of things I hate. Mud. Rain. Inconvenience. Any form of discomfort whatsoever. Loud noises. People. People’s friends. People standing next to other people, with yet more people in between. Drunks bumping into you and being sick down your leg. Poorly maintained public toilets. Camping.You’ll find all these things and more at the Glastonbury festival, which is why it has always struck me as heck on earth.
A man after my own heart! If you think it sounds like fun, then the next paragraph should discourage you from ever trying to get me to go someday after we save up enough money, maybe next year, maybe just before we get married and have kids – the answer now and forever, is NO.
On top of that, I’d heard my share of off-putting Glastonbury myths. Tents bobbing in a mud-slide. Widespread trench foot. A man on ketamine eating his own hand. One of my friends swore blind she knew a man who’d been sitting in a Portaloo when some passing japester decided to tip it over, door side down, leaving him trapped inside a coffin full of foaming crap for 15 horrifying minutes; it went in his eyes and mouth. He got dysentery.