Why, yes, it was muddy, then it was hot. On the first night, the crowd was grumpy and drunk in a grudging way, all snarls and bad moods. When I was walking back to my tent, I overheard a group of men shouting at a woman for not joining in with their impromptu Oasis howlalong. One said to her, "Fine! Don't sing along, you stuck up bitch. I hope you drown in the mud in your sleep."
I almost packed my tent up and left then - I couldn't see where this conversation had been, nor could I see what happened next, but it was typical of the kind of atmosphere we'd walked into on the first evening while everyone was getting their bearings. I remember thinking to myself that I wouldn't wish that kind of thing on anyone, and that I hoped he learned a bit more respect for other people in case some kind of karma came back to bite him quite soon.
Who'd have thought that only a couple of nights later, I'd be kissing a fit guy just outside the gates to the VIP camping grounds at the very time they were turning into a crime scene? Not me, in so many ways.
There are so very many thoughts I want to share about all the things that happened at Glastonbury but I think you'd probably hate me if I piled it all into one big post, so I'm going to try to be a good blogger and spread it out across the week. For now, though, here's a picture of the lovely legion of litter pickers off doing their work. Given the amount of stuff they must be dealing with today, I salute them.