‘How do we feel about leaving the EU today? Who doesn’t give a fook?’ yelled Oli Sykes of Sheffield’s Bring Me The Horizon — instantly becoming my favourite act of this year’s Glastonbury Festival.
Sorry, I’m just not buying the line put out by the Guardian, the BBC, Damon Albarn and the rest of the wankerati that the crowds were bummed out by the referendum going the wrong way. Most of the 160,000 revellers had more pressing matters to consider like: Adele or New Order; long queue for the shower or not bother; samosa or falafel; cider or reefer or both; and — of course — how to negotiate the Passchendaele-like vista of endless, wellie-slurping, soul-sapping mud without losing the will to live.
I found one solution, as so often, in the Circus fields where a cheerful woman on one of the smaller stages was teaching an impromptu gathering how to do a silly dance routine she’d choreographed to accompany David Bowie’s ‘Starman’. ‘Look to the right. You’re looking for Dave. Now look to the right. Then back to the left. That’s good, you’re doing well.’ You stop to watch, half curious, half embarrassed, then find yourself sucked in, joining in the communal fun and having just the best time of your life.
No, really. It’s what Michael Eavis always says about the festival he founded all those years ago. Never mind what’s going on on the big stages — Muse, Coldplay, ZZ Top and the rest — the real magic of Glasto is to be found on the more bucolic fringes such as the Stone Circle, or the hippy-dippy Healing Fields or the shack with the cushions and rugs in the Permaculture garden where the money for your chai goes to a drugs rehabilitation charity and you can have the most unexpected encounters…
…Like the chat I had with some random bloke who was not only pleased with the Brexit result but was happy to exchange notes about the buying opportunities for gold and UK equities.
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