Mud, Sweat and Beers: Glastonbury Festival 2011.

Everybody seemed to think it was hilarious that I had decided to brave the outdoors for three whole nights and go to Glastonbury this year.
Needless to say I was a little offended.
So imagine my smugness when I managed to do it - No broken bones, no drunken falls and no breaching of security by trying to hurl myself on to the Pyramid Stage to show Beyonce how it's really done. That doesn't mean it wasn't an eventful stay however.


After three and a half hours of fields, Stonehenge (massive disappointment by the way) and chatting to Scott Mills on Radio 1, we arrive. At possibly the furthest car park away from the site. But we're there.
We are assured countless times that our friend and her trusty boyf will be on hand to meet us at the car, and assist us in carrying our bags (which contained everything from temporary lip tattoos to dry shampoo - all the essentials obviously) to our camp site. After what felt like a few hours, we crack open the Pimms and sit on my car bonnet, watching the man and his two daughters dance around their car to our left in absolute horror (they were all clutching a Carlsberg and his children looked like they were about nine years old).
Eventually a figure appears in the distance, and we gulp our Pimms nervously. Where was the boyfriend? There was no way on earth we'd be able to carry all this crap without his help. So the three of us make our way, slowly, and not even surely, to the gate. After about an HOUR we find our spot. Tired, weak and rather muddy, we throw our things on the ground and it dawns on us that tents don't put themselves up. So we make friends with the people next to us and voila, our tent is up and we did nothing but giggle and stand around looking awkward.

The next few days was a blur. A muddy, noisy blur that went by far too quickly. Although I can't say I'll miss the portaloos (retch). Everything from becoming very well acquainted with your best friend in your car when needing the toilet, smoking with two lovely Liverpudlians who we lost in the maze that was Shangri La and sitting on a drunk but friendly stranger's shoulders in the crowd watching Tinie Tempah. Oh and a potentially broken ankle. After making our way to the front of the crowd for Beyonce on the last night, the friend only went and got stood on and barely made it back to the tent. Four hours, an X-Ray and a variety of new friends later we made it back to the car from the Medical Tent (I'll never forget some of the sights we witnessed in there - a man came in handcuffed and strapped to a bed, an entire cubicle was devoted to random people who had passed out and been found and literally peeled from the pavement, and I was told off for taking pictures of my friend and her fat ankle). So with no sleep, sore feet and a limping best friend we got back to the car and started the journey home. Listening to Beyonce's album the whole way back of course.