Glastonbury is a bit like marmite.
For some the idea of spending five days in a field with 180,000 people is the stuff of nightmares.
For others it is the perfect week away from the everyday.
I am one of the latter.
Last year I put my best welly forward and joined the crowds for the first time.
The long sun-soaked days were spent wearing a thick layer of factor 50 and listening to the likes of Stevie Wonder.
Before enjoying star-studded nights drinking chai tea on the hill.
Feeling a million miles from everything, the daily grind consisted only of who to watch, what to eat and when to nap in the shade.
It was easily one of the best experiences of my life.
So when this year came around I was very excited.
Keeping a close eye on the weather forecast, I packed for the worst.
Borrowing waterproofs from friends, packing enough socks to satisfy a caterpillar and even purchasing a poncho.
However even I wasn’t prepared for what the elements had in store.
Before we’d even made it into the site we were drenched to the bone.
Battling the torrential downpour to put up our tents before collapsing in a sodden heap inside them.
Even when it wasn’t raining the weather made every short walk an adventure.
As the mud dried it went from squelchy to slippy to sticky.
I was one of many who didn’t realise until the cold mud seeped through my socks that my welly hadn’t made the last step with me.
Causing me to attempt to balance one-legged as I reached back to reclaim it from the earth.
Only for the pull to be so strong it split the boot up the back.
Meaning for the rest of the festival I wore bin liners inside them and tied around my knee. Then the day later I lost my poncho.
This is when I went a bit fancy with my ‘rubbish’ fashion, opting for the thicker green recycling bag with head and arm holes as a replacement.
For some this would have been the final straw.
But for me this is what Glastonbury is about.
After all, what’s more important?
Me looking like an idiot or me being warm and dry?
Sure the music is good.
Jesse J put on one of my favourite performances even with a broken leg.
While the Four Poofs and a Piano brought camp comedy at its finest.
But really the best thing is that getting back to basics really makes you realise there are a lot of things we fret about that don’t really matter.
More often than not things work out in the end.
And being reminded of that is worth the ticket price alone.