A muddy Glastonbury with no tent.
Lady friend and I decided to go on a whim at the last minute, this being the days when it was easy to get in for free. So, a hitch from Nottingham is necesssary, no probs apart from the guy who decided that he had to drop us on the hard shoulder on the M42 about a 3 mile walk from the next junction, thanks.

So we arrive and having decided to bring no tent we have a vague plan to crash a friends truck in the crusty truck field outside the arena, said friend has recently got a new lass and as such is having no guests for the weekend, but points us in the direction of a friendly chap who is kind enough to let us sleep in some seats on his bus for the night.
So we settle in with some acid and booze of various varieties and amusement is had, eventually sleep tries to take over but it is to be denied by a 40ish somewhat fried looking couple who climb aboard looking for "John, this looks like John's bus, is he here?" to be told that no, it isn't and there's no one called John here, so they leave. 5 minutes later they return, same question, same answer. This routine continues for about an hour or more, with me wondering if this couple have been sent to test my lsd soaked brain, until someone gets tired of it and invites them to stay telling them that John will be back sooner or later.
So they sit there on the floor, babbling away whatever nonsense their fried brains are producing and I doze slowly, waking at one point to see them both holding needles, oh great thinks I, smack heads, but no. They are putting the needles into cans of special brew and injecting it into the backs of their hands. At this point the guy who's bus it is also appears, sees the needles and ejects them. Hooray! No, they are still convinced this is John's bus and return 5 minutes later, and 5 minutes after that, and well, you get the picture. Little sleep is had by me, the lady friend is blissfully unaware of most of this, having passed out solidly long before.

So, friday is spent wondering the site on various stimulants and getting knackered cos every last dry place to sit is permanently taken, all day and all night. Come time to think about sleep again we decide not to go back to "not Johns bus" and try the welfare tent where some large creepy guy offers us space in his small 2 man tent, no thanks, we're in need, but not that much - this guy looks like he could barely fit in a 2 man tent on his own, never mind with 2 other people, so we head off and eventually find a lone table to sit on in a tent that's closing in half an hour, so we decide to fall asleep there and pretend as hard as possible that we're out for the count when they try to wake us to kick us out. It succeeds and we're left for the night. Most comfortable table I have ever slept on.

Saturday sees more inebriation and a real desire for somewhere good to lay down that night, fortune smiles upon us though as mid afternoon some of Lady friends mates appear and tell us of the tent that their friends left behind after leaving because of the mud. Huzzah! We go to see our new home and lo! it is a big dry 6 man tent, all for us. Lady friend has a lie down, that ends sometime on sunday afternoon, while I continue the binge and return to dryness eventually, heaven.

Sunday see more inebriation in the mud and back to the heavenly tent at a respectful hour, to prepare for what turns out to be an entirely easy hitch back to Nottingham.

Unless you're capable of not sleeping for 3 days, which I am clearly not, I'd say it's really a good idea to take a tent to a festival even if you can't be arsed lugging it with you whilst hitching.
(Piddins Drinking Double Dutch since, Tue 9 Jun 2009, 22:02, Reply)