The Promise of Summer

So, through absolutely no fault of my own, I have acquired tickets to two, count 'em, Two festivals this year. Nicely spread out though they are, the cost of Glastonbury and Bestival has set me back a tidy £402.50. And I've still got to get to and from Glastonbury.

So, despite the pennilessness, I still spent a good 20 minutes whooping and jumping about my house on Sunday after the, apparently, very last release of Glastonbury tickets at midday and am still softly palpitating at the idea of being inside the fences of Glastonbury Festival once again. I had, after last year, handily written myself notes on my phone as to how to make the next year better and advice as to what to take and, or, not take. However after some rather sinister goings on in the heart of Guildford involving a dodgy phone call and a very late night, my phone and its contents have been relieved from me and, I admit I am finding it quite hard to cast my mind back to almost a year ago.

What I definitely will remember to do is visit the dance village, take more disposable cameras, and maintain sobriety long enough to be able to actually review the bands, known and unknown, that I manage to watch.