Urban Junkies | Lifestyle | Lifestyle-fi-cation: Emma Gets A Life - Emma Does Glastonbury

I now have a pattern. Wake up. Whine. Blow my nose quite a bit, because, clearly, I'm allergic to festivals. Comment on how much it is raining, how disgusting it is, how miserable I am, with Taryn. I leave our campervan only for a shower, to forage for food, alcohol, cigarettes and the papers, which are a saving grace against boredom.

During a particularly sunny spell (one hour), Taryn and I try to motivate ourselves to go see a band. But this is the thing about Glastonbury, it's allegedly the size of Bath. Imagine flooding Bath, then populating it with 200,000 young people off their heads. Bedlam.

Halfway to The Rakes, I have a total wobbly. I don't even know who The Rakes are, why am I trudging 45 minutes through the mud to go see them? Just to say I did. So I turn back. On the walk home I almost fall over in the mud, and seriously get teary when I get back to the caravan. I wash the mud off my legs with my real pashmina, because it is so thick that Wet Wipes won't
clear it. I consider, briefly, closing all the curtains and going to the toilet in a plastic bag, because the thought of leaving the caravan again is too horrifying.

Sunday is also the day that everyone starts discussing, well, poos. I had hoped to get through the entire weekend without needing to go. No luck. Instead, I've timed when they clean the luxury loos in the press tent and go in armed with Wet Wipes and hoards of loo roll for my own personal washdown and pillow-seat effect. I live in terror that someone will tip over my
portaloo, leaving me trapped in a swamp of piss, puke and excrement. Rumour is: it's happened.

FlatmateEmma texts that she's having the best time in the hospitality tent at the other end of Glastonbury. Plus, she has room in her Winnebago, do I want to come stay with her for the night? I weigh up proper celebrities, indie bands and a better bed with the muddy two hour walk to get there. I stay put. I wonder if it is possible to be psychologically damaged by a festival.

Then Taryn delivers the worst news. The bus can't get in to the grounds in the morning so we are going to have to trek from our campsite to the bus. At 7:30am the next morning. With all our bags. We call around, checking other options but we're hooped.

And so, bright and early, we all assemble in front of the caravan and walk through the pelting rain through the muddy fields and roads. How we found Gate A is incredible. The fact that we found our particular bus in the mess of busses of Gate A is even more amazing. Everyone is soaked through and shivering, and I lose all sense of decorum and strip out of my wet things in front of all the photographers. Settling in on the bus, one of them turns to me and says "You aren't having a very good hair day today".