Come four walked out, nothing would make me stay – one of those days where everything falls from a great height on your unsuspecting head. Moments when so frustrated could’ve cried, except for the thought of escape. Arrived home and abandoned everything, plates dumped in sink, ready to go but, quite frankly – unprepared. Shopped like only the incompetent can – noodles, bread, crisps, continental breakfast selection, Star Wars biscuits, 8 packs of malt loaf. No substance, a lot of flavour. Return to full house – Garage, Jess & Empty; all seem younger than they are. Discussions about Marmite and a lot of loafing about. Arrange to meet in Bristol – Garage’s first big mistake. To Leeds with all speed – Land at Sneeze’s and phone Delivery Service. Greatest idea ever, dope at your door, a drug delivery for every town is needed – no need to leave house, drink, eat and smoke yourself to death in comfort of your own armchair. What more could you ask for? Wait for Delivery Service with Fred and others (can’t remember names), Myk reads dictionary: “prepuce prê¢pús, (anatomy) noun the loose skin of the penis, the foreskin; a similar fold of skin over the clitoris”. Once the bush arrives we light up and have one for the road – and another for good luck, leave Leeds with spectators hanging from windows cheering us on, down hours of motorway to… Drift in and out of consciousness to sounds of the Beach Boys ‘Pet Sounds’ – lights streak through the darkness and light up the black sky like the glow of a burning city – slowly drift in and out… Vivid white light glistening through the glass and blue and red neon to the beat of the B52s, the building stands out against the late night nothingness. Approaching the elaborate glass frontage with the echo of the music in head, see the clean open space within and feel the urge to dance. Glide across the marble, only thing missing is thirties music and elaborate water feature to make Busby Berkeley alive again. Coffee is strong, dark and hot whilst sitting in mock French marina straight from the Riviera. Myk returns from toilets with news of strange devices: “I didn’t know where to piss!” Dunk concurs. Have to find out. Toilets pristine, a pleasure to sit in (last pleasure for many long days) the toilets cough politely before flushing, like a discreet manservant. And the sink, glide around in a three-sixty feeling the water grow warmer, pleasantly washing hands (once again last for a while). This must be some sort of magical services, like the ‘Inn at World’s End’, a haven for weary travellers, appearing to only the needy and desperate for coffee. Exit the toilets to find Sneeze on a racing game. Why? A respite from driving? Back in the car, leaving this oasis behind, hours late for our meeting with Garage – who gives a fuck? Empty motorway down to Bristol – pull into dismal concrete services with other weary travellers all heading to… “Does anyone know how to fit a car stereo?” At three in the morning, not bloody likely – and where did they find one at this time of the mornin’? – Garage looks wrecked, a familiar, unwelcome sight. Another coffee in the wickerwork café – “ooh arr, we’re ent’rin’ the west country noo”. Last toilets till… Back on the road and into the mornin’ mist, sky lightens and the ground disappears beneath a sea of vapour. It chooses its side and blocks off the view from prying eyes that should not be open at this hour. Into Bristol, round-and-around-the-roundabout and back out, taking Garage on a wild goose chase – what do you expect when you let Sneeze lead? Back through Bristol (again) and out the other side – Garage leads the turn around this time, and back up the road – this time for toilets, but they’re all out of order, at least to the likes of us! Finally on the right track we stop at a field, cameras out, and see the sunrise (not for the last time) as the mist abates and the dew glisters off the grass – and our piss as we defile a farmer’s field (not for the last time). Weaving roads and picturesque countryside (decorated with ‘Private Property – keep out’ signs) lead us to a field of cars populated by tired travellers who’s only joy is that they’re free of their car. Garage has packed his entire belongings, pregnant girlfriend can’t be forced to rough it – what the fuck is she doin’ here then? Croissant on the car and sixteen bags each – we’re off. Trudging with all the other sorry looking rabble – through the wardens and past the touts – “We stamp your arm and you ‘and over ya ticket to me mate on the inside.” Thanks but no thanks mate. Thumping beat and dusty, stony path, down the hill and to the gate – hand over ticket and we’re in. We have reached Glastonbury! Quiet at this time in the morning. Yet the stalls passed are open for business and there are a few who are up for breakfast. Set up on a hill overlooking the main thoroughfare and main stage to the right. Tents in a circle and before you know it someone’s rolling up. That’s pretty much the day for us – smokin’! Garage falls asleep on the grass, knees up in the air, feet flat on the ground. Next thing you know his knees are swaying in the air, Jess says he’s skiing in his sleep – more like sex-soaked sleep. A wander ‘round the makeshift town, up to the stones, wolf whistles for Jess as she orally gratifies an ice-lolly. Not quite sure where the day goes but as light fades I go for a wander, head floating from smoke, mind driftin’ just as freely. Everyone seems unhappy, uptight, stressed. A few early risers cling to the stage watching technicians set up. Return to find Myk in possession of four tabs of acid – the beginnings of an interestin’ evenin’. But first wood. Garage leads the way – up camp first, then down, then along until we find wood (in dark) at opposite side of camp to Garage’s directions. A born leader that man – and a father to the next generation? God help us all. Back at camp a fire is started – Garage armed with lighter fluid, us, armed with acid, smoke and drink – the night begins. Sneeze and Jess slip away quietly to giggle and… Flares are lit, crackling defiantly, daring anyone to mess with them. Tent pegs employed, the flare receives a few sharp hits. It burns on regardless. A piece of wood aimed elicits sparks. Soon the flare is beaten from all sides. “This is the best time of my life, and this is the best bit – Right now!” comes the cry from our nearby acid tripper. “Shut up!” – “Bollocks – I could piss on you all – every one of you. I could piss on you all.” Sneeze returns to beat seven shades of shit out of the poor flame. It burns on. Garage goes mental, landing a plank square on the flare, dousing the light – Mad fucker! Sneeze and Garage proceed to slaughter the fire, sparks escaping for dear life twist and dance through the cold night air – fascinating, mesmerising. Almost lose myself, but not quite. As the light returns we make our way to the stone circle. Through the bustle and lights of the market, music sets the rhythm of the walk, from stall to stall, sound to sound. Dunks: “Hey, let’s mosey,” the cool groove leads us. On to the hill, stone circle, totem and wickerman. Crowds have already gathered, many carrying flames – beautiful phoenixes, wings alight, flapping in the morning breeze – ready to fly, to leave with the night. Magical, enchanting. Sneeze becomes the rock as drummers play and people shout and whistle – calling for the dawn. “Come on!” Shouts and cheers, drums beating, and the sky is alive as it shows the pattern behind it, my eyes close and I see it all in negative that opens up and flowers – a beautiful beginning. The sun finally rises above the earth and someone shouts “Good morning Glastonbury – You’re free” and I realise I am; my past gone, my future open. Free. Garage and the Empty one leave the moment the sun joins the floating ball that has been there since yesterday, waiting unsuccessfully to take the sun’s place, leaving Jess and three drugged up crazies heading back to camp. The streets are empty apart from the litter, discarded the night before. Stop for coffee and find seats that wriggle and dance on the uneven ground. The coffee machine starts and takes hold of me, sound everything, can move but cannot alert them to the fact that I am lost, lost in the grip of the white noise that crashes around me. Begin to panic the machine stops and frees me, just in time. Then the Wave – people wash over us, picking up litter, cleaning around us, freshening land, cleansing us. “I feel infused and infleansed” Myk says, contented smile on face. Tent and the sleeping couple, united in emptiness. We sit and giggle, “last train to BakulaVille,” – “it’s eight-thirty and Rob still hasn’t got up for work, meanwhile in BakulaVille” a little dance “the party’s still going.” And the sun is up, and slowly people, including the fucked-form of Piss-girl, heavy comedown. Festival begins around us as sun beats down, beats beat out and head beats dully. Wander past Bare Naked tripe, bare-naked cyclist, bare-naked protestors protesting lack of coverage (TV?). The night begins to wear me down in the height of day. Food looks fowl, heat de-hydrates. Deus play for sunny summer days, lifts spirits slightly. Need sustenance, liquid, food. Drink fruit juice and feel better. Go looking for eats only to see stripped carcass pig, hog dripping fat peeling flesh infecting air with stink of its roast. Vow never to eat meat again and return for more juice. Fruit is the future – remember that. Find juice spiked with amino acids, acid to take away affects of acid – blackcurrant & apple settles stomach as I try to forget pig sacrifice. Thoughts turn to music, Pavement play as acid takes effect, feeling of happiness and euphoria swirl with music and feel happy, feel happy. Evenin’ passed in blur until sunset dark and fires alight, beautiful voice of lamb, cut short when REM (I wish I was) play to addled mind, limbs weak ready to drop, music beautiful, sublime, a treat. Home to tent to sleep, ache of exhaustion ignored in desperation for annihilation – out for the count. Late night awakening, cold touches flesh and yet get up in search of money, walk up the hill and stand in queue as sky begins to lighten, background hum of a town that never sleeps. With money in pocket return to bed and sleep till the sun makes it impossible. Day 3, or 2 or who knows what (sleep no longer a marker) lie in little shade there is until movement inevitable, wander the tents listening to music, drinking water and lying in sun as Transglobal Underground play for Wonder Woman and fancy dress friends. Sneeze’s fairy friend bounds in and out as fast as mercury – we eat, I think, can’t remember what - and dusk comes again so quick. Sunny field, happy Beth plays sad songs with glee as Sneeze finishes baccy only to have more drop from Heavens. Watching Underworld from top of hill see the chemist get nabbed by two cops (backed by one battalion of foot soldiers and the whole cavalry – overkill for one fucked wanker) – can he really be such a menace to society, I don’t see it myself, but then I return to tent to take the E before moving on to orbital, feeling the heat flush face. Music sublime, accented by fireworks and burning wickerman, lovin’ it all in childish glee that’s grabbin’ me, childish glee always inside me. Home to bed (once kicked Sneeze into shape) and first nights uninterrupted sleep. Morning: rain turned dust to mud as visit milkman for breakfast, soon dehydrated as sun recaptures supremacy. A Hip-Hop afternoon, cool grooves in a cool tent, slick muddy floor kicked up by dancing feet – full on party to Ozomatli in the crowd, leaping, jumping, dancing a Mardi Gras – sublime J5 – ending the night with Mogwai, a magical experience. Back to the tent for more drugs (like we need it) drop a tab (one step from madness) and begin to roll up. Slow progress in such a hammered state – concentrating so hard miss the cop wandering by until others point him out. Hands begin to shake and bugger up spliff – doesn’t stop us smoking though. Sky fills up with clouds, clouds change. Heavens full of mythical people, creatures, beasts – Demons on the Sabbath night all travelling by on the way to the otherworld. Jess rolls one, slowly, methodically but “the lady don’t do lighters” – trying so hard to fit in, impress Sneeze, but “the lady, she don’t got the shmartsh”. Take her for a ride by sleeping bag, the Midnight Express to the bottom of the hill, past abandoned rubbish and through the ash of spent fires – give up half way and leave her in the filth – abandoned like the cans and bottles and other shit. Lose Dunk to planet Thumpy-Thumpy, no escape no matter what he does, all wavelengths feeding him beat. Granddad Garage sits with his blanket on his blow-up rocking chair until he finally gives up and goes to bed (thank god), only to caress and undress the tent, slowly unzipping it in his sex drenched dreams. Dawn comes and the dragons are still yet to flee from the sky, running before the sane sleepers can catch them, proof of their existence. With the morning here we give in to the desire to sleep. Waking into the full-blown, drizzle-soaked day, face up to the truth that the real world still exists beyond the temporary concrete walls, and the protection of drug craziness. Feeling rough, needing to shit, unable to eat, pack up and make the journey (that has lengthened) back to the car and sit as Garage blows his own horn in the belief that anyone cares. Onto the roads and out across the country almost to Wales. Stop just short and have first proper meal in living memory. Constantly watched, occasionally accused by Luminous George, man with the delusions of grandeur (jumped up Hitler with a two-bit job). Part from Garage, Empty, and Jess with very few tears and veer away from Wales, heading north and homeward. Head swims with sobriety and exhaustion, vision splits to show 12-lane motorway, desperately gripping to consciousness for dear life. Arrive at Myk’s and Dunk says, “Should we roll up”. No one wants it but it’s a habit/addiction we can’t break. One toke and then to bed, to lie in the dark – aware they are there, even before they take hold. Static in ears, unable to move, paralysed by a force. They are coming to take me. Try to fight but have no power, no energy, frozen to the spot unable to speak. Force field drops and feel freed only for it to come again, they won’t give up. Slowly drift into somnolence; I’m leaving this world for good.