Wednesday, 11 January 2012
Glastonbury Festival - I love it.  I've been going since I was 17, although I did have a gap where I didn't attend after I had Evie.  A gap of over 8 years.  You may have noticed that it's the new year and I'm speaking about Glastonbury Festival, but I'm behind with my blogs and to bring you up to speed I have to first tell you about what and who got me to where I find myself now.

After taking Evie last year, I decided that this year I wouldn't.  I'd found it particularly stressful last year, although I suspect a lot of that had to do with my state of mind following my involvement with Mr Rockstar.  Evie of course, having been bitten by the Glastonbury bug and being my daughter, was most agrieved.  I had to strike a deal.  Glastonbury every second year and a local music festival every other year.  I kept the fact that the festival would be off in 2012 due to the Olympics to myself though.

So there I was, child free at the best music festival in the world (in my humble opinion), ready to rock 'n' roll.  I was attending with 2 Glasto virgins, my cousin Molly and my ex Mr Skinny Jeans.  Although the journey down had been relatively straight forward, once we arrived at the site it was a different story.  The infamous mud had appeared due to the rainfall earlier that day and even though we arrived early afternoon on Wednesday, it was proving extremely difficult to find a pitch, let alone a good one that was still grassy.   We eventually found one, not too far from the toilets (ahem!) but far enough not to smell them and after getting our tents up we set to work exploring.  Being an old Glasto goer I took on the job of being tour guide and advising on the different types of toilet facilities, "long drops", portaloo, flushable (yay), shepee urinals and compost toilets.

Unfortunately we would later discover the huts that used to house the compost toilets now resembled something from a third world country, i.e going to the toilet involved squatting over a hole in the wooden floor of the hut.  Over the years I had got the skill of using a Glasto toilet down to a tee, reverse in, hold breath and don't look down but this was a new challenge, as was using the Sheepee urinals.  Looking around at women standing, some with their bums exposed, holding cardboard funnels was all too much for me.  I got stage fright and couldn't go.  I was desperate but it just wasn't happening.

"Relax," Molly said mid flow.  "Pretend it's a penis."  So that's what I did.  I stood there, taking deep breaths while silently telling myself that the cardboard funnel I was holding between my legs was indeed a penis and with this cardboard penis I could pee.  But no matter how much I tried the whole mind over matter thing it just didn't happen and I had to dispose of my "penis" and rush to the nearest portaloo.

It's fair to say that on the first night I let my hair down so much so that Molly, who is ten years younger than me, wasn't entirely happy with me.  I could have blamed the cider for kissing two blokes but I certainly couldn't blame it on one of them being married. The next morning I felt decidedly ashamed and apologised profusely to Molly.  The rest of the festival pretty much took a more subdued tone after that.  Molly would return to the tent every lunch time for a sleep and I felt that she wasn't really enjoying herself, which to a degree I felt responsible for.  This was her first Glasto and I wanted it to blow her away, unfortunately I think it was just too overwelming for her and with having had a run up of nightshifts prior to the festival, it was maybe just all too much for her.  Or maybe I was.

While at the festival I was texting Mr Shorty and we arranged a date for my return, the following Saturday.  I wasn't quite sure what I was expecting but it was only dinner so what could really go wrong?

Glastonbury came to an end and as we left the festival site I reflected on what had been the highlight for me, watching the Chemical Brothers for the first time, headlining on the Saturday night. I'm not sure whether it was the fact that I was dressed up as Supergirl wearing a purple wig but for some reason that night, completely on my own in a crowd of thousands I didn't feel lonely at all, in fact, I felt ready to take on the world.



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Bird on a Wire
Imagine Carrie from Sex and the City morphed with Bridget Jones and a baby thrown in for added entertainment – that’s me, the ever optimistic romantic looking for my Mr Big but already with child! Read my blog from the beginning where I find out I am pregnant following a brief fling with my much older male colleague and fast forward to where I am now, stressed out working mum to my beautiful 10 year old daughter wondering if love really does in fact exist at first sight.
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