After a daunting start at Paddington – with my ‘booked’ train declared full and much platform swapping called for – I eventually got a fast train to Swindon and then alighted a very jovial, but truly ancient train to Castle Cary.
The revenue-protection bastards of Great Western were at the station, methodically examing ticket and holding up the Glasto-bound crew.
One vintage bus journey later, we caught the near-spiritual sight of the festival, nestling in a shallow valley below…bring it on!
I managed to get the capacious tent up single-handedly in the scorching heat and readied myself to revisit my old stomping ground of the near-legendary Cider Bus.
A throng of Urbanites were in attendance with daft as a brush LisaRocket waving a, ‘anyone from urban75 here?’ home-made sign about with gusto.
As is the norm, many, many ciders and ales were heartily quaffed over the next few hours. Lovely!
Over the grapevine some bad news emerged of an Urbanite who was busted at the gate with 40 pills, chucked in the cells for 9 hours, charged, and given a 10 mile exclusion order from the site.
That fucking sucks…
Thursday update 14:15
Sleep came very lightly overnight as the tent heated up to glass-making temperatures early in the morning.
Gave up trying to kip in a furnace and got up too early.
Chatted to my camping neighbours from the US – artiste Willy Mason (onstage @ the John Peel stage tomorrow) and his film making chums. Nice folks!
Wandered around the Green Fields in the super-scorchio heat takin’ a few snaps before heading back to the tent for a half-arsed attempt at a siesta ([not likely with a thumping sound system a few metres away…
Right….time for a beer…