Lifestyle
Originally published on Thursday, 28th June 2007
Emma Does Glastonbury
Emmaprovement Continues...
Glasto Day 1 · Day 2 · Day 3 · Day 4
Obviously, I've never been to a festival. Crowds, cool music and the C word (camping) is pretty much my notion of absolute hell.
But we're the media partner for the acclaimed Lost Vagueness area, so off to Glasto we go.
It's going to be luxe, Taryn assured me. There'd be a proper trailer, a nice bus to take us down, backstage access; there were hints of possibly canoodling with celebrities. "Posh people go to Glastonbury, Emma. Trust me," said Taryn. And I do.
Or did. Until yesterday. Do you know what kind of people go to festivals? Ugly people. Dirty people. Crusty people. People with strange hair and questionable dress sense. Not my people.
Driving the Urban Junkies bus through the teeming crowds of Glastonbury on Thursday afternoon, someone actually said "God, everyone's really ugly". Then, a man bashed his dreadlocked head against the bus, leaving a smeary trail across my window. Nice.
We're travelling with thirteen photographers, hired to shoot the people for our Lost Celebrity microsite (log in using urbanjunkies and dailyfix). Normally, I'm not all about photographers, but considering the options outside the bus, I do a double take of the guys. Taryn catches me checking them out, and shakes her head. "Hands off the staff, Cheevers," she says. Busted.
OMG, there's a child! People bring their children here? Surely it's completely unhygienic and dangerous, with all the drug-addled youth. Kids don't like Amy Winehouse - they like violent videogames and playing with matches. At home.
What's wrong with you, Brits? You seem to love putting yourselves in the the most inhumane conditions - unheated castles, festivals, Faliraki - and then pretending it's great fun. Getting "stuck in" as you like to say. Whacked.
We drive by the shower facilities, which look alarmingly communal. I text flatmateEmma who's been taken down to Glastonbury on a glamorous junket with a fashion label. "Do you guys have showers in your Winnebago?" I type. She texts back: "People don't really shower at Glastonbury. I just brought Wet Wipes."
What. The. Fuck.
I go into panic mode. Who do I know that has access to a helicopter? Because obviously I'm going to have to be airlifted out of here.
We arrive at the Lost Vagueness area, and I'm slightly comforted. There are women dressed in ballgowns, corsets and men in tuxes wandering about the fields. There's even a casino, diner and ballroom. I'm glad I had the foresight to pack some high heels. Clearly, I'm going to need them. Things are looking up.
After humping our stuff clear across the grounds we arrive at the campsite. Um, where are the celebrities? Where is Kate, for instance? I doubt she's sharing a brocade fold-out sofabed with her boss. In a damp campervan. I bet she's not weighing up the need for a very stiff drink, or seven, with the horrific but inevitable outcome of having to visit the Portaloo.
And guess who forgot to bring loo roll? Guess who didn't even know she had to bring loo roll?
Lady Emma visited Glastonbury with Urban Junkies and Lost Vagueness this June 21-24 and is only slowly recovering. See photos from Lost Vagueness and Glastonbury on the Lost Celebrity microsite (Urban Junkies subscribers, log in using urbanjunkies and dailyfix).
Emma Does Glastonbury
Emmaprovement Continues...
Glasto Day 1 · Day 2 · Day 3 · Day 4
Friday morning Taryn and I go for a walk. It's beautiful in the morning sunshine, and everyone is so friendly, in their mangy hair and hempy ponchos.
There, but for the grace of God, I think. A few more Greenpeace meetings in Uni and I could be that braless woman in the Birkenstocks.
"Look out for Hunter wellies," says Taryn. They, allegedly, are the Aston Martins of waterproof footwear, and they're around. But where is the VIP enclosure, the restaurants and champagne bars?
"Backstage of the main tent. That's where you want to be; they'll have all the good stuff." says one of the photographers. "But you'll have trouble getting back in."
Please. Just show me who I've got to blow.
Then I find out about the VIP enclosure of Lost Vagueness, where the very rich pay £10,000 for the pleasure of proper flushing toilets, onsite showers, mini golf course and their own Tiki bar. Separated by a fence, the compound is guarded by vicious bouncers. Scissor Sisters are supposed to be staying there. And Pete Doherty. As the rain pelts down, flooding the grounds, I make it my mission to get in.
Right now, I'd pay £10,000 to have a flushing toilet. And then I think, no, I wouldn't because I would never choose to go to Glastonbury.
Taryn thinks it's important that we at least catch a show so we trudge through the mud to see Rufus Wainwright. I need a sit down after getting there, but, well, there's nowhere to sit down.
"So, we just stand here?", I ask Taryn. "Yep. Some people dance, or sing along," she says. "But no holding up lighters, right?" I ask.
She looks at me like I'm crazy. You can't really see Rufus, because of the crowds, but there a big TV screen so you can see his face. This is just like being at home, watching the coverage. But I'm wet, and muddy. After about twenty minutes, I'm ready to go. I ask Taryn what the plan is for tonight.
"Well, tonight I'm going to be spending some quality time with the Wet Wipes," says Taryn.
The Wet Wipes are the best purchase. Initially, I was quite generous with them, giving some to photographers, almost showing off about my brilliance in bringing them, but now, I'm getting worried. We only have 100. What if we run out? So I've hidden them. If it's survival of the fittest, I'm going to be clean.
Lady Emma visited Glastonbury with Urban Junkies and Lost Vagueness this June 21-24 and is only slowly recovering. See photos from Lost Vagueness and Glastonbury on the Lost Celebrity microsite (Urban Junkies subscribers, log in using urbanjunkies and dailyfix).
Emma Does Glastonbury
Emmaprovement Continues...
Glasto Day 1 · Day 2 · Day 3 · Day 4
The Wet Wipes are great, but by Saturday morning, I need a proper shower. And since they won't let me into the Trailer Park, we hike to the Greenpeace tent where we've heard there are showers.
We line up for three hours, get undressed and right when we are about to get in, the water pressure goes. I didn't cry, but I really wanted to.
I'm in the worst mood, but everyone else seems to be so happy. They're all frolicking in the mud, dancing around, kissing each other. And then I clue in. Day drinking. And drugs. That's the ticket to enjoying Glastonbury.
By 6pm, I've finally had a shower, had breakfast and found a paper. At home, that takes me 20 minutes. Here, it took all day. And I've got two more days of this. The photographers bring back stories of people falling in the mud, singers bringing people up on stage, great bands they've heard. They seem fine about not being dirty. Actually, they seem to be having a good time. What's wrong with me? I seem to be missing my "youth" chip.
So I muck in, put on a dress and actually try to enjoy myself. We go to the Lost Vagueness Casino, win 40 pounds at the Roulette table, and after three vodka tonics, I actually start having a good time. I even dance. I think I'm catching the Glastonbury Festival spirit. One of the photographer's mentions he has to go to the Lost Vagueness VIP Trailer Park and I convince him to blag my way in as well.
It's sweet, I can't lie. And pretty empty, with proper sofas in the bar. We get some drinks in and settle in. Everyone seems very clean, and calm. I see the appeal of dropping that kind of dough to avoid the teeming masses. But then, isn't that the point of going to a festival - being with the people?
Everyone does seem a little bored in here, but that might just be what they're on. Then, the Scissor Sisters emerge from a Airstream van and the bar erupts in joy, everyone dancing with each other. I make friends with Damon, a six foot four queen from Oregon dressed up in a Kiss outfit. The thought of leaving the VIP compound is dreadful; maybe he'll let me sleep over. Instead, I stumble back to our camper and fall asleep in my dress.
The next morning, I really regret my decision to have festival fun. Glastonbury plus hangover is hell.
Lady Emma visited Glastonbury with Urban Junkies and Lost Vagueness this June 21-24 and is only slowly recovering. See photos from Lost Vagueness and Glastonbury on the Lost Celebrity microsite (Urban Junkies subscribers, log in using urbanjunkies and dailyfix).
Emma Does Glastonbury
Emmaprovement Continues...
Glasto Day 1 · Day 2 · Day 3 · Day 4
The next morning, I really regret my decision to have festival fun. Glastonbury plus hangover equals hell.
Sunday, I really do hit a wall. It won't stop raining. The mud is so deep it squelches and slops over my boots, and I'm getting some sort of rash that I'm convinced is either herpes or cholera.
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".
Nice.
Lady Emma visited Glastonbury with Urban Junkies and Lost Vagueness this June 21-24 and is only slowly recovering. See photos from Lost Vagueness and Glastonbury on the Lost Celebrity microsite (Urban Junkies subscribers, log in using urbanjunkies and dailyfix).