The Ned Wood Archive

Glastonbury’s golden sun
Will shine its love on everyone

Cosmic Rough Riders, 1999

Sam

Sam finds himself meandering down past the bandstand after lunch.  He’s not sure where he’s headed.  He went past the top of Pyramid Field to try and catch up with Ade, but he couldn’t find him.  Nor Ron.  They’d said they’d be there for Pigs Pigs, but that was 30, 40 minutes away.  There isn’t anyone he must see until later, but he wasn’t going to hang around kicking his heels for that long.  He thought he’d stroll and see where that took him.  Sometimes that’s the best way to find Glastonbury.

Sam had seen a couple of the Water Aid volunteers working around the long drops up at the top of the Pyramid Field on the way down.  He’d gone over and thanked them.  He tries to say something anytime he sees any of the Water Aid folk.  These are the real heroes of Glastonbury.  The people who clean out the toilets.  Voluntarily.  There’s different types of toilet but they’re all hard work.  They have those plastic tardis types in some places.  Like the car parks.  The portable ones like you get on building sites.  Actually the size of a phone box and not any bigger on the inside.  They’re OK before the festival but soon fill up and get messy.  Most of the toilets inside the actual festival are the longdrops.  More permanent ones.  Metal constructions with two rows of eight or so metal cubicles.  No roof, so not the best in the rain.  Noisy clanking doors every time anyone goes in or out.  Just you and a metal bench to sit on, miles above the sunken sewage lake.  The lake gets emptied by these enormous machines that get driven round the festival.  And all these toilets are cleaned by those wonderful Water Aid volunteers working in pairs.  That’s why Sam tries to make sure they’re appreciated.

There was one time when Sam was walking down past some of the long drops.  Maybe early one afternoon.  These were the ones between the Mandela Bar and San Remo.  That stretch at the bottom of the hill is always fairly busy with folk going to or from the Pyramid, even early in the afternoon.  Maybe especially that time of day because all of the punters are still getting their lunch.  Suddenly he’d seen this roll of toilet paper bouncing down the hill.  Cool as you like this young bloke walking past had caught it, then had walked up to one of the green long drop doors and had placed it neatly at the entrance at which point a hand from inside grabbed it quickly.  Sam caught the relieved occupant shout thanks.  The young bloke had already walked off, but he shouted a “no sweat mate” response and carried on his way.  It was over in a few seconds, but it’s something Sam will always remember.  Sometimes you can make a massive difference to someone with just a small act.

He gets to the bandstand where there’s a folksy bluesy quartet playing.  Clarinet, banjo, double bass, drums.  He listens for a number then moves on.  A bit too jazzy.  Too many notes.  He ambles past Bread and Roses and picks up a buzz in the crowd outside Left Field.  His Glastonbury instinct kicks in.  There’s something happening here.  What it is ain’t exactly clear.  He goes into the tent.  This time of day they usually have those panel discussions.  They can be interesting, but he doesn’t often get down there in time for them with his shifts.  Last time was a year or two back.  That time they had a few sofas for the panel in front of the stage and an audience of maybe fifty sat on the grass further back.  This time the sofas are on the stage and the audience is standing like it was a gig.  Various folk are standing at the side of the stage.  John Harris is there – he‘s probably going to lead the discussion.  Billy Bragg’s there too – Sam asks himself whether Bragg usually comes to these chats.  And he’s pretty sure he sees Zack Polanski.  Maybe he’s going to be talking. If he’d been advertised it would have been even more packed.     

Sam recognises Carol Cadwalladr too.  That triggers him to remember his digital detox.  He realises he’s supposed to be avoiding politics this weekend and here he is right in the middle of what is likely to be a big political discussion.  Well, he’s here now.  He can always walk out if he wants.

Then Billy Bragg comes on stage and announces a change to the schedule, although he rather thinks that, from the size of the crowd, some people have got wind of it.  Billy Bragg brings on AOC.  Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez.  There’s a massive cheer for her.  Even if some were expecting this or had got wind of it, the excitement is clear.  She’s a hero for everyone in the tent.  Sam had been there when Corbyn spoke that year when he was the next big thing.  Corbyn’s a good speaker, he just wasn’t cut out for leadership.  AOC is a great speaker and a great leader.

No-one sits down.  AOC talks for ten, maybe fifteen minutes.  She talks about everything that is relevant in Britain right now and she frames the parallels between the UK and the US.  Immigration.  Despotism.  Workers rights.  She’s reaching to the converted.  But, it isn’t just that.  It’s a story of hope.  A story of a brighter future.  It helps Sam realise that the reason that he was getting worn out, the reason he wanted to avoid politics this weekend was because he wasn’t getting that hope.  Now he’s inspired. Like Billy says. Recharged.

But that doesn’t mean the end of his detox.  He’s still going to keep his phone off.