The Ned Wood Archive

And it was back to the camp
And it was pack up the tent
And it was saying goodbye

Grace Petrie, 2015

Sam

The sun rises silent in the blue wordless sky.  Far below, a whisper here or there develops into a murmur, then into a buzz, as campers slowly emerge early from their tents to begin the task of packing up the tent, saying goodbye, and trekking to their cars and coaches.  It’s the beginning of a new day.

Sam weaves through the traffic on the Pilton Parlour track, swishing the skirt he got on the Saturday.  It promises to be another warm day and he did actually appreciate how cooling it was, wearing it that evening for Lyle Lovett. Walking into the site he’s passed a slow, steady dribble of heavily laden folk heading for the exits.  One or two heading his way towards Gate A.  One or two going the opposite way to Gate B.  Some hungover, some sober.  Some sorted and some sloppy.  On the campsites themselves, some have left already, maybe Sunday evening, maybe dead early this morning.  They’ve left random rectangles of flattened, yellowing grass.  Some of the lazy and thoughtless have left their trash, but the numbers of those go down each year as people wise up.  Elsewhere other early risers are quietly striking camp allowing the dedicated partygoers a few more hours’ kip.  

Sam’s on his way to see John and Sarah on the world famous Mandela team.  The litter picking teams have morning shifts at the same time as Sam’s during the festival, but they work Friday to Monday, not Thursday to Sunday, so this is pretty much his only chance to catch up with them.  Another tradition.  Head down to San Remo which is roughly where they’ll have got to and say Hi.  Anyway, he needs to tell someone.  In fact, he needs to tell everyone but none of the Hebden crew were around when he had breakfast. 

He’d had a text over night.  He looked at his phone first thing.  That digital detox rubbish went out of the window after Jackie’s email from last night.  Out of the tent flap to be more accurate.  And this morning Jackie had sent him a message suggesting they have a chat.  A text message.  So now he had her phone number.  She’d said she had no idea what time he’d be up at Glastonbury but they could talk at 10 or 11.  Sam waited until 8:30 then called anyway.

They chatted like old friends.  She was so much more talkative than she had been the previous times they’d met.  Sam thought that she sounded a lot more confident.  A lot more happy with herself.  Mind you, people can change a lot in 12 months.  Was it 12 months?  More like 18, to be honest.  She was in Manchester and starting to settle down.  They agreed to meet up on the Tuesday.  Tomorrow.  Sam would have said tonight, Monday, but he couldn’t guarantee what time he’d be there.  It’s always a mad crush getting out so he normally waits on site until around 5 or 6 in the afternoon.  Most of the recyclers who’ve finished stay around til late afternoon.  It’s so much more comfortable to sit on site and chat than to sit in your car trying to get out of purple parking.

So Sam needs to tell everyone that he’s off to see his daughter.  Telling his friends that he had somewhere to be. He’ll tell the Hebden crew and everyone else he knows at lunch.  He’ll call in and see Ade and Linda later that morning and tell them.  He’ll find the Mandela team and tell John & Sarah and anyone else who remembers him.  He’ll probably tell a few random people he bumps into as well.

He’ll sit in the food tent at Ivy Mead after lunch just chatting. He’ll catch up with all of the recycling crew folk he hasn’t had a chance to talk to yet. He’ll get up to date with all their news for the past year before he bids them goodbye until the same time the following year. Then, later in the afternoon, when the crowds have gone, when the traffic’s thinner, he’ll leave the site and drive north. Right up the M5 to be there when you start living. He’ll find somewhere to stay overnight, preferably close to a railway station, I dunno, maybe north of Stafford.  He’ll stop at Gloucester services and work out where to aim for.  Then, first thing tomorrow, Tuesday, he’ll roll up at the Caffe Nero next to Manchester Piccadilly to meet up with Jackie.

It’s the beginning of a new age.