The Ned Wood Archive

Sam

Sam wanders down to the top of the Pyramid Field. He’s had lunch back at the recycling crew campsite. Now he’s on the inside of the festival again looking for his brother, Ade. Only it’s a bit more difficult this year on account of he’s doing it without the use of a phone.

Sam is doing a digital detox. That’s what he calls it. Not using the phone. Actually, it’s more like a news blackout. He wants a break from all that crap he keeps hearing about on the news. Putin murdering Ukrainians. Netanyahu murdering Palestinians. Trump murdering Americans. Trump murdering anyone else he doesn’t like. All the divisiveness in the UK. All of the rubbish on social media. And, not the least of all, the weather reports. The heatwaves. The storms. His generation is screwing up the planet and him not doing anything about it. Yeah, he’s written letters. He’s marched. He even sat down in Parliament Square and “died” in the local Town Hall. Fat lot of good that did.

Now, he just wants a break. A week of ignorance. A week of avoiding the outside world. He wasn’t going to bring his phone, then he thought: what if…. It’s not like anyone would be trying to reach him. Not work. He doesn’t care about work. They can cope. It’s more the case of could he need to use it in an emergency? Like call an ambulance or something. So he’s decided. He’ll bring it, but he won’t turn it on. Hey – good news: that means he won’t need to worry about recharging it.

So no reading the Guardian app. No scrolling blue sky. Also: no football. He can cope. It’s only the group games and we’ll get through those. We always do. Then go out in the quarter final like we always do. No Glastonbury app. Not an issue. He never uses it. He prefers his paper Clashfinder printout. No weather app. Well, he never trusts them anyway. Just look at the sky. So, no news. If anything important happens, the Oxfam campsite crews will put it on their noticeboards. Just the really important stuff like “World Cup result: England 7 (seven) Spain 0” or “Heatwave expected, use sunscreen” or if Michael Jackson dies again.

So digital detox and news detox. He hasn’t decided whether it means he can watch Billy Bragg or not. The no politics bit. The news blackout. He can’t go to the Left Field panel discussions, obviously, but as they start just as his shift ends, he always finds it difficult to get to them. Radical Round up … maybe … maybe not. Dunno yet. And he’s not going to walk out of a gig because the band says something political, so maybe it’s OK for him to see Billy Bragg. He’s not sure. He’ll cross that bridge when the fat lady sings or whatever the saying is.

Ade’ll be camping with Linda, Sam’s sister in law, and their mates Ron and Jane. They come every year they can manage to get tickets which turns out to be on average one year in two. Ron is one of those blokes that always sits in the same spot at the top of Pyramid Field whoever’s playing. Ade’s more adventurous. He’s been known to go to the Other Stage and the Peel Stage if there’s someone Linda particularly wants to see. And she quite likes the Park, so they’ll go up there too.

Sam’s not really a Pyramid person. He much prefers the smaller stages. He needs to be close to the action to enjoy the atmosphere. When he was a kid he went to see the Stones at Earls Court. And he saw the Who at Charlton. Except he didn’t really see either of them. He was too far from the stage. It’s the same here. You can’t see anyone from the back of the Pyramid Field. No-one’s eyesight is that good. And you have to even closer than that to see anything cos of all of the flags.

He went to see Bruce Springsteen back in, what, 2009? That was a mistake. He should have gone to Avalon to watch the Wonder Stuff instead. He was stood at the tree with Ade and Ron and the rest. Sam’s a big Springsteen fan. Much bigger than Ade is. And he thought Springsteen was going to nail it when he started with Coma Girl. Then he played Outlaw Pete and Sam got bored. Doesn’t matter how big you are and how good your material is, no-one can carry a field that big. He left them to it. Ron still goes on about what he missed. He’ll say that Springsteen was “An Event”. Capitalised. Like the Stones in 2013. Ron says they were An Event, too. Sam didn’t even bother going to see the Stones when they played Glastonbury. He wandered around the rest of the site that evening. It was deserted.

For a few years, Sam boycotted the Pyramid Stage. Nowadays, he’s a bit more sensible. He’ll go if he can get near enough to see. Like with early acts. He tried to get close enough for Dolly Parton, but that was hopeless. But some of the acts that are on first or second are not so crowded. First Aid Kit were good, whenever that was. Brandi Carlile was excellent the year before. Play your best songs. Throw in a couple of covers. And if you let the audience see your enthusiasm and share in your excitement, you’ll win them over. Even Ron was slightly moved. Even though they weren’t there and had seen it on TV.

“Yeah, I thought she was OK. She respected Glastonbury and Glastonbury respected her.” That’s another thing Ron does. Talks about the festival crowd as if it was a single entity with a single brain. “Glastonbury was very fair to Jay-Z”, “Glastonbury won’t let you play your new stuff unless you mix it up with your hits”, “Glastonbury always puts on its best face for a Glastonbury Event”. Yeah, Ron, Christine & the Queens in 2016 was an event. And where were you? Stuck here trying to understand what people saw in Skepta.

Brandi Carlile did a version of Woodstock and changed the lyric to “going down to Worthy Farm”. That was enough to make Sam’s day. Now, when he sees the Pyramid Field, he can see the Coma Girl and the Excitement Gang and the bombers turning into butterflies.

You know the Pyramid Stage, right. You’ve seen the shots of it on TV. Well if you’re facing the stage but far away, like at the top of the hill, then there’s a camp site on your left called Big Ground and below that, down the hill, there’s Kidney Mead, except that there’s a hedge or line of trees between Kidney Mead and the Pyramid, so you can’t watch bands from your tent like you can from Big Ground. And Row Mead is the thin stretch right at the back, between the big Pyramid Field and the farm. Ade and Ron and Linda and Jane used to be one of those groups that camped above the Pyramid Field, like on Big Ground or Row Mead before the Stones got it cleared.

It was kind of a habit they settled into in the 2000s. Way back at the end of the 90s, in the days of the fence jumpers and mass invasions, they camped in the family camping at Cockmill Meadow. That’s east of the Pyramid Field and Big Ground, the other side of the dirt track. That was the safest place. Even there you had to watch your stuff. After the big fence went up, they moved to Big Ground. Back then, Sam used to be able to find them setting up in roughly the same spot first thing on the Wednesday. Now, with it getting busier much ealier and with the four of them getting slower at travelling down, they end up further and further away from the prime spots.

Sam knows that the place to find them during the festival is under or near the big tree at the top of the Pyramid Field. Sure enough, Ron and Jane are strolling along the track that runs along the top of the field. The bit Sam calls Parlour Road. The track that runs along in front of Row Mead. Sam catches up with them and finds out that they are headed back to the place between Pyramid and the Woods where they’ve pitched. Ron’s just been to chat to the Oxfam stewards at Big Ground to get the low down on how quickly it filled up that morning.

“This place [meaning Big Ground] was pretty much covered by 10, so I’ve told your brother that he has to get here much earlier next year. Hawkwell’s OK if you can avoid the slope and keep enough distance between you and San Remo, but Big Ground’s better. The Madela Bar is handy and there’s a decent place to grab a bite next to the Woods, but the breakfast is better in the Cockmill Meadow.”

One thing you have to know about Ron is that he knows everything and tells you everything whether he knows it or not. Sam’s debating with himself whether to ask about the journey. He decides he’ll be told about it one way or another so he may as well get it out of the way.

“Got on at Stafford. Your brother decided that the M5 would be easier than the M42, but he was wrong. That’s why it took us so long. M6/M5 junction was grim, but it always is. M5 to Bristol was OK….”

Sam is able to tune out. Ron drones on in the background. John Cale used him once for backing vocals on an album he did.

Sam’s observing the various tribes of Glastonbury. Imagine if Gulliver’s Travels was renamed Gulliver’s Visitors and instead of haring round the planet, Gulliver opened the gates of his place and let the great diversity of the planet in. That’s what Glastonbury’s like. The good, the bad, the average, and unique. Various assorted odd balls and wackos and misfits. The grebos, the crusties, and the goths. The saints and sinners of this world. They’re all here. Rudy, David and Rosie, Abraham and Julianne and everyone that knows me. And you and I.

Ade belongs to the static Glastonbury tribe. The folk that bring their chairs and sit in them in the same spot every day. Just like when they go on holiday to the beach. Same chairs. Same spot on the same beach each year. Same conversation. Same food. No new experiences. Safety in numbness. Sam’s grateful. It means more room for him when he goes to see the decent bands at the other venues.

They go under the pylon line and up the track behind the CND stewards’ corral. Hawkwell. The far side of the Pyramid Field and back up the hill away from the stage. He spots Linda sat outside the tent. Sam realises that Ron has been telling him about the discussion he’d had with Ade about exactly where in this field they should put the tents up. As with everything else, anything that has gone wrong is going to be blamed on Sam’s brother.

“I told your brother that we should be further along, but he insisted, so now we’re stuck here.”

“Don’t listen to him,” says Ade, walking across to greet Sam. Linda gets up and gives him a hug.

“So what do you reckon? Idles or Fontaines? I bet you’re going to see Ferry. Have you worked out who the Thamesmen are yet?” The questions come at him thick and fast.

He sits down, deliberately, on what he knows is his brother’s chair, takes the drink that Linda offers him, and picks up the conversation indirectly.

“Hey, Linda,” he says, “what do you fancy seeing on Friday?”

“Your brother wants to see the Black Sabbath tribute, so we’ll start there and see what happens.”

“That’s 7 pigs, in’t it. I’ll have only just finished working when they start, but I probably wouldn’t go anyway.”

“You not into Pigs, Pigs, Pigs, Pigs, Pigs, Pigs, Pigs, then?” asks Ron. He has to use their correct name, even if it takes him half an hour to say it. Mind you, he says OMD instead of Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark, which shows you there’s no logic.

“No, not really. Nor Sabbath.”

“You going to be here for Knee Cap?” asks Ron. “I bet Glastonbury gives them a massive welcome. That’ll be a real Glastonbury Event. Shows you that you can’t push Michael Eavis around”

Da Doo Ron Ron. Sam smiles. He’s got a row on his bingo card. Ade smiles too – Sam catches the smile out of the corner of his eye. His brother knows what Sam is thinking. Sam will often joke about Ron with Ade. When Ron gets particularly Ronnish, Sam will quote the Crystals. They’re all sitting in a circle now, well four of them are sat – on camp chairs – Ade is squatting.

Sam tells them that putting Knee Cap second on the bill on the Friday night is Glastonbury playing a very political game. By inviting them back, they are showing that they support Knee Cap, that’s true. But they haven’t gone so far as making them headliners and he thinks after West Holts last year, they’re capable of headlining. Plus, he notes that Bob Vylan ain’t invited back. That’s cakeism. Well actually, not cakeism, more like fencing sitting.

Sam tried to see them last year, Knee Cap, that is, but only half heartedly, meaning that he moseyed over to West Holts, but left it too late so he got locked out. He’d gladly see them if he could see them with a small crowd. Like with the Mary Wallopers the year before that. He went to see them at the Park, but decided it was too crowded and he wouldn’t actually have seen much of the band anyway.

“I’ll tell you what, though. All these Irish bands with Palestinian flags. Makes you realise how the Irish view us Brits.”

The other four look at him and he realises that the leap from Irish solidarity with the oppressed to Britain’s oppression of Ireland is a leap too far for them. And also that either they hadn’t seen any of the Irish bands he’s referring to, like Sprints or Gurriers or Fontaines or the aforementioned Wallopers or Knee Cap, of course, either that or they had and hadn’t thought anything of it. What’s he saying? Of course they hadn’t seen them. They wouldn’t know a Sprint or a Gurrier if one landed on top of them.

“Why do the Irish feel such solidarity for the Palestinians? Cos they’ve been through the same shit. And who was it that shat on them?” It’s like at Christmas in the old days. When he started to get political at the dinner table, their Mom would tell him not to upset everyone and she’d try to get the conversation back to less contentious topics like Uncle Bert’s lumbago. He’s always been the black sheep of the family. He knows it.

There’s an embarrassed silence. Sam’s remembering that he swore that he wouldn’t do politics this week. Well, what he said was that he wasn’t going online. What he said was that he wasn’t going to do digital this week. But he knows what he meant. And Palestine is definitely politics.

Ade stands up and stretches. Linda asks him about Bryan Ferry. She knows he’s a massive fan. Or was back in the day. From the first album. It did tail off a bit with Avalon, but didn’t everyone tail off then? Bowie did. The Stones didn’t even make it that far. But, having said that, Ferry was wonderful at Jazz World a few years back. Ade’s not sure. He’s not a fan. Linda is though, so they’ll probably watch him. After all, like Ron says, the legend spots are all Events. Which means, for Ron, you can’t not go.

“What about you, Jane?” he asks. “Are you a Roxy fan?” He’ll remember that she’s there every so often and try and include her in the conversation. Ron won’t. If you were to ask Ron about her directly, he’d say that the little lady does what she’s told. Other than that, she doesn’t seem to impinge on his consciousness.

Sam isn’t sure. On the one hand, it’s Bryan Ferry. On the other hand, it’s the Pyramid Stage. On the one hand, Ferry was so good in 2014 or whenever it was. (12 years ago? Really?) On the other hand, Rod Stewart was a let down.

Ade and Linda thought Rod Stewart was really good. They’d seen him on TV as well. Especially seeing as how old he is. Ron thought it was an Event. Jane agrees. Sam wanted him to play more of the older stuff. He tries to argue from first principles, hoping Ferry has gone through the same thought process. The old blokes at the back will watch anything. Most of the audience, though, is younger kids. They’ll want to listen to the stuff they know. Maggie May and the like. What’s most popular on Spotify. (Linda looks it up for him: Do Ya Think I’m Sexy … OK, thinks Sam, change tack.) What are his best songs? The stuff he did in the 70s. That’s what Ferry should do. Will he go cabaret like Rod or will he learn from Rod’s mistakes? Actually, Sam’s pretty much convinced himself not to watch. Then Ade says that he’s heard Brian Eno is going to be a special guest and he thinks again. Sam would definitely see Ferry & Eno on the same stage.