The Ned Wood Archive

Joe

“So what are we doing tonight?”

“You mean the opening ceremony?”

They’re sat around on their camp chairs, outside their tents, chatting. They’ve finished creating their patch so they can take their time and relax. It’s dry, now, least the rain has stopped, so they can relax outside. They’ve got a drink, most of them, a can of cider or similar, so they can relax seriously. Once they’ve got their energy back, they’ll go off and explore. Most of them know the festival fairly well, so it’s not so much exploring strange new worlds as getting reacquainted with old friends. The favourite places.

There are rules for what you can talk about at Glastonbury. Unwritten, unspoken rules. Rules that the boys all know. Rules they’ve picked up over the years the way newborns learn how to act. By watching their peers. Is that nurture or nature? Are they genetically predisposed to talk about certain subjects? Anything about Glastonbury. Nothing about anything not Glastonbury. No work chat. No hobby chat, except where your hobby is music. No car chat, no bike chat, no financial arguments. No politics either, not when they are all relaxing like this. That last one is always broken though. Tom can’t resist.

It does mean that the chat can sometimes be a bit meaningless. The sort of mindless verbal padding you get from the breakfast DJ on a commercial radio station. But today, Wednesday, before it all kicks off, the chat is about what it is they are going to do. It’s friendly and good-natured. Tomorrow and after that, it’ll be more competitive. Who has seen the best secret set, the best surprise guest. Who saw the headline band before they were famous and at the smallest venue.

And, not surprisingly, the opening ceremony had come up just now.  Tom kicked it off with stuff that he’d seen online.  Joe had just assumed they’d be going to the Pyramid Field to watch something like last year, but Tom was saying that it’d be changed round this year.

When he first started coming, he’d go with Tom up to the Stone Circle on the Wednesday night.  They’d have these fire dancers up at the top, then some druid or someone led everyone singing OM and other hippy stuff.  So that was the tradition.  Then it got bigger and bigger with fireworks and everyone started going up there.  It was just too big so the organisers had to change things round.  They spread out the fireworks and had three sets of them across the southern end of the site.  Good job they did.

The last time they’d gone up to see the opening ceremony at the Sacred Space, the Stone Circle, the last time it was just there, Joe had actually felt uneasy about the crowd.  Not quite a panic attack, but he could feel his whole body wanting to panic and he had to really talk to himself constantly to keep his brain on an even keel.  It was after the ceremony had finished.  They’d been close to the front of it and, like everyone else, had rushed to get out of the field and go somewhere else.  He’d moved down the hill quickly like he always does and got separated from the others.  Before he realised it, he was wedged in the crowd at the bottom trying to get through the gap towards the Tipi Field.  It was dark and, all of a sudden, they’d stopped moving forward and they were all just stuck.  The sensible folk had hung back and were smoking their weed next to the stones.  Joe and the other hasty folk were being packed like pilchards in one of those tins you get from the supermarket.  Squished fish in olive oil or sunflower oil.  Now he understood how crowds panic at events like football games or during the Hajj.  He was on a very slow conveyor belt, inching forwards, with no control over his speed or his direction.  Just remember to breathe slowly.  Evenly.  And think about something else.  The good stuff.  Like finally getting to see Hamish Hawk this year.  Like seeing Sprints at Left Field in 2024.  Don’t look at how far it is to the exit.  Not until you’re much closer.  He’s always been pretty good with crowds: getting down the front at gigs, moshing.  Still, you can always escape from a mosh pit.  Sort of swim to the edge.  He’s heard that’s what you do in an avalanche: swim out of it.  Not that he’s ever been anywhere near an avalanche.  Mosh pits, though, you can swim out of.  You get thrown around.  You get bruised.  You get knocked over.  But you never got crushed.  Worst thing that happened was when he got kicked in the head by a crowd surfer at the Maccabees.  It wasn’t really serious, he didn’t need stitches or anything, but there was quite a bit of blood and one of the security looked worried until he got it cleaned up.  And he’d learned from Tom that you should check the exits when you go to gigs indoors, at theatres and clubs and the like.  Make sure you know how to get out if there’s a fire or some other sort of problem.  You hear about it happening abroad.  Tom said it used to happen here.  England.  You have to make sure the fire escapes aren’t padlocked shut.  At least the ones you’re gonna rely on.  He’s seen that once or twice.  Chains and padlocks round the bars on the doors to stop them being opened.  He should report it, but he worries that if he does and the place gets closed down there’ll be even fewer places to see live bands. 

Finally!  At last!  He’s got more space. He can move more easily. Then suddenly, like there wasn’t anything to worry about after all, he’s through the gap and out onto the track next to the Tipi Field towards the Park.

So that was, what, five, maybe six years ago.  BC.  Before Covid.  He’s not been to the Stone Circle for the opening ceremony since.  And now, Wednesday lunchtime, 2026, they’re all discussing what’s going to happen that evening and what went wrong the previous year.  All of them.  Tom, Joe, James, Max, Duncan, Alex, George.  Sat around yapping like usual.

“The problem is that everyone expects a massive ceremony and everyone wants to see it.  So they’ve got to use the Pyramid Stage.”

“Trouble is, they can’t use any amps, so you’ll never hear anything.”

“That’s why the fireworks were the best.”

“The drone show was pretty good.”

“Yeah, the drone show worked.”

“But it isn’t really Glastonbury, is it?”

“What?  Drones aren’t Glastonbury?”

“No.  Circus performers and fire dancers.  That’s proper Glastonbury.”

“But, could you see much last year?  You couldn’t hear anything.”

“That’s the same with any act on the Pyramid.  You have to get to the front to see.”

“They tried to get the crowd to provide the noise last year.  You need more atmosphere for a giant singalong.”

“So what would you do?”

“Do the drones again.”

“No, go back to fireworks”

“Get a licence.  There’s music on in the small tents and stuff.  Can’t be that difficult to extend your licence.  Just for half an hour.”

“But keep the fire dancers.  That’s proper Glastonbury.”

“And the acrobats.”

“So what have they said about tonight, Tom?”  A few of them will have seen some form of official post or interview, but they defer to Tom out of habit and because they know he’ll have been the most avid consumer of official messages.

“All I know is that they’ve said that there’ll be multiple identical ceremonies at four or five different sites around the festival,” Tom tells them.  

“There have always been different opening ceremonies.  Even the crossroads at the Greenpeace Field has its own opening ceremony.”

“Yes, but these are the main official ceremonies.  Pyramid and Sacred Space, but also Other Stage, West Holts, Cabaret, and Circus.  They want to try and spread the punters around.”

“The Circus field will be the best place.”

“Yeah, that’s likely to be the best performance.”

“And the good thing is, everyone else will go to the Pyramid or the Other Stage.”

“Or maybe Cabaret, so they can get into Shangri La quickly.”

“Call me old fashioned, but if you want a proper show, acrobats and dancers and whatever, go to the people who know.”

“Yeah. You’re right.”

So that’s it.  They’ve decided to head over to the Circus Field for 9:30.  George goes across to Joe and, pointing to James and Jack, whispers in Joe’s ear, like it’s some conspiracy, as if they’re going behind Tom’s back:

“We’re going to the Common.  That’s where the real action is.  Up to you whether you join us.”