marc owen jones

Recovering from Glastonbury

For the last two years I have joined up with my very oldest friend, David Kreps (who sat beside me at my first day at prep school), to work in the Theatre and Circus area at Glastonbury. Thirty hours work over seven days accrediting the few thousand artistes and crew that make this part of the festival so special. In return I get food, a few square feet of grass on which to pitch my tent, access to the best back stage bar and, of course, a free ticket to the festival itself.

I’m still recovering.

I estimate that I averaged half the amount of sleep I normally need and consumed more alcohol than I do in a year.

But, there were highlights: laughing so hard that my sides hurt and I washed the grime off my face with tears, listening to Mick Artistic when the sun came out on the last day; front and centre for Massive Attack; tired and emotional with Doctor John Cooper Clarke; discovering weird and wonderful out of the way bars with Rod; in the backstage bar dancing to Glen Tilbrook (Squeeze were the first band I saw live); getting to know David’s fiancée, Colin, better before their wedding at the end of August; being proud to have been asked to witness said wedding.

I missed Laura, Megan and Hannah.

I treat Glastonbury as a sabbatical; a week away from the familiar; a time just for me. It works. I feel more relaxed and have relegated my grumpy old git to the back-burner for the time being.

All I need to do now is get back into the writing. I have two books to take beyond first draft and a collection of short stories to hone and find a home for.

In the meantime, more sleep.

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