Glastonbury: The earthy magic and lawless energy of being a child at the festival
16.06.2022 - 12:32
/ msn.com
I wasn’t conceived at Glastonbury, but for the first decade of my life I may as well have been. I was, in many respects, a Glastonbury baby. Born and raised in nearby Bristol, I first visited in 1994, aged two with potty in hand, and attended for the five years that followed.
I have not been back since. But even if Glastonbury has changed hugely in the decades in between, it still exists as a joyous, creative paradise of jugglers, acrobats and enormous fire-breathing spiders for those lucky enough to experience it as a child. Enough to grant it an almost mythical hold over many of the children who have passed through over the years, like a soothing imprint on the soul.
Back then, against the withering judgements of outraged co-workers, my parents saw it as an adventure and an education, for themselves and for me. My dad sometimes worked there as a steward, picking up litter and ushering in guests in exchange for a free ticket. But the tickets themselves were also relatively affordable – around £50 each, picked up from a local ticket shop, with under-12s getting in for free.
Too broke to afford any sort of overseas holiday, Glastonbury was our version of an annual family sojourn, and a bargain considering what was on offer. Music lovers and former punks, my parents felt at home there primarily for political reasons. As alien as it might appear today in the era of Wayne and Coleen Rooney arriving by private helicopter, Glastonbury was formally the main fundraiser for the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament, and widely recognised as a space for anarchist bands and protest, both of which my parents were active in.
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