I did Glastonbury this year.
I didn’t need wellies, an old Alton Towers rain poncho, a personal portable cardboard toilet or wee-absorbant gel pads for my pants (in case you didn’t know it, all four are the latest festival must-haves).
I watched the highlights from the comfort of my sofa.
Course, you don’t get the atmosphere. I’d love to wave one of those fabulously huge flags and sing my heart out beneath a star-studded sky with the throngs. But only if I could be helicoptered out at midnight.
I couldn’t stand the mud, the heat, the junk food, the chaos, the camping or the drunks. And having to queue for the toilets for hours on end because someone had gone and died in one.
At home, I didn’t have to wear silly, mis-matched, cowboy-fringed festival clothes, paint flowers on my face or douse my hair with dry shampoo. (At my age, I don’t do any of the aforementioned very well. Particularly not the queuing for toilets.
And I still got to see U2, Coldplay, Kaiser Chiefs, Jessie J and Primal Scream.
Though there is a major downside of Glastonbury from the sofa. Having to put up with Jo Whiley. Why, oh why, do they keep picking her as commentator?
She’s great to look at, with her perfectly-mussed blonde hair, slender, tanned legs sticking out of the obligatory Hunters boots.
But on screen she’s a total Wooden-top. And despite the fact she’s got a vast musical knowledge, whatever she’s saying in that drone bee voice of hers never really amounts to meaning much.
Though to add insult to injury, the Beeb only went and paired her with the equally boring, so very un-zany Zane Lowe.
The natural, the lovely Lauren Laverne tops my bill any day.