I’d never realised how bland life is without dogs, or experienced the joys of a lagerita. It’s amazing what you discover when you spend the weekend with 200,000 strangers
Sure, sure, it’s hot, and you’re not going to shower, and this will force some choices at Glastonbury that you wouldn’t make in regular life: shorter shorts, for instance, or a hat. This doesn’t even come close to explaining the wild precision, the carefully coordinated flamboyance of festival outfits. Imagine every fabric that you rarely see on public transport – fur, feathers, sequins, crinkly leatherette, chiffon, lace, spandex, mesh, dust – dye it all pink, stick 17 blokes in the same look and glitter all their faces, and you are somewhere near an average posse. They’ll have some personal discretion, of course, in the matter of whether to have a parasol or a hat made of umbrella. Maybe I’m wrong, but I feel like anyone who needs dressing-up days at all needs them more often than once a year.
