Dedication.

I guess journalists don't do mornings. I'm clearly letting the side down, here. The press tent is pretty much deserted except for me and an equally dedicated photographer and a bored looking security guard ambling around with his hands in his pockets.

Not many people about yet, and I'm guessing they're all asleep. I love the site early in the morning, when most people have yet to emerge from their tents, blinking like fauns in the sunlight. I can pretty much have the place to myself, and I don't have to deal with the rampaging hordes of inflatable sheep waving, over-excitable people who seem to fill the place generally.

This is our neighbour Chris. Apparently he sleeps with the tent door open. Or was too drunk to figure out how to work a zip. 

I've somehow managed to avoid sunburn, thanks to obsessively spraying myself with sun cream, but the problem is that the moment a jeep or tractor drives past, it kicks up all the dust and you end up looking like you've just come up from a mine.

Police say there's been 163 crimes reported and 47 arrests, and I'm informed that tonight will see the fullest moon in 20 years. Wow, that's...ok, see.. it's Glastonbury's 40th. I think it's been four, five years when we've had one that's been like proper sunny, and it also falls on the weekend  when we're going to see the fullest moon for 20 years? (How does that work, though? Surely the moon is always the same size?)

On top of that, we've had a woman give birth on site, and a flash mob marriage proposal, which was accepted.

It's like for whatever reason, the universe or God, or whatever you want to believe in just looked down and gave us a gurt big smile.

..and rubbish toilets. I wanted to take a picture of the long drops, but.. what is seen cannot be unseen, and I'm pretty sure it could be classed as Blog-optical torture.