Sunday, 30 June 2013

Finally Worthy

Ah, the end. It comes too quickly.

I am trying not to get sad about it today, and to think of today as 'no more camping day', 'my own bed day' and 'hot shower day'.

I am looking forward to all those things immensely.

It is hard, when you are here, to remember that there is a real world going on outside this steel ring. That there are people who are going to supermarkets, and to work, and aren't bumping into groups of beery blokes in drag breaking into song spontaneously, or people in deeley-boppers doing the conga through a group of samurai with 6-foot tall hair.

I've called home a few times while I've been here, and it's sort of jarring. Like placing a phone call to another dimension.

I will, of course, be sad to leave - I always am. I love this festival (but not it's internet access. That was too much stress) and I know that when I trudge off site, I'll have tears in my eyes, despite the fact that my feet are killing me, my back aches and I've managed about three hours sleep the entire time I've been here.

This pop-up city of friendly chaos means the world to me, a bubble where for three days I can forget everything else, leave most of my worries behind (case in point: net access). It's a place where I don't worry about what I wear, or who I'm stood next to. When it's considered weird not to smile and hug people you've never met before, strike up conversations with strangers, paint your face, get a henna tattoo and dance like an idiot.

The fact that something so magical springs up on my doorstep every year is not lost on me. Most of the time Pilton is a beautiful but quiet village, the sort of place you tend to pass through, rather than go to.

The fact that some people will live their entire lives without experiencing this is something I can't comprehend. That they will never see Arcadia sending spirals of flame into the air, or sit at the Pyramid, or be busked at by a hopeful man with a hat at his feet as he cranks out some tunes on an inflatable guitar.

Glastonbury isn't just about the music. To call it a festival doesn't even begin to cover it. It's about being part of the friendliest army of on earth, it's about losing yourself in a crowd of people, and loving every moment of it. It's about getting lost and finding things you never even thought could exist, let alone considered how much fun it would be to do them.

I love this festival with all my heart. And I am sad that it is coming to a close.

It will be very, very nice to sleep in a bed, and not on a rapidly deflating lilo, though.

I'm off for a wander, and then to catch Mumford, before packing up my stuff and shuffling back into the real world for another year. Monday morning, I'll be bleary-eyed at my desk, so tired that I won't be able to talk, and my feet aching so much I won't be able to put them on the floor. But it is completely worth it.

I really missed this place last year.

It's been good to be home. I feel..Worthy.

Catch you on Twitter (@glastfestblog), if I can get a connection from the Pyramid, and a round-up blog in a couple of days.

This is Laura, signing off for now.