Monday, 29 July 2013
Summer came. The first real one my
children have ever seen here at home. It started for me the day after
my radiotherapy finished. We woke up and did the school run. Then we
got into the car and drove to Pilton for our annual pilgrimage to
Glastonbury Festival. Historically a long weekend away from the
children and the constraints of normality and a chance for me to
really let my hair down. This year was a rather more sober event for
me but wonderful none the less.
We arrived on site with only a handbag and ticket. The walk form the car was so easy we felt like we were cheating, I suppose we were. Our caravan was already there, waiting for us in the Theatre and Circus crew camping field. It was fully packed with all my festival outfits and my husbands beer. The food cupboard was stocked and the bed was made. My friend - someone I shared a blanket in the shade with during the white hot summer of '76, had towed it there for us. His mother had provided us with guest passes so we could join the family and camp in style.
On Thursday night it rained but just enough to settle the dust. The rest of the weekend was glorious. Every morning and evening I had to turn the caravan into a small surgery and change the dressings on my radiotherapy burns. The skin had lifted off sections of my shoulder, armpit, back, chest and breast. In these areas I had open wounds and had to battle to keep the Glasto dust from getting to them. On Friday afternoon I had a thumping headache and by Saturday morning I had a high temperature. The burn under my arm had become smelly and a bit foul so we took a trip to the field hospital.
It's a lovely walk through the festival. Glastonbury is like a small city that springs up once a year or thereabouts. One minute there are green fields with grazing cows and the next there are roughly a quarter of a million people (including staff, performers, ticket holders etc) and an entire infrastructure to support them. The whole event is dedicated to providing pleasure. Just walking from one area to another you pass through an entire menu of amusements. Everyone is smiling, or would be if they had had a little more sleep, the ground pulses to a mixture of beats and the air is filled with delicious food smells. The tents, stalls and stages match the lary colours of the revellers costumes. If, like me, you crave this sensory overload, Glastonbury Festival can be heaven.
Up behind the farm it's self, past the cowsheds, past the small temporary village that houses the enormous security force, is the hospital. Its in a long, white marquee. It has wooden floors, a waiting room, reception desk, fully stocked pharmacy, a mental health area, examination rooms and a dental surgery. The staff were indistinguishable from the patients in dress, although they each had a large laminate around their neck detailing their speciality and a mini ipad to keep them organised. Most were wearing wellys and one of the senior doctors was even wearing a kilt with his paratrouper's boots.
I was seen by a specialist nurse and a doctor and prescribed a course of antibiotics. The experience was a little surreal having spent so much of the last year in hospitals. This was one of the most efficient and impressive visits yet. The field hospital is run by a charity called festival-medical, they have been organising medical back up for Glastonbury since the 1970s and are considered experts in the field, providing the service for other massive events like Reading Festival. The other cases in the waiting room consisted of broken bones, tooth infections, dehydration, sunburn and sunstroke, D & V, cuts and various other injuries. It was totally amazing what they could cope with onsite.
By Saturday afternoon I was back on track and at 8pm we settled in front of the pyramid stage for Primal Scream. They were predictably good and a perfect 'warm up' for the act of the evening. I may have mentioned before that I am a bit of a fan of the Rolling Stones. My Dad brought me up listening to them in the kitchen, in the car, in the bus (that we used to live in). I have seen them twice before, once last November, but never with my Father. This time, thanks again to the family we were camping with, My Dad was right there with us.
We found a perfect spot with a great view. We were just behind a set of speakers and the sound was fantastic. We were surrounded by smiling, dancing, singing people and we were only too aware that this was the biggest, most heavily attended show the festival has ever seen. There were people as far as the eye could see. The atmosphere was electric and the band were on fire. I had enough space to dance, and for possibly the first time ever, My dad was dancing too. The three of us danced and grinned our way through the set, soaking up the vibes from a crowd who all seemed as happy as we were to be there.
The Rolling Stones were better than I'd seen them before. More raw, more real, more Rock and Roll. With every familiar riff, the whole audience would accompany Mick into opening lines and through choruses. The set list was similar to the one we'd seen at the O2 but the feeling was so much warmer. My husband and I remembered that visit and felt happy to be looking back at it. This time I had hair and with the exception of a bit of sore skin, I was well. My Dad and I remembered the days he would sit and play me records when the chemotherapy left me too tired to chat, now I was dancing and he was grinning. It was, without doubt one of 'those' Glastonbury moments.
The excitement carried me long into the night. I kept up with my friends until about 3.30am when I finally called it a day and wandered slowly back to the comfort of my little home. My Husband returned at some point and was there when I woke up. Sunday was blissful and Monday was very relaxed. The children from our little camp went out tatting (collecting the good stuff that people leave behind - like wombles. Ultimate recycling) and they collected a whole heap of fun goodies. Brand new, un-worn wellies, camping equipment, various items of clothing including a wedding hat, unopened boxes and bottles of wine, cans of beer, cans of beans. It kept them amused all day and kept us amused seeing what they would return with next.
I went for a walk and did a little tatting of a different kind. A visit to some of our favourite food vendors produced celery for our bloody Marys, half baked loaves of bread (my neighbour had an oven) tomatoes for lunch and onions and potatoes to add to supper. We caught up, over a lazy afternoon, with the families we were camping with, most of whom I have known my whole life. This communal, vehicular living is so deeply in my blood, any small space of ground can feel like home with a few creature comforts and enough people you love.
We arrived on site with only a handbag and ticket. The walk form the car was so easy we felt like we were cheating, I suppose we were. Our caravan was already there, waiting for us in the Theatre and Circus crew camping field. It was fully packed with all my festival outfits and my husbands beer. The food cupboard was stocked and the bed was made. My friend - someone I shared a blanket in the shade with during the white hot summer of '76, had towed it there for us. His mother had provided us with guest passes so we could join the family and camp in style.
On Thursday night it rained but just enough to settle the dust. The rest of the weekend was glorious. Every morning and evening I had to turn the caravan into a small surgery and change the dressings on my radiotherapy burns. The skin had lifted off sections of my shoulder, armpit, back, chest and breast. In these areas I had open wounds and had to battle to keep the Glasto dust from getting to them. On Friday afternoon I had a thumping headache and by Saturday morning I had a high temperature. The burn under my arm had become smelly and a bit foul so we took a trip to the field hospital.
It's a lovely walk through the festival. Glastonbury is like a small city that springs up once a year or thereabouts. One minute there are green fields with grazing cows and the next there are roughly a quarter of a million people (including staff, performers, ticket holders etc) and an entire infrastructure to support them. The whole event is dedicated to providing pleasure. Just walking from one area to another you pass through an entire menu of amusements. Everyone is smiling, or would be if they had had a little more sleep, the ground pulses to a mixture of beats and the air is filled with delicious food smells. The tents, stalls and stages match the lary colours of the revellers costumes. If, like me, you crave this sensory overload, Glastonbury Festival can be heaven.
Up behind the farm it's self, past the cowsheds, past the small temporary village that houses the enormous security force, is the hospital. Its in a long, white marquee. It has wooden floors, a waiting room, reception desk, fully stocked pharmacy, a mental health area, examination rooms and a dental surgery. The staff were indistinguishable from the patients in dress, although they each had a large laminate around their neck detailing their speciality and a mini ipad to keep them organised. Most were wearing wellys and one of the senior doctors was even wearing a kilt with his paratrouper's boots.
I was seen by a specialist nurse and a doctor and prescribed a course of antibiotics. The experience was a little surreal having spent so much of the last year in hospitals. This was one of the most efficient and impressive visits yet. The field hospital is run by a charity called festival-medical, they have been organising medical back up for Glastonbury since the 1970s and are considered experts in the field, providing the service for other massive events like Reading Festival. The other cases in the waiting room consisted of broken bones, tooth infections, dehydration, sunburn and sunstroke, D & V, cuts and various other injuries. It was totally amazing what they could cope with onsite.
By Saturday afternoon I was back on track and at 8pm we settled in front of the pyramid stage for Primal Scream. They were predictably good and a perfect 'warm up' for the act of the evening. I may have mentioned before that I am a bit of a fan of the Rolling Stones. My Dad brought me up listening to them in the kitchen, in the car, in the bus (that we used to live in). I have seen them twice before, once last November, but never with my Father. This time, thanks again to the family we were camping with, My Dad was right there with us.
We found a perfect spot with a great view. We were just behind a set of speakers and the sound was fantastic. We were surrounded by smiling, dancing, singing people and we were only too aware that this was the biggest, most heavily attended show the festival has ever seen. There were people as far as the eye could see. The atmosphere was electric and the band were on fire. I had enough space to dance, and for possibly the first time ever, My dad was dancing too. The three of us danced and grinned our way through the set, soaking up the vibes from a crowd who all seemed as happy as we were to be there.
The Rolling Stones were better than I'd seen them before. More raw, more real, more Rock and Roll. With every familiar riff, the whole audience would accompany Mick into opening lines and through choruses. The set list was similar to the one we'd seen at the O2 but the feeling was so much warmer. My husband and I remembered that visit and felt happy to be looking back at it. This time I had hair and with the exception of a bit of sore skin, I was well. My Dad and I remembered the days he would sit and play me records when the chemotherapy left me too tired to chat, now I was dancing and he was grinning. It was, without doubt one of 'those' Glastonbury moments.
The excitement carried me long into the night. I kept up with my friends until about 3.30am when I finally called it a day and wandered slowly back to the comfort of my little home. My Husband returned at some point and was there when I woke up. Sunday was blissful and Monday was very relaxed. The children from our little camp went out tatting (collecting the good stuff that people leave behind - like wombles. Ultimate recycling) and they collected a whole heap of fun goodies. Brand new, un-worn wellies, camping equipment, various items of clothing including a wedding hat, unopened boxes and bottles of wine, cans of beer, cans of beans. It kept them amused all day and kept us amused seeing what they would return with next.
I went for a walk and did a little tatting of a different kind. A visit to some of our favourite food vendors produced celery for our bloody Marys, half baked loaves of bread (my neighbour had an oven) tomatoes for lunch and onions and potatoes to add to supper. We caught up, over a lazy afternoon, with the families we were camping with, most of whom I have known my whole life. This communal, vehicular living is so deeply in my blood, any small space of ground can feel like home with a few creature comforts and enough people you love.
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