1 | You don’t have to spend Wednesday night rummaging through drawers looking for broken head torches, pen-knives and antibacterial hand wash you will never actually use.
2 | The constant crouching, hunching and hunkering down, in and out of tents. Your back’s too old for this.
3 | The walk from the car, carrying way too much stuff, with chicken wire straps, that seems to go on for about an hour longer than you thought you could bear.
4 | The Glastonbury bore who tells you how great it was in 83’ and how ‘it’s now full of c***s’. Like him.
5 | The MDMA kids with baseball caps and really loud voices. Who live in the tent next to yours.
6 | The moment you have to choose which part of your body gets the use of your last wet wipe. Humbling.
7 | The guitar guy five tents over. Not 'Redemption Song' again, please.
8 | Realising the impending implications of ordering extra chillies in your spicy Mexican burrito. And then remembering the state of the toilets.
9 | The posh girl on someone's shoulders at the main stage who thinks the whole festival is just for her.
10 | Attempting to 'pop over' to another stage, which quickly turns into some mythical four-part Greek epic. To go and watch Jamie T.
11 | Knowing that even if you do get lucky it will be amongst the most unpleasant intimate experiences of your life. Especially if it's Sunday night.
12 | The real hippies who just by their presence remind you that you're not really a hippy at all.
13 | Tent ropes.
14 | The existential moment on Monday when you glance back at the devastation and rubbish left by the fleeing hoardes and realise what you and your fellow humans are capable of.
15 | You get to watch it all on TV anyway. Except you can’t, because it’s too painful, and you’d much rather be there with your wellies on.