Glastonbury 2007 Part 4

Sunday

At breakfast one of my colleagues, whom we shall call 'C' asks if she could come out with us today, to see bands that I've never heard of before. Of course we rejoice in the opportunity to evangelise although we're also entering uncharted territory with our first band of the day.

Babyhead are finishing up on the Jazz World stage as we arrive in time to here a couple of funky chords and a Thank You Glastonbury! The day's rain starts and we take refuge in a nearby beer tent that shocks me by not having any peoper beer left. I grudgingly accept some lager and we watch the rain come down while we wait for the gypsies.

Mahala Rai Banda are fantastic, they all seem to have great fun and play a frenzied selection of Eastern European reels and songs. There is some debate afterwards as to what could possibly be as good as that, we decide to forgo the Marley Brothers on the Pyramid and opt for the Avalon tent again.

We are in time to see a few songs by Jeff Lang, who plays slide guitar accompanied by acoustic bass. He is pretty amazing too, great solos and semi-acoustic slide blues rock ringing out in the usually quite folky tent. Lang is a happy accident, for we came to see electro-folksters Tunng, whom we recently missed a few weeks ago in Bristol. They are a funny bunch of hippies, but their songs are compelling and quite beautiful at times. A strange marriage of folky sensibilities and electronica, that's for sure!

We could have stayed where we were and got a good seat for Billy Bragg, but for some reason I think Dame Shirley Bassey is on an hour earlier than she actually is and we all trudge through the mud to the pyramid stage only to find that she isn't and we have to wait an hour, somewhere as I have no wish to hear James Morrison, although a little bit bleeds into my ears by accident.

In a fit of near-decision-making, we go to the Queen's Head in search of new exciting bands (brain still not working properly - this is a Q Magazine sponsored stage) and find it almost empty and playing terrible music. We decide to head home along the railway line to see what everyone else is doing. On the way a man runs past us shouting Naked Mud Wrestling This Way! He himself is NOT naked, I note, there is a decided lack of naked people this year, I couple of mud bras around but that's about it. So we go and have a look.

They're not naked either! It's quite funny and there's potential for nudity but we quickly get bored and drift away. Backstage we discover that everyone has already left to see the Dame and we rush off again, a bit weary now we've walked in a big circle.

The Pyramid field is completely packed, the sun comes out, Hey Big Spender is roaring out across the phenomenally large crowd and we come to a halt at a fairly good vantage point about half a mile away from the stage. I rarely watch bands from here, but there really is no way we'd be able to get closer than this. Periodically we get driven into by tractors and there is a lot of talking going on around us, but Shirley does us proud with some great songs.

Before the evening's work we check out the London Community Gospel Choir, play a really rushed set culminating in that old classic Oh Happy Day. They are still really good but it would have been nice to have had more than four songs. A light rain begins outside and I hang about in front of our stage, watching all the things I haven't had a chance to see yet, like Ceilidh band Cut a Shine who get everyone square dancing in front of the stage and turn everybody against me by demanding I join in to make up the numbers. Come on steward! They yell, Don't be a spoilsport! You'll be pleased to know that my professionalism stands fast and I decline politely.

One of the bands I've been hearing all weekend, playing twice a day on our stage and in the Belle Epoque tent is Siyaya, who are from Zimbabwe. They play mainly Marimbas and sound like an old 64-bit computer game playing brilliant African music. They do dances and little stories as well and really get you dancing. I have their songs in my head for at least a week after the festival.

Some girl sings some singer-songwriter songs, I have no idea who she is, but she claims to be able to play rock on an acoustic and promptly fails to do so, although her songs are pretty good. We have a brief fire show from the Solar people again, made quite exciting by one of them throwing her burning hula hoop towards the audience and for a second I think that I might actually have to use the extinguisher. It falls short, but it was a close one.

From here, the dance stage is all geared towards a performance from Bill Bailey. We're expecting a huge crowd, which will make a nice change as the rain has put a bit of a damper on things this time round. We rebuild the crash barrier so that people will be able to lean on it without falling over. The stewards are stationed inside this barrier so that we can rescue people if there's a crush. We've spent the last hour or so spreading straw all over the mud so that it's not too treacherous, we've all had our wee breaks and I get myself some earplug since I'm right in front of the speakers.

Finally, the The Jaipur Kawa Brass Band have a proper audience! It's 11pm and they do their last show to a record audience, which is great because they're incredible and the crowd loves it. Where have you been all weekend? I think bitterly. The Killers can't be as good as this.

There is a bit of a wait before the Great Man turns up, the compere is hounded with calls of Do A Dance! Do A Dance! as he tells people to make friends with the person next to you, give them 20p because it's the nicest thing you'll ever do in your life. Half an hour later, 20p is being passed around the crowd and spirits are high.

Bill Bailey appears, does a kind of mixture of old material and a bit of new stuff, the usual smattering of hilarious songs and jibes at the mudmonkeys. I am so close I can smell him. There is no trouble from the crowd, although a chant breaks out at the back about not being able to hear. It is p1ssing down again, but this time Mr Bailey has a proper roof over his head and so do I.

Later, after everybody has gone and this couple have stopped talking at me about how much they enjoyed themselves and did I see this and is this the muddiest one ever and how the wife has a congenital bladder disorder, we go to get drunk in the backstage theatre bar where an amazing blues band hammers the final nail into the coffin of fun. Or something.

There is an obligatory drunken mud fight which I DIDN'T START and about ten minutes of sleep before the rain drums me awake at about 11am.

Monday

We make it to the bus queue by about 1pm, trudging wearily through the trenches of an utterly destroyed farm. The cinema field is unsurprisingly mud-free, I doubt it was very popular this time round. The bus queues are inexplicable and confusing, it is still raining and our particular one doubles back on itself about five times. We only have to wait an hour and a half before making onto the coach, half sleeping for the two hour journey back to civilisation.

At Bristol Temple Meads there is a big line of discarded wellies, a sad testament to the effectiveness of Glastonbury's environmental campaigning. Oh sure, it all seems like a good idea out in the field, but when you get back to the city you just don't care anymore, do you?

Ah well, great fun was had by all. Three washes gets the mud out of my clothes and I settle down to watch all the bits I missed on the internet.