I enjoy the sound of the rain as it batters my little a-frame tent, safe in the knowledge that I'm warm and dry. Even though it's been hammering away for hours, I just cross my fingers and pray for it to stop before I get up. The thunder prevents me sleeping and the sounds from the tent next door keep me amused as I wait. Stop your whingeing! It's not raining, this is nothing! It's a lovely day. I'm not getting up because it's not raining. The speaker turns out to have been sitting in 10cm of water as he said this, and more besides. Convinced we were experiencing history just go with it, enjoy yourself, he had to persuade his nephew not to give up and go home.
Finally I give up and go out to see what's going on. It is about 10:30 am, Friday 23rd June. The stream has become lively, and we are worried about the bridge surviving. Someone who knows the fields comes into the kitchen and tells us we have five minutes before the place is flooded. As the last box of food is picked up off the floor, the water rolls in, 10cm deep, running down the hill. The stream has taken out half the field and the rescue mission begins.
The performers are camped in the flood plains below us. They are hit harder than we are, in fact my tent is fine, once we've moved the ones in the river. Stories of tents being struck by lightning abound, the storm did come right throught the festival site, a big plume of smoke is reported from the circus big top. We all gather at the Acoustic tent, ready to be an emergency response team (if for some reason fire stewards become important in a rainstorm) and go wherever we are needed. We are told we are needed back in our own field. Soaked as we are, it is still quite warm and when the weather eases off at about 2-3pm it's time to survey the damage, now legend on the news and the internet.
My photos are over on Flickr and if that's not enough, flickr is full of other people's memories, many worse (more exciting) than mine.
Lots of amazing music follows, highlights being Eliza Carthy, Ukelele Orchestra of Great Britain, Whalebone Polly, an impromptu set by Baaba Mal just after Emiliana Torrini (who is also incredible, beautiful) and of course, Tori Amos. The dance village is clearly a much better option than the previous dance tent as it splits up the music nicely, so you don't have to endure the house fans before or during some decent drum and bass. The final show where I work until 2:30am is an incredible and scarey dance piece called Triada by BlackSkyWhite, a Russian dance troop (the first set of photos on Flickr). On the second night I'm lucky enough to be working right in front of the main fire show.
To those people who left in a state on Friday, I feel sorry for you in many ways, because this was probably one of the best Glastonbury's ever, despite the itchy trenchfoot and aching legs I'm suffering now!
