Seven miserable, shameful Glastonbury moments

EVERYBODY’S looking for their Glastonbury moment and everyone gets one. But not all of them are positive.

Getting lost

Not losing all your mates in a fun way, being adopted by a drag queen and dancing with strangers to music you’ve never heard before. No, the getting lost after that: it’s 4am, you have no idea where you are or where your tent is, it’s pitch black, your phone’s gone and you start to cry.

Visiting the toilet

Toilets so comprehensively fouled they’re beyond usage are a Glasto tradition, and hilarious in retrospect. They’re less hilarious when you’re backed up with four days of falafel and cider and open a Portaloo door to find it piled high with human excrement.

Getting your stuff trashed

You can’t find your tent. This is ridiculous, why can’t you find your tent? Ah, it’s because it was near someone else’s, and they wanted their mate to camp there, so they simply tore up your tent with all your things in and chucked it on a path where 1,400 people have trampled on it. All part of the fun!

Missing your favourite band

Nobody sees what they intended to see at Glastonbury. That’s what’s so great about it! That’s what you tell yourself anyway, because you couldn’t get within a mile of the stage two hours before Sam Fender and had to watch Khruangbin instead, and they were shite.

Getting shit all over you

Whether mud, rain, lager, urine, or washable paint from an outrageous art group, you’ve got it all over you. And you’ve got to pretend that’s fine because it’s Glastonbury, it’s wild and chaotic, but it’s your favourite top and it’s ruined and you’re cold and you want to cry.

Queuing

Not even for stuff. Not even a queue with a reward. Just a queue to get from one location to another, spontaneously formed by sheer numbers, that you spend 30 precious minutes in because every f**ker in the world is here and it’s like a fancy Alton Towers.

Getting home

It’s all over. Kendrick Lamar’s finished, you’ve spent the night in the porch of a stranger’s tent with snakebite-and-black in your matted hair. All you can think about is home. You stagger through the refugee camp the site has become to an endless sea of cars. A steward tells you that things should get moving by 6pm. You openly weep.

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Only awful people get to buy houses abroad, confirm experts

ONLY the most annoying people you know are in the position to buy a second home abroad, it has been confirmed.

Insufferable couples who have either inherited large amounts from dead parents or fiddled their taxes are able to live a dream that will forever be denied to ordinary plebs.

Second home owner Francesca Johnson said: “It’s hard for people like us, because how do you find ways to show off when you already have a house in the home counties, an SUV for the school run and a pizza oven in the garden?

“We decided the best course of action was to spend an astonishing amount of money on a spare house that we can’t occupy because we’re not there, but which will price local people out of the market.

“It’s great fun viewing properties and sniffing at traditional Calabrian farmhouses that are too dark or Portuguese villas which are quite nice but the terrace is too small at only 90 square feet.

“There are downsides, of course, for example Ocado won’t deliver and the kids next door key the car on a regular basis the two weeks of the year we are there.

“But overall it’s a small price to pay for the lifestyle, by which I mean an intense feeling of superiority.”