Your Glastonbury Memories Part II

More mud, drugs and portaloo mayhem remembered. This round of ace anecdotes includes a dead dog, a Lancaster bomber and Sarah Cracknell's "chuff".
Publish date:

Misura writes ...

Crapping is a problem at Glastonbury. For successive years, one of my mates tried to the do the full weekend without crapping. Both times made it through till late Sunday, first time he resorted to squatting in the tent and curling out a couple of links into an empty Pringles can. second time, realised it was going to be big job and that he had to use portaloo. First one he found looked like someone had filled a bin liner full of crap and exploded it. It was everywhere, smeared on the walls, floor & dangling off the ceiling. He gambled on another, dropped his kecks and quickly lowered himself towards the seat. Still about 6 inches above the seat, his arse and thighs connected with something. Using the light of his mobile, he was met the sight of a heaped pile of shite. He added to it and then had to wipe someone else’s crap of himself.

Deadly Doug’s Love Child writes ...

1987: lose my mate, realise I've no idea where the tent is, sleep under a lorry, wake up to the sound of the engine revving.
1990: stood at the Pyramid stage watching the Cure. Set gets stopped due to crushing down the front, after a while a helicopter comes to winch distressed goths to safety. To keep the crowd engaged, Robert Smith announces that evenings world cup results. That's how I learnt England were meeting Cameroon in the QF, Robert Smith told me.
1994: sat cross legged in a field so engrossed in a book I didn't notice some cabaret entertainers place white fencing around me. Disturbed by the sound of sniggering I looked up to find myself caged in and about 20 people taking photos.

Loose Lips writes ...

1997. First E. 16 years old. Nothing happened for ages. Went down with a mate who was the same age with his mental Scottish uncles. Came up in the permanent toilets situated way out in the outer camping fields. Think it was Sunday afternoon. Took upon myself to scream "Round our Way" by Oasis, over and over, and over whilst everyone sat on the hill listening to The Rev. Al Green.
Some would say I spoilt ‘Let’s Stay Together’.
I disagree.

He resorted to squatting in the tent and curling out a couple of links into an empty Pringles can

Pat Slaughter writes ...

Happy Mondays on the big stage Friday night (91?). Don't know if it was intentional but they came on just as the sun hit the cusp of the hill. Not sure if they played any good but everyone was with them (the Glastonbury t-shirts that year were in the Mondays' colours). They came on to do WFL for the encore and they brought on all their mates little little kids in dungarees who were outdancing Bez, and then they let on Arkaos weird circus people on the roof of the stage, and wfl goes on forever but somewhere towards the end someone comes on stage and says 'and now the party begins' and loads of little sound systems kicked off. Been hunting for that night ever since.

Travis Bickle writes ...

Friday night 1990. Jesus Jones ('Neasden vibe in the area'). Adamski and then the Mondays. I bought one of those Glastonbury Madchester style t-shirts. Someone claimed to me they'd heard a bootleg of that night and they were shocking but it didn't matter. The whole thing just worked. Were On-U Soundsystem that night as well ('Beef, how low can you? Hear the cattle cry, deathrow').
Watched Roy Harper in the acoustic tent. It was rammed.
There was a rumour in our field that the trench toilet had a dead dog lying it. I didn't feel the need to check.

Harvest writes ...

1992, Morrissey had thrown a hissy fit and cancelled at the last minute. His void was filled by James. On a beautiful June morning and to open a great set, I witnessed Tim Booth and the rest put their tongues firmly in their cheeks and launch into 'We Hate It When Our Friends Become Successful'.

WortleyLS12 writes ...

I go to Glastonbury every year but never made the festival. Girlfriend's Dad lives there. His wife makes a cracking Sunday dinner.

Misura writes ...

Took some 'bad' pills and endured 12 of the worst hours of my life. Spent the time alternating between being the hottest I have ever been and the coldest i have ever been. I couldn't stand being close to people and they all had big heads like in Jacob's Ladder and I became very sensitive to inclines/declines, which meant it was excruciating painful to walk either up or down the hills on site. I honestly had accepted the fact that i was going to die. I wasn't too bothered at the time, because it would have come as a blessed relief. I was a little upset that my corpse would be found bloated, in a pair of ill fitting kecks in an £9.99 Lidl tent in a field in Somerset. I had hoped for better.

I was a little upset that my corpse would be found bloated, in a pair of ill fitting kecks in an £9.99 Lidl tent in a field in Somerset.

TwoR’s writes ...

First act I saw was Rolf Harris singing Two Little Boys.  As he sang the line "did you think I would leave you dying", a Lancaster bomber flew over the main stage.

Thewrongimpression writes ...

Toilet quality apart it's a bit of a misconception that backstage access does you any favours. I've had it both ways (Mrs) and last time I went the backstage camping had morphed from a hundred or so tents with Strummer's campfire on one side to full blown media cunthive. I'd always tried to get there early (weds if possible) regardless of ticket status, but since people started paying a couple of hundred quid a ticket this became a much more popular process. I finally lost it with one bloke who was roping off areas round his tent (backstage) on a Wednesday or Thursday so his mates could plot up there when they eventually arrived. I said so you’re on the side-which is behind a massive wall, inside another enclosed area within that, and your now roping off another fucking area, for your mates? Do you not see that that might be missing the fucking point, somewhat, of what remains of the festival vibe? To his credit he saw sense and dismantled his ropes and we got on alright.

David Harvey’s Monkey writes ...

I think the best time I ever went was the first year of loaded. The camper van we hired was so shit it had moss growing inside it. the wing mirrors fell off and that awning that was supposed to span up into the sky creating a bed looked like a large slab of custard hanging over the edge.
All around us there were nice cars and big white winnebagos and these heavy looking gangster blokes had formed a wagon wheel circle with Mercedes and proper winnebagos. They were obviously selling tickets or drugs or something and at end of the weekend they took pity on us and just gave us all their remaining booze. Top fellas.
There were significant amounts of acid consumed, I always knew when it was kicking in as my glasses started to feel really strange on my face. I arrived with one woman and left with another who was initially insane but I went out with her for about a year.
I can't remember any music, I can remember standing with my mates in crowds but not what we were looking at and listening to.

Harvest writes ...

One year there were 4 of us in a family sized (small family) tent. We took another diddy one down to put bags in and stash booze. Woke up in the morning and the storage tent's flaps were wide open and all the stuff was scattered about. After a quick check it appeared that the intruder had left the beer and spirits and the cheeky fucker had rifled through the bags and helped himself to a single pair of hiking socks - mine. Bleeding cheek.

Stoychenkroyften writes ...

Went in 98 or 99, when I was 15 or 16. Tried E's, Acid and Speed for the first time. Then I had a smoke and lay down. My idea caught on and soon there was about a hundred people laying around me.
Saw Terrorvision but I had soap in my eyes. Think the Chili Peppers played but I didn't really catch it.
It was Reading actually.

I arrived with one woman and left with another who was initially insane

Two R’s writes ...

I remember waking up in a suffocatingly hot tent, wrestling the zip open, poking my head out and breathing in the crisp morning air... then spotting some fat lass taking a dump in a ditch.

Fuzzy Dunlop writes ...

Only been once in 94. Weller played out of his skin as the sun went down on the Saturday. It was around the time of the wild wood album, sounded beautiful and felt special. A lass who was with us had too many pills and freaked out later on. Came out with the immortal line “I don’t know where I end and you begin”. and spent the rest of the weekend in her tent trying to regain her sense of isolation (Thatcher’s children).
A mate reckons he saw Sarah Cracknell’s chuff as she stepped over a fence. Because I missed this, I like to think he was mistaken and it wasn’t her.

Read more Glastonbury memories

For more Music stories.

Click here to follow Sabotage Times on Twitter