I continued to try to link up with my friend sending text on the move while in search of Ray Davis. I wonder how Terry and Julie managed to meet up at Waterloo Station without the aid of mobile text messaging? with more success than me it seems!
I walked, my stick marking my stride towards the Acoustic stage with purpose, RD had started at 10.30 and it was now nearly 11.30 and I was beginning to wish I hadn't hung out so long with Neil.... I pass across the right turn which is the route back down to Jazz Work making note to self as I intend to head down that way later in search of Blockheads at Avalon.
A little further on I take a left turn just past the kidz zone and see the warm light spilling out from the Acoustic Tent and like a moth I gravitate towards it. The familiar Kinks sound speeds my pace. The whole tent is heaving and alive as the audience have all become backing vocalists for the band, and I want to join in.
Ray is as one with the audience and is enjoying it as much as they are, he has aged a little but is still slender and is instantly recognisable with his mouth, which has always reminded me of the joker from Batman, delivering one gem after another..Lola la la la la lola... it is magical
Ray tells us how early record execs proclaimed the music "not hit material" and "the lead singer too ugly" for either to be a success, as he launches into "You Really Got Me" ..well, he surely did get them and for that matter me and everybody else here too.. we couldn't get enough of him, he obligingly gave us about 6 encores and his generosity was rewarded with us all singing in unison with him followed by energetic and heart felt applause.
As I head back down the hill with my fellow vocalists I am aware that I am a little on the drag for my next musical appointment however, in what I now recognise as true Glastonbury etiquette, there is not a hint of a push or a shove as we all head towards the narrowing gate way which will lead us back onto the dusty (dusty might be a bit of poetic licence but the mud had begun to dry a little)high road again.
I had arranged with the boys to meet them again at our designated meeting place, the familiar Brothers Bar at 1am for our hike back to the yellow car park and the drive to mattress heaven. But prior to that I was keen to catch the Blockheads for a trip down memory lane to the time, back in the day, when I spent a year touring with them and my then partner, a psychotic (or as I described him at the time, shy) guitarist or as he described himself, an ex semi-named guitarist from Canvey island, as he spent a year recording and tour with them and Mr Dury.
These plans however were foreshortened by a role reversal situation with my son, who text me to say they were tired and wanted to go back to the B&B. Despite my trying to convince him that he really did want to stay another hour, there is no arguing with a tired teenager and so we headed off! me leaning on, instead of hitting, my rhythm stick.
Once again we reached the Jag feeling as though we had crossed the Sahara and reached a green oasis, our now wellie into the boot routine completed, we crawled on to the welcoming leather. Junior curled up immediately on the back seat and my new navigator politely tried to keep his eyes open in the co pilots spot up front.
Finally we tiptoed in stocking feet up the stairs of our lodgings, no plans for an early breakfast, I gratefully crawled into my single bed. As I lay down my phone was bombarded with delivery messages as all of my text to my friend had obviously just arrived, I hoped she wasn't at 1.30am trying to follow my SMS ginger bread crumbs around the site? The oil painted pair on the wall stared down at me again, the gruesome twosome! "I'm sorry" I said "but I'm afraid I'm am going to have to remove you till the morning, nothing personal"..
End of Part 7
Saturday, 1 August 2009
Wednesday, 29 July 2009
Part 6 - Drawn to the Pyramid
As I wondered through the crowd which ebbed and flowed around me, the sun began to set we moved magnetically towards the Pyramid like ancient Egyptian sun worshipers. On the way the warm air blew softly around my face and I felt relaxed and happy to be exactly were I was, I watched the people around me who were dressed as if they had raided a massive dressing up box in anything and everything wigs, hats, angel wings, magicians capes, tutus and two men literally covered from head to foot in mud. They swigged from beer cans and large paper cups; every now and then a bin over flowing with cups and cans doubled in size and took on the form or an abstract sculpture!
As if all following a silent siren only audible to them (and maybe dogs if they had been allowed in), the crowd continued to gravitate towards the space in front of the stage where Mr Young will soon appear. Again the extraordinary silent and seamless organisation behind the scenes delivers this and every show I see on time. Where I am going to park my self? I find myself in front of a platform which has been erected for disabled festival goers as they sit on chairs or in their wheel chairs I stand in front of it leaning gratefully against it with other Glasto comrades.
The couple next to me look as if they are in their 60’s and may have been there since Marc Bolan played the first festival here in the 70’s ( the chart topping Kinks were due to play but had pulled out, so Michael Easton had taken a chance on a new group T-Rex).
He (the man next to me not Michael Easton) had his video camera ready perched on top of some sort of post allowing it to peek above all the heads as Neil shuffles onto the stage with his band.
He appears in front of us both as a small figure in the distance and a much larger than life one on the large screens either side of the stage, familiar tunes, unique voice and an aging appearance, he and the bands playing is tight and musically very competent, I appreciate the talent and the musicianship but after 45 minutes disappointed that there has been no sign of a cowgirl in the sand I start to move off and spend a little time next to an ice-cream van, who’s driver has a birds eye view on the stage. His young assistant is friendly and happy to share his Glastonbury story of hard work, long days and happy camping.
I have been torn between staying with NY and moving off to seek out my old friend the acoustic stage and Ray Davis. Every since I arrived back at the yellow car park earlier I have been receiving on an off text from my friend who has arrived earlier than expected.
I had tried to meet up with her at the pyramid, texting my coordinates first from in front of the platform then by the ice-cream van.
End of part 6
As if all following a silent siren only audible to them (and maybe dogs if they had been allowed in), the crowd continued to gravitate towards the space in front of the stage where Mr Young will soon appear. Again the extraordinary silent and seamless organisation behind the scenes delivers this and every show I see on time. Where I am going to park my self? I find myself in front of a platform which has been erected for disabled festival goers as they sit on chairs or in their wheel chairs I stand in front of it leaning gratefully against it with other Glasto comrades.
The couple next to me look as if they are in their 60’s and may have been there since Marc Bolan played the first festival here in the 70’s ( the chart topping Kinks were due to play but had pulled out, so Michael Easton had taken a chance on a new group T-Rex).
He (the man next to me not Michael Easton) had his video camera ready perched on top of some sort of post allowing it to peek above all the heads as Neil shuffles onto the stage with his band.
He appears in front of us both as a small figure in the distance and a much larger than life one on the large screens either side of the stage, familiar tunes, unique voice and an aging appearance, he and the bands playing is tight and musically very competent, I appreciate the talent and the musicianship but after 45 minutes disappointed that there has been no sign of a cowgirl in the sand I start to move off and spend a little time next to an ice-cream van, who’s driver has a birds eye view on the stage. His young assistant is friendly and happy to share his Glastonbury story of hard work, long days and happy camping.
I have been torn between staying with NY and moving off to seek out my old friend the acoustic stage and Ray Davis. Every since I arrived back at the yellow car park earlier I have been receiving on an off text from my friend who has arrived earlier than expected.
I had tried to meet up with her at the pyramid, texting my coordinates first from in front of the platform then by the ice-cream van.
End of part 6
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