Why you will never see me at Glastonbury

Ok, so I’m just going to say it.

You may think less of me, you may feel sorry for me or think I am missing out, and some of you may even want to try to make me change my mind but it will not make any difference at all.

There is absolutely nothing that anyone can say, or do, that will EVER make me want to go to Glastonbury.

Or any outdoor festival, live gig, or concert again.

There, I’ve said it.

It is not that I don’t enjoy live music, of course I do when it is in the comfort of my own home or perhaps a swanky hotel bar.  Just not enough to want to stand in a muddy field, knee-deep in discarded burger wrappers, while a man relieves himself in an empty water bottle beside me because the queue for the portaloo is 3-miles long.

I just don’t get it.

For one, I do not like to queue for more than 10/15 minutes at most.  After this time, I become decidedly tetchy and consider turning around and heading back home.  I have abandoned many a shopping basket, clothing purchase, or food item for this very reason alone.

Also, I really really like sitting down.  Preferably in a big, soft, comfy chair.  Sitting on the ground plays havoc with my knees and  throws my posture out.  Plus, people just step over you, or fall into you and you end up feeling more poked and prodded than on the 8.32 fast train to London Victoria.

All in the name of seeing your favourite band perform live.  Although, you can’t really see them perform because the stage is MILES away from where you are sitting/standing and there are 100,000 other people jostling to get a closer look at the tiny little speck of dust strumming his guitar in the rain.

You can’t even get drunk to pass the time while you wait, as we all know that what goes in must eventually come out, and after 2 beers that’s about every 20-minutes in my case.

Even if you get to the front of the portaloo queue before publicly humiliating yourself, you then have to stand in a puddle of someone else’s pee, as your bare bottom hovers precariously over a seat that is still warm from the ten thousand other bare bottoms before you.

Stale beer and smoke fumes fill the air.  Girls wear teeny tiny shorts teamed with big clumpy wellies.  You can’t hear what anyone is saying, let alone singing.

Then there is the total faff of getting home.

I find the whole experience really stressful and if I am being totally honest, a little bit boring.

It is the same with clubbing.  I just do not get the appeal.  I have no interest in complete strangers being in my personal space or in the sheer busyness of it all – the noise, the standing around, and of course the queues.

Call me middle-aged, but I would much rather sit at home and have my ipod on very quietly in the background; have friends over for lunch or an early dinner; eat out a nice restaurant or drive to a nice country pub.  I like my environment to be warm,  comfortable and in close proximity to my bed.

I do quite enjoy watching shows like The Voice and The X-Factor on the telly whilst sipping a very large glass of wine.  There have been many times during Judge’s Houses where I’ve had a cry when someone I like gets through.  I know!  But, I’d never be tempted to actually go to any of the live shows.

The Greek God(zilla) thinks people like me represent everything that is wrong with the music industry today.

He may well be right, but I really don’t care.


You can follow me on Twitter @grenglishblogfind me on Facebookand on Pinterest as Grenglish

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