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Jeremy tries to give something back to society but finds himself up to his waist in mud at the Glastonbury festival

By Jeremy Clarke   October 1998

Since I became a motorist I have always made a point of picking up hitch-hikers. It is an oblique way of repaying those who picked me up when I used to hitch-hike. I stop for hitch-hikers no matter how many there are or what they look like. “Don’t mention it,” I say if they thank me.

Last summer, while driving towards the Glastonbury pop festival with the sun in my eyes, I stopped for a shaven-headed young man wearing army fatigues over a white England football shirt. I was going to pick him up anyway, but I was particularly impressed…

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