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A fifty-something at Glastonbury

I finally went to Glastonbury—but am told I didn't have a sufficiently squalid time

Did I go to Glastonbury? I thought so. On the weekend of 27th-28th June I went to a pop festival of that name in the English countryside. But most Glastonbury veterans I have spoken to since say I wasn’t there. The problem, you see, is that I did not have a sufficiently squalid time. Courtesy of an invitation to my wife from the head of Aggreko (the company that provides Glastonbury with its electrical generators) I was staying in unimaginable luxury—a Winnebago motor home in the VIP zone (next to Franz Ferdinand) with its own roof terrace and chemical loo.…

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