The summer has finally arrived in the UK, and so has the festival season. This weekend it’s the world-famous Glastonbury Festival at Pilton in Somerset.
Personally, I’ve never been to Glastonbury for the festival. The closest I ever came was in 1994 when a friend of mine was trusted to buy the tickets for four of us. Unfortunately we trusted the wrong person of our crew and that same month he managed to over spend on his current account, which included our festival money. Now, this friend was not a bad person, just an incompetent one. As a result we never made it to Glastonbury or any other festival that summer.
Instead, we ended up making the short drive down to the Sussex coast (I still lived in London then, my hometown) and the four of us spent a memorably hot weekend camping, drinking, smoking, carousing and generally having a darn good time. In fact it was, as they used to say, a ‘blinder’ and it still rates as one of my best memories from that mid-90’s period before career and adulthood crept up on us all.
Anyway, I think the writing prompt this week should be a journey down memory lane, and with a large dose of sunshine and nostalgia we should write about a trip infused with summer love seen through rose-tinted specs, real or imagined. A mythical long gone, lost weekend of youth, friends and living in the moment when the summer promised love, good times, and that you could still make it to back work on Monday morning after a weekend burning the proverbial candle at both ends.
Finally, to those off to the Glastonbury Festival or any other festival in the UK or abroad this lovely June weekend, I salute you.
As Mr. Hendrix said, ‘Let the good times roll…’