Hi-Ho-Hi-Ho It's Off To Glasto I (DON'T) Go...

In the wee hours of this morning, the husband kissed my cheek and bid me a tentative farewell. This may have been because he was aware I had been up all night with a feverish Dumpie, or it may have been because he was feeling mild (and i do stress mild) guilty pangs for going off and leaving me for five days of frolicking with his mates at the UK's grand-daddy of festivals...."GLASTONBURY".

At any rate, I'd like to point out that I am neither bitter nor pissed off.  I could be of course, and leaving me when I'm already feeling stressed and with a sick baby isn't exactly tatamount to a public display of utter devotion to one's wife....but still.  

I am a big girl and I will handle this like I handle everything else that sucks in my life...I will try and soldier on and get through it.  To be honest, I'm probably a little jealous.  There was a time in my life (actually lots of time) when we had all our adventures together:  riding motorcycles across the Indian subcontinent, working on a Kibbutz, hopping the Greek Islands, chilling out in Thailand, selling encyclopaedia's to an uninterested public (and humiliating ourselves in the process), driving a bright yellow VW camper van all around Europe....I could go on.

Once upon a time we met a most merry Welshman by the name of Dan, in Egypt of all places.  He told us of this amazing festival called 'Glastonbury' which we just HAD to go to, or we might die.  So we high-tailed it over to the UK from Turkey (bringing loads of cheap ciggies and ridiculous hats to sell at the festival) and the three of us jumped the fence and had the weekend of our lives.

Ever since then it has been a firm date in the calendar.  Five days of fields, mayhem, the biggest bands in the world, cider, organic delights, crazy spectacles....you name it.  177,000 people shrug off the worries of their lives and get dressed up and be idiots for a weekend.  You've got to envy them, you really do.

The only time the husband missed one was the year little Egg was born.  I had given birth a few days previously, and if he thought he was going to leave me and our beloved newborn to go and party with the masses, well...he may as well have packed his bags and not bothered coming home.  (I do recall however, he did ever so slightly try the idea on back then, but luckily he was clever enough not to pursue it.)

However for me, ever since the monsters have arrived, I haven't had the pleasure of revisiting my youthful, carefree days in this way.  Maybe it's because I am the mother and I feel more responsible...or maybe it's because if I go back there I want proper backstage tickets and don't necessarily want to plod about like a punter...or maybe it's because when I started making music seriously several years ago I made a vow to myself that the next time I went to Glastonbury I would be playing it, not sitting in a field watching someone else live out my fantasy.

So you see, for all these reasons (and because I am a COOL, LAID BACK, UNDERSTANDING wife - you hear that husband?!) I have allowed my man to go off for a bit, let off some steam, hopefully behave himself and have ridiculous amounts of fun at what he solemnly decrees is his favourite event of the year.

NOTE:  Of course I say this and he's only been gone a mere four hours...i may have ever so slightly a different take on the whole matter in 48 hours...or four days from now...