Moaning Mum: "Festival Family Glastonauts"

"You just haven't had your 'Glasto Moment' yet," the husband said last weekend as we trudged through crowds, the children whining (it was in all fairness the first day and they hadn't caught wind of the kid's field yet - just frolicking drunk people in crazy costumes meandering through mad fields with no apparent destination in mind - and I include the husband and I in this).

No indeed I hadn't. But it wasn't long after until I did. In fact I'm not even sure when it happened. Perhaps it was hooking up with my sis and a load of our friends in a sunny field, sipping vodka-based cocktails and working on our tans whilst the boys gleefully zip-lined across the field and buggered off for sufficient enough time for the husband and I to put our new Cath Kidston picnic blanket to the test.

In the end, the four days we spent at the worlds biggest music festival passed in a delightfully surreal blur of music, laughter, adventure, panic, amusement and downright ridiculousness. In fact the biggest downside wasn't even at the festival itself, but during the arduous four hour drive home wherein we discovered that our headlight deficient campervan rendered the road ahead utterly invisible and required the husband to keep his finger flexed at all times on the high beam lever just to catch the odd glimpse of tarmac. Nightmare.

Bear in mind we'd both had next to no sleep and could barely keep our eyes open - so were not at all able to handle the relentless screaming of what was normally our smiley baby. I had to contort my body around just to hold hands with him, and it wasn't until we stopped for some emergency petrol station coffee that we discovered the poor soul had been screaming not because he was an escaped minion from the depths of hell but rather because he was covered in his own vomit and likely had been for quite some time - clearly suffering from a profound bout of car sickness. (Gulp). Oops.

Add to this the fact that I was openly snoring in what must have been a most attractive stance, head thrown back, mouth agape, drifting in and out of dreams - waking only to have the husband repeatedly ask me whether I'd know what to do if he had a heart attack right there and then whilst driving. That sobered me up. But only momentarily.

In the end it was my shitty little speaker hooked up to my iphone which saved the day. I began playing a selection of tunes - some to wind the husband up and some to keep me in the land of the living. It must have worked as we arrived alive.

At any rate, suffice it to say that a grand time was had by all. I was let loose to do whatever I fancied on the Friday night and found that after a few hours of furtive guilt texting to the husband whilst watching The Horrors at The Park Stage (amazing) I soon forgot about anything but having fun, and learned that left to my own devices, much like a homing pigeon, I would eventually find my way back to the campervan and resume normal duty. Albeit at breakfast the next day, but hey - as I told the husband - at least I came back.

The husband duly returned the favour by taking off to see geriatric rockers 'The Rolling Stones' the next night and not rolling in until 6am Sunday morning - a stunt which pretty much determined that the ride home for him later that day (headlights or no headlights) was going to be U.T.T.E.R. H.E.L.L.

So I'll let the pictures do the talking and bid you adieu now. I went, I saw, I participated, and i had fun. What more is there to say?

(Next year the husband and I go it alone)

:)