So, it looks like it’s set to be a scorcher for the weekend of the year. Who said there wasn’t some Glastonbury lovin’ Lord sittin’ up there in the sky, sunkissing all us Worthy Farm heads? Not me, that’s for sure.

I’m very pleased about the (proposed) forecast, although I’m sure my ankles will have something to say about that. So now I’m having a relaxing evening speculating on the sun-creamy days ahead. I’m also making lots of piles (it’s what I do best). All the washing is done, the boy has got my backpack down for me (I tell a lie, he got it down last week, so I can look at it everyday and get suitably excited) and the dishwasher has been fixed (irrelevant, I know, but it’s been snagging my excitement – I hate it when things are on the waiting-to-be-fixed pile). The dishwasher man, believe it or not, is also going to Glastonbury. I’m not sure how he guessed we were going too (might’ve had something to do with the backpack and the piles). He asked, “So, are you travelling up from down here then?” It seems the excitement has got to him too and is warping his sense of geography. I didn’t like to correct him. A Glastonbury-goer wouldn’t do that to a fellow goer, especially since he’s a first-timer.

Tomorrow I’ve got to do the booze-trip. Perhaps the greatest supermarket trip of the year. Ooh, this’ll be nice for the first drink of the day! This’ll be perfect in the sun! Ooh, this’ll get me pissed quick… and so on. Sufficiently complicated stuff, don’t you think? I leave early Wednesday morning, so you never know, you might hear from me again tomorrow. ‘Til then! (Now, off to try on some more outfits against my imagined Glastonbury backdrop!)