For someone who had so much to say about Glastonbury over the past year, I can’t say I’m doing a very good job of organising my thoughts about it now it’s been and gone for another year. It was my fourth festival and I’ve still come away with a feeling of having missed so much, having turned one corner whilst simultaneously leaving three paths undiscovered. I suppose that’s what keeps calling me back with such desperation each year – the desire to find more each time and to feel satisfied that I’ve experienced as much as I could (rather than falling asleep lots and feeling peaky in the mornings). However, despite the naps and the peaky mornings (which are unavoidable realities, I suppose), it’s still my favourite place I’ve ever found; a temporary city where everyone feels a mutual sense of privilege and pride. I’ve never found such mutual understanding and happiness anywhere else, which is why I hope my years are always punctuated by five wonderful days in June spent in those fields of Pilton, the most magical farm in the world.

Hello. Just incase any of you were worried, I have indeed made it home from Somerset. However, I cannot say the same for my head and heart. They are suffering from a full blown case of Glastonbury jet-lag. Reality gets more difficult each year. I have spent the last few days trying to get my voice back and trying to get back into some sort of English time-zone and trying to muddle through the masses of photos – in essence, trying to cling on to all memories I can. Here’s a little taste of what I can remember (with thanks to my camera), but I promise there’s much more to come (not least the dispoable snaps which capture the quality of the air perfectly)…