Glastontelly

I’ve never been to a festival.

As I type this, I’m on a post-Beyonce high much like the rest of the UK but you should know that I’ve never been a music festival.

Although, I kind of want to.

As a head-scarfed muslimah, it’s never going to be a possibility. My way of dress stands for modesty and piety which doesn’t fit with the bohemian, free love ethos of Glastonbury. It would be like turning up at Glasto in a three piece suit and bowler hat. Also, the toilet situation looks pretty grim. The cleanliness demanded to pray 5 times a day would not mesh well with the lack of hygiene experienced at Glastonbury.

But still, I kind of want to go.

I watched Glasto on the telly which is almost as good as being there. When it was chucking it down on Friday, I was curled up in my duvet, rain lashing against my window, watching the rain-sodden coverage on TV. I must admit to a perverse pleasure in seeing festival goers knee deep in mud while I was at home in the warmth.

But then it got very sunny and bright and suddenly I got very jealous. The tables had turned and now I was the loser cooped up at home while the festival audience was soaking up the rays and leisurely taking in the music.

Pfffffft.

I think it’s a case of ‘the grass is always greener’ to assume things might be more fun on the other side of my TV screen.

As it is, I’ll stick with my telly (we’re seriously bonding) and hit up the iplayer to re-watch Elbow’s wonderful performance. They are seriously tempting for a buttoned-up muslimah like me to want to see live.