Some years ago I massaged at Glastonbury Festival. Here are my impressions of the festival…
“Come to me in your huddled masses” is the poorly remembered quote that comes to me as I see the hoards enter when the gates of Glastonbury are opened to the public.
I watch the unfortunates in their down-market, worn-out garments approach me. The refugees from yet another conflict. They come in a mass, but split into their small groups, taking solace in the company of the people with whom they had left their respective homes.
However, as they get nearer, I realise that they are not looking worn-out or war-torn but, rather, joyful and expectant. The only war zone they have left is the outside world. The only refuge they seek is 5 days of music, fun, having a laugh with friends and The Rolling Stones.
War is, on the face of it, the nature of Glastonbury. I stand talking with a friend of mine. She is a hippy dressed in several layers of green and brown. We stop our conversation, opened-mouthed, as we see a tall, very attractive woman walk past wearing no more than a pair of silver, sequined thongs, a silver sequined bra and a pair of thigh-length, high-healed boots. She walks past oblivious. My friend and I stare at each other, momentarily dumbfounded, then pass a few non-derogatory comments and carry on our conversation. That’s Glastonbury: anything goes.
Although I will be away from my massage therapy practice in York, I am looking forward to massaging at Glastonbury Festival.