Xfm's Glastonbury Review - Thursday
It's not even an "official" day - but there was plenty to keep us occupied...
The initial omens for the Thursday festivities at Glastonbury were more than good. As Xfm relaxes in the peaceful environs of the Healing Fields, the sun that blazes down on the collection of flags, tents and assorted masseurs would have anyone thinking that the prospect of a hot festival was a very real possibility.
Sadly, the light spitting that started around 5pm gradually turned into a steady stream of rain that at least didn't hint at the horrors of previous years. Nonetheless, the look of stark terror etched on the faces of the veterans of the 2006 and 2007 tour of duties is clear to see.
Despite the wet conditions, it's at moments like these that the famed Glasto spirit takes hold. A combination of fortitude and sheer determination in the persuit of mindless fun takes hold and so it is that the Queens Head pub in the Other Stage field is utterly rammed for Glasvegas' pre-festival set. Rather impressively for a band yet to release their album, Glasvegas soon have the crowd singing along with the Celtic ramalama of 'Geraldine'.
Part of the problem with rain is that dry space soon becomes a premium commodity. This explains why the kind of bars you'd usually ignore are full to bursting though this is merely water off a duck's - or more accurately, our - back for the seasoned festival goer. A quick trip to the Acoustic Field reveals a bar tent that's roomy and, more importantly, dry. The music may be beardy and wrapped up in an Arran sweater but its location off the beaten track ensures comfort in the face of adversity.
This is the kind of grit and determination that fuels crusty lynchpins The Levellers at their late-night gig at the Leftfield. Their days of headlining the Pyramid Stage may well be behind them but for now their fiddly-dee stompings are just what's needed when flipping the bird at the rain that's hammering down.
By 1am, the rain has eased off so Xfm elects to try out the Downlow gay bar in the newly-relocated Trash City. A theme of moustachio'd machsimo runs throughout and within minutes we're grooving to Diana Ross whilst politely declining a bottle of poppers from the muscled bloke in a cap.
A 3am wander around the site reveals that the rain hasn't produced as much mess in the way of mud as in previous years but these are early days in the early hours. Optimism amongst festival goers is palpable but the desire for a baking sun on Friday soon becomes overwhelming. We live in hope and not a little fear...