Twenty past one

Just back from Glastonbury. For perhaps the fourth time this year

As I teenager I lived in a small tory village and loved the idea of living in Chapel Ash, where it didn't matter if you were a bit different. And in the last few years, I've kinda come to think of Glastonbury the same way. Although Chapel Ash is the best place in Wolverhampton, it's still Wolverhampton. Whilst you can feel comfortable in Chapel Ash, and not be ashamed of any artiness and scruffiness, it's not Glastonbury. It's so not Glastonbury.

Because Glastonbury positively crackles with excitement see, it's a free-thinkers paradise. You couldn't feel uncomfortable in Glastonbury if you tried, it's hippy-vibe city and totally barmy and you come away energised. I've seen ceremonies in the White Sprig summoning up Goblins, naked girls dancing at the foot of the Tor, didgeridoo players, minstrels (not the sweets) and dress wearing men walking down the high street without a single head turned.

I want to live there.

And yea, it's got it's problems too. I've seen the smackheads in the churchyard and the lazy bastard beggars on the street. Free-thinkers get free-loaders. It's like tit for tat thing. If you're a radical lefty, you're sympathetic to wasters it seems. I think they should just get off their arse and get a job. So that's me Hitler.

Anyway, back to living in Glastonbury. . Loads of times I've heard people say "we're thinking of moving there" after they've come back off holiday. It's like a thing people do, they spend all year working, have too weeks in a sunny place and pin their dreams on it. Good for them, but I'm not doing that with Glastonbury. It's deeper - I want my studio flat with a rented piano and flowers round my room.

Hang on, isn't that a Joni Mitchell song?

I'm Loving Louise Weener's It's Different For Girls. All the better because I saw her band Sleeper back in the day. Not that it matters if you want to read it. It only matters that you were young once and wanted to escape normalness. I'm halfway through it and she's just come back from her 'gap year'. Have I moaned about my lack of gap year before?
Yea, I reckon I have. Gap week I had. School, week off, and I'm ripping up floorboards. I'd have liked to live on a kibutz. Whatever the fuck that is
But anyay, I was all into the book and I fancied a beer so I went down the local with it and sat in a quiet corner. Then realising everyone else in the room was female.
And knitting.

It's stitch and bitch night, and I'm there sitting on my own reading Louise Weener's (totally wimmin friendly) book and I've never looked more on the pull since 1983 and I had a mullet in a sad disco.
Never been to a barber's since, but that's not the point.
---------

Music stuff then. .
Jeez, it's been hectic. Been up to all sorts but first I must just give a proper 'I'm not worthy' worship thing to Imelda May and her band. They were in Wolverhampton a few Sundays ago and we had the best time. And you'll have guessed I saw the Psychedelic Furs in Birmingham last week, all being the younger me, and it was glorious. And thank you so much Richard Butler for appearing so much to enjoy it like I did.

And I must also mention the Barrel Of Baddies in the Chindit the other night. Great Hoof and Horn stompin' stufff.

And lastly, a crap phone picture Imelda May waving the Rockabilly flag in Wolverhampton on a Sunday night. Go girl!

'Twas a splendid evening.