If you ask most locals in Glastonbury, they’ll tell you that Glastonbury is one of the mellowest, most beautiful, most colourful and most spiritual places in the entire nation.

But then, if you ask most locals, they will also tell you that water has a memory, and that vibrating it with infinitely minute quantities of various poisons will produce a drink that cures any disease – so long as the patient parts with enough money before swallowing.

Residents are also likely to tell you that we’re about to be visited by benevolent beings from the world of infinite light. And that in the next few days they intend do dance wildly, sauna heartily,meditate deeply and frolick abundantly in a field full to the sound of big chunky bass-lines and African drums. Then they will try to hold your hand and tell you about hedge witchcraft.

They will encroach on your comfort zone. They will tell you they knew Hendrix and that they used to get high just by listening to his music alone. They will tell you that they were taught about tantric sex in a temple in the Himalayas. They will tell you that those were wild times and roll their eyes and touch your leg and they won’t move their hand away, even when you pull back.

They will have thinning hair and a pony tail. They will smell of patchouli and weed and lonely, angry wanking. They will tell you they are very chilled. They will nervously smoke roll ups. They will wear sandals in winter. They will tell you that they have in their possession certain oils, extracted from certain plant essences that really aren’t too expensive, considering their health-giving properties, should you choose to buy some, which you really should. They will ogle your breasts and try to sell you a dream catcher. Or a crystal that will ward off cancer and which “really sets off your sensual eyes”.

They will put on whale music. They will tell you that you look stressed and that they know the cure. They will say that this cure was passed down to them by ancient masters and that they have healing hands. They will say you look like you need a massage. They will say that even Indian gurus normally pay them,so don’t look so shocked at the price.  They will say that, yes, you do have to be naked before they can perform the massage – and that they do too. Then they will start to take off their clothes…
… You must, you must, you must flee them.

Jane Ahserton

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2 Responses to Glastonbury 

  1. Dora says:

    hippy bashing! Karmageddon. The great om will melt your bones brother and fry your brainstem with cheese.

  2. Lee Warden says:

    A facinating read. Although I must protest that the image is in fact of Anglia Square in Norwich!

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