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My desire to go to Glastonbury faded somewhere between my only time going in 1997 – a rainy year where my lasting memory is pulling my wellies out of the mud with every step – and more recently, when the word “spreadsheet” was used in my friends’ Glasto ticket-buying group.
That’s how I found myself sipping a riesling in the sunshine at French festival We Love Green, waiting for FKA Twigs to arrive on stage.
