Watching Glastonbury from my sofa this summer, I was surprised – for the most part – not to find myself overwhelmed with Fomo. I had access to a shower on a sticky summer weekend! I wasn’t surviving off chips! I hadn’t – as I did in around 2018 – chucked so much glitter on my parting that I was picking it off my scalp weeks later. I was quite content watching the weekend unfold on BBC iPlayer – that was, until Hozier’s surprise set, when I was suddenly overcome with not only Fomo but alsoa burning desire to actually be Hozier.
If only I had stuck with any of the musical instruments I had taken up and abandoned as a child, or been born in County Wicklow, or, er, just been born as Andrew Hozier Byrne and not as myself. I too could be delivering a spiritual experience to the masses, in my trusty denim jacket, looking like I booked Glastonbury at 12 and a Just Stop Oil protest at 2.
