I didn't make it to
Glastonbury this year. As a father to two young children, if I want to spend
the weekend spaced-out, sleep-deprived and contending with other people’s
faeces amid a cacophony of noise, I can just stay at home. Which is from where Sally and I enjoyed as much of the television coverage as possible from the relative comfort
of our toy-strewn sofa.
My mild melancholy at not
being among those glorious, rolling Somerset Hillsides was eased by the freely-available
strong tea and, hot marmalade-y toast from our nearby kitchen. Inevitably, smugness
prevailed and discussion soon turned to the negative aspects of the world’s
greatest festival with which we did not have to contend. Predictably, the
pricey tickets, questionable lavatorial arrangements and unreliable weather
came up, as did the overcrowded camping and poor view of the acts. I've never bumped
into Jean Paul Sartre skulking outside the John Peel Stage, and we know what he
thought of other people.
But one factor sits above all
this, atop my list personal Glastonbury bug-bears– the outward leftyism and
seemingly constant revulsion of almost everything I stand for as a fair-minded,
reasonable righty.
Whether it’s Greenpeace celebrating
the fact that they disrupted production at Land Rover, one of the UK’s most
important manufacturing assets, Oxfam’s outwardly party-political advertising,
or the unbalanced musings from the likes of Billy Brag and Baby-Marxists The
Manic Street Preachers, I've always been given the distinct impression I was ‘one
of the enemy’ whenever I've paid homage to those muddy fields.
Well, sorry to disappoint you,
my deluded socialist chums (I am not sorry), but Glastonbury is actually as
great a celebration of everything that’s wonderful about small-state, free
market, individual-loving rightyism as it’s possible to be. Please allow me to
explain. No seriously, please allow
me, I am normally shouted down in a hail of vitriol whenever I try to explain anything to the sort of left-wing authoritarians
I occasionally encounter on the high streets and doorsteps of Cheshire when campaigning
for UKIP.
Take a look around the Glastonbury
site – there’s little obvious police presence, no-one bossing you around, just
a very basic infrastructure. People are free to do what they like (as long as
it doesn't harm others), they are allowed to get on with it. And they do so, swimmingly.
And what wonderful
individuals! From the Lizard-Man and his ‘Cranial Corkscrew’, to the English
National Ballet, everyone is valued for who they are, and what they can bring
to the party. If you’re wonderful at something, the adoring audience enjoy, applaud
and encourage. They don’t moan or demonise because they can’t do the same. I
certainly didn't hear anyone decrying the fact they were not able to operate a
Cranial Corkscrew or lift a beer-barrel with their ear-lobes with quite the
same aplomb as the Lizard-Man.
Everyone pays the same, basic
rate to get in. If you want to pay a bit more and upgrade to a tepee, yurt or a
pre-erected tent, you can. You pay’s you money, and you take’s your choice. And
the money from those tickets goes to pay
for the people and capital equipment that make it all possible, and yes - a
reasonable profit - for the bands, their road-crews, the organisers, and the
people that empty the loos, because without the notion of a profit, it simply
couldn't happen.
And haven’t things got so
much better since the security fence
went up? – The festival crime-rate immediately plummeted, and armed with the certainty of how many people will
turn up, the organisers can install the appropriate amount of infrastructure. Now everyone pays their fair share for a
ticket, the money raised can be used to pay for better facilities, and more
performers. It’s amazing what you can achieve when you control your borders.
The ‘soundtrack’ of Glastonbury
is not the socialist drivel of Mr
Bragg emanating from some tent or other, it is the sweet hum of a thousand Aggreko
(LON:AGK, 1651.22, thank you very much) Generators keeping the lights on, the
amps buzzing, and the falafels hot. If the festival had to rely solely on wind
power, as so many of its attendance think we all should, it would just be an acoustic
festival. And that means more Billy Bragg - or perhaps that's what they want...
And finally, do you know what
happens to those free copies of The
Guardian they hand out? Do you? Let’s just say it’s quite appropriate. You certainly
wouldn't want to do the crossword in a borrowed copy.
So there you have it;
Glastonbury - a great, British institution of which we can be proud, and a wonderful
example of the benefits of right-wing principles. Long may it continue. Lefties; if
you still believe Glastonbury is a celebration of all your lunatic theories, I
can only suggest you've been operating your Cranial Corkscrew incorrectly.
Right on,
man.
Stuart Hutton.
