Glastonbury in the early 90s — before The Fence went up, and while Travellers still got free entry — was pretty iffy in terms of safety.

A lot of the demonisation of travellers at the time was apocryphal in the end. It feels like a community that is well and truly over except for the kind of Native Reservation that is Croissant Neuf, a place where middle class teenagers can gawp at the dreadlocked cider drinking crusty savages.

You missed Reading off your list. The first time I went to that festival, in the 2000s, was fascinating. I remember being astonished at how combustable solid human waste was when confined in a long drop toilet. Once the “water” content had been boiled off by the initial tire fire it would really start to burn. Jaw dropping.