What's the best thing about Glastonbury? The bands, the costumes or the bongo players in The Green Fields? Nope. My favourite part is that no one moans. In Londonland everybody complains about everything. The commute to work, overcrowding, the lack of toilets in pubs and theatres, property prices, bad manners, unfriendliness and the perennial favourite, The Weather. It's either too cold, too hot, too wet or too dry. Office workers always whine about the air conditioning and the heating, so they're constantly turned up and then down again.
Yet in Glastonburyworld, in weather conditions that'd make a First World War trench veteran feel at home, and lodgings that you can barely swing a mouse in, let alone a cat, I didn't hear the slightest whinge.
In fact, everyone seemed to be having a great time. There were friendly chats in the long queues to the loos and lots of giggles of 'Oops, sorry!' when people slid into each other in the mud. The best example of this was when one guy prevented his fall into the sludge by quickly grabbing the nuts of the guy next to him. Twice. But even though sore-nut-guy's face was contorted into an expression of unmentionable pain, he still managed to smile back at nut-grabbing-guy's 'Oops, sorry!'
Imagine that happening on the tube.
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