Returning wanderer

We are waiting with bated breath for Lucy’s imminent return from the Magical Land Of Right On Tattoos And Politically Correct Unicorns.

I have been looking at the pictures on Facebook and now consider myself to be something of an authority. They have had 5G internet signal, whatever that is, although it hasn’t encouraged Lucy to send me any emails, some things are beyond the reach of technological evolution.

They have also not had disposable plastic things, so presumably the sparkling new 5G signal came in a paper bag. David Attenborough came to tell them about turtles, they composted all their own poo, and all in all it has been gloriously environmentally irreproachable.

I imagine that is exactly what the local residents thought as the gates opened today, and a hundred thousand cars were released into the landscape.

When I said Lucy’s ‘imminent’ return, I don’t actually suppose it is going to be very imminent.

I managed to capture her attention for long enough this morning to elicit a text message which said that the coach was leaving Glastonbury at two. However, when I tried her again at half past four, not only had it not left, it hadn’t even arrived, and although we know that they have set off now, we think that the traffic is going to be dreadful.

We are rather hoping that it takes ages anyway, because once she starts getting close to Lancaster we are going to have to leave work and go and get her, and we need the cash.

Obviously we don’t both need to go. It would be perfectly possible for one of us to go, leaving the other one to stay and work, but neither of us likes that idea. We both want to go and hear all of her stories. Holiday stories are never as good on the second telling. Also if they are as terrifyingly stomach-twisting as I suspect that they might be, we could both probably do with some moral support whilst we listen.

If she has dyed her hair a peculiar colour I just hope that it matches her Speech Day dress.

I don’t think that school will expel her in her last week. Not really.

LATER NOTE:

We have collected her.

I had just written those words when a text arrived telling me that they were in Liverpool, and a string of text messages shortly afterwards convinced us that it would be a good idea to set off.

It was. We belted down in Mark’s taxi and arrived about five minutes before the coach, at a few minutes to midnight.

Lucy staggered off, grinning and filthy and exhausted.

She has not dyed her hair nor got a tattoo nor had her face pierced.

She is very, very sunburned.

Being ginger, she is a bit prone to going pink in the sunshine, and since there are no mirrors in Glastonbury, she had no idea how pink she was.

She looks remarkably healthy for it. She had become a bit pale and tired looking during her A Levels. Nobody could describe her as that any more.

She has had a brilliant time.

She has seen bands and people wandering about with no clothes on, and has lived with a pack of bouncers, called things like Baz, for a week.

They think she is posh.

She has been quite surprised by the difference in their conversations and the ones she is used to at school. It appears that bouncers talk about far more interesting and informative things than teenage girls.

Her vocabulary has widened quite remarkably, I hope it settles down a bit before she goes back to school, the Head of Sixth Form might have something to say about some of her more vibrant turns of phrase.

They won’t expel her two days before Speech Day.

They will just have to be a bit broad-minded.

I apologise for the rubbish photo. I was going to take one of Lucy but I forgot, and she went to bed.