And so, another year without my beloved Glastonbury. It has been the highlight of my social calendar for more than three decades, but now, due to the pandemic, the festival has been cancelled for the second year running. Whilst I understand the reasons behind why the organisers, Michael and Emily Eavis, have reached this conclusion, my heart sank at the news. People often ask why I’m still so enamoured of the festival at my age (I’m 60). From the first moment I stood knee-deep in the mud watching Radiohead’s seminal set in 1997, Glastonbury has been one of my favourite places on Earth. I’ve been every year since. I even went midway through cancer treatment once – but more on that in a moment. I love everything about Glasto, even the camping – although we’re more tipi than tent nowadays (I’ve learned to tailor the experience so that the many deprivations of living in a field for a weekend are offset by having some comfort while you sleep). But that doesn’t mean we don’t throw ourselves into the experience whole-heartedly. We still trudge from stage to stage, managing our schedules to try to catch as many bands as possible; drink non-stop; and maraud around until dawn in the late-night party areas. One of my favourite places in the festival is The Park, quieter and more laid-back than the rest of the site and a great place to hang out in the daytime, its skyline dominated by a huge, rainbow-striped helter skelter. Or Strummerville, Joe Strummer’s legendary campfire community, nestled in a beautiful area of woodland with out-of-this-world views where we go to drink, stay warm, talk and laugh with like-minded souls. And then there’s The Stone Circle, a spot where festival-goers gather to watch the sunrise, listen to the bongo players, and marvel at the twinkling lights spreading as far as your eye can see. A city bigger than Bath.