Now I am aware that us middle-aged fuddy duddys complain about this annually, but this year I really, as in really-really mean it: the 2024 Glastonbury-line up was the weakest in the history of the festival.

The first effort took place in 1970 (the day after Hendrix died, strangely enough) with the admission price of £1 which included free camping and, er, milk, and the current incarnation has, sadly, regressed dramatically in recent times.

Realising he was onto a good thing, Eavis has turned the festival, first attended by 1500 people, and headlined by Mark Bolan and T-Rex, into a global phenomenon, albeit with some dodgy politics thrown into the mix (a low point being Corbyn coming on stage a few years back). By 71 they had Bowie on stage and by 94, Oasis, Blur, Pulp and Radiohead all trod the boards as the festival truly cemented its place as the working-class rockfest of choice.

They have however, in recent years, moved away from their core rock/ blues origins to become a middle class camping expedition with the bottom line as its main driver, as they charge entitled kids through the nose to watch acts such as Stormzy and Billie Eilish who, despite their relative merits, are not Glastonbury-style fodder.

This year however a watershed was reached with a line-up that would struggle to make it out of non-league into League Two. The three-night headliners included Dua Lipa, Coldplay (for a record-breaking fifth time) and, er, SZA (no…, me neither).

Other acts, mainly consisting of yesterday’s men novelty acts included Keane, Dexys Midnight Runners and The Streets, who have not had a hit since I last had a full head of hair.

With weekend tickets costing an eye-watering £360 just to get through the Fort Knox-style security cordon, you will be met with in excess of 300 food vendors and 100 bars. The prices for basic fast foods are outrageous and not in keeping with the hippie spirit so often extolled by the organisers: Fries are between four and seven quid for a few lukewarm chips, nachos are £9 and toasties, £8.50 to £11 a hit.

Pints of lager are £7 and bottles of water, which were needed as the expected heatwave coincided with events at Worthy Farm, cost £3 a bottle, the same as a can of coke.

Now I am aware I am coming across as a grumpy old codger in writing this and I will admit having never attended due to one good reason: it is always the height of my hayfever season, and standing around sneezing on someone’s shoulder dehydrated in a field covered in sweat, muck and mucus is not my idea of fun. I admit this leaves me open to criticism as to how can I comment, which, I surmise, is a fair point.

That said, as an interested observer, those who go will no doubt fall hook, line and sinker into the positive reiteration camp upon their return as they save face by admitting against evidence as to how it was the greatest line-up and event ever. They will then no doubt proceed to contact their bank on Monday to arrange a loan to offset their falling into overdraft having done over a grand to watch some second rate acts, as they got fiscally beaten up in a field down south before having their tent nicked and waking up as they are used as an open air urinal by some drug-crazed lunatic from the Wirral.

No, I’m glad to have watched it from afar, and I did enjoy the smaller acts as I sipped on a beer from the comfort of my own sofa before taking once more to social media to ask who or what on earth is SZA…?

  • Brett Ellis is a teacher