My First Glastonbury

It's two days since I got back from Glastonbury, and I:

am very brown and sunburnt (and now peeling);

no longer have either my glasses or my sunglasses;

am addicted to pear cider;

have now had my first ever trip to hospital (that's if a first aid tent in a field counts as hospital?), having freaked out, passed out, turned blue, etc;

have decided not to ever buy home-made 'loaded' flapjacks ever again without finding out exactly what's in them first;

have a big gash down the side of my neck and some more on my hands, having fallen (on a different night to the above) face first into a clump of thorny bushes;

have decided I really quite like some world music;

could still swear we were all singing along to REM doing a version of Whisky In the Jar on Saturday, but since no-one else remembers it, am prepared to concede it was probably just more delusional imaginings;

cannot for the life of me rationalise why I have never been before but know that I will go again and again.