Yurts and wellies, the Glastonbury generation gap

Daughter #1 is off to Glastonbury this weekend. In fact by the time you're reading this she'll already be unpacked in her yurt and be wandering around the site the size of a large town.

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This isn’t, as they say, her first rodeo. She’s been going to gigs parent-free for around 10 years now and is a festival veteran of some repute. The only one she hadn't ticked off her list was “The Big One” and thanks to getting lucky with a ticket for the first time in years, she’s achieved a long-standing ambition.

I don’t need to hand out lectures anymore about not buying anything at a festival from lantern-jawed men with Mancunian accents wearing Adidas tracksuit tops, because that would be met with a roll of the eyes and a quick change of subject.