Behind the Scenes of a Back of House Bar Keep
22nd - 27th June, 2015
Picture this, you are 186.5.. roughly, centimetres tall.
The stack of boxes of lemons tower two metres.
To the immediate right of that are limes towering exact size.
“Wedges if you can, and here’s a couple of crates to sit on.”
Welcome to a day in a paddock on Worthy Farm.
My best mate, and great travel companion calls me up one evening when I was on a late shift back in New Zealand.
He’s in England mind you, probably working some event in central London with Chelsea football stars, Coldplay performing live in the background at a party for the latest release of Grey Goose Vodka.. or something along those lines anyway.
“You want a job for when you come up? I’ve pulled some strings, lied a bit about your CV, but we will make it happen”
“Course mate, what is it?”
“Glastonbury”
“Sounds great, what do I need to do?!”
“Get yourself to England before June next year”
Done.
That was some November, but come June it was time to get to the festival. We had a hire car (thankfully), so half the work was cut out for us already.
Missing out on the majestic journey from London’s Paddington station to Castle Cary was unfortunate — but getting to site in one piece was the goal.. because we both knew that there will be 1000 bits to put together come the end of the tenure.
“It always rains at Glastonbury, let’s set up tents at the top of the hill”
Sorted, no tent’s pitched near us, and nothing but rolling hills and stages in sight. The beer goes crack.
Sunrise, tens of thousands of pop tents and domes as far as the eyes can see.. we were on.
Four or five nights at the festival was a bit of a blur, especially being behind the scenes of the manic Shangri-La, an “after dark” corner of the week where you feel like you are living an adventurous, sleepless dream.
Day shifts were usually done hungover, or at the least still a bit glassy eyed, prep work behind the tents, loading up the booze, filling the stations. Serving drinks to the odd keen punter, licking cheap vodka from the cap ourselves.
Evening shifts the clock got turned up a little bit, as the late English sun set over Somerset, the bass gets heavier, the barrels of beer need slinging more often than ever and the jacket potato gets forced down with a cocktail made up of every part bottle of liquor you could find in the recycling.
Once it’s dark — the normality of life are well out the window, the freaks are on show, yourself and your colleagues are dancing whilst working but enjoying the moment of what it is. Relatively drunk and a bit monged beyond belief, the scenario is nothing but electric, wild laser shows, incredible sounds beaming from the rafter’s of Shangri-La’s seven different stages.
An interactive wonderland that is fuelled by its manic punters, immersive and out of their head performers, a near on non-stop stampede for three days straight.
I often wonder, how we made it to the top of the hill to the tents each night (sunrise.. or.. 0800?).
Stone circle, lagers, chats, tequila’s, hugs, mixed with raging shifts at the bars - take those surface level notes, times it by three or four and there you have a brief encounter of one of the many corners Glastonbury Festival has on offer.
As I wake up from the memories, one last clip sticks in my mind;
Breaking down ten’s of hundreds of small fruit cartons for disposal. and seeing thousands of used and chewed up lemon’s and lime’s at my feet as we walk out of the adventure.
Till we meet again Glasto.. till we meet again.
I miss my friends and our crew we had there, if you have read this.. flick me a message. My DM’s are always open
SBG
