Don’t build your entire weekend around the headline sets at the Pyramid stage. Some of the greatest times to be had are when stumbling around the dystopian universe of Shangri-Las at 5 in the morning bumping into Jarvis Cocker doing a clandestine DJ set or what have you.
Arctic Monkeys, The Horrors, Chic and Portishead are all playing on Friday at 10:15pm. Whatever you do, don’t try and see them all. It’ll only end in tears.
Screw watching the sun rise at the Stone Circle. You should definitely go for a run. Yeah, you heard. There’s nothing better after a hard first night on the tequila than a 90 minute sprint round the Worthy Farm perimeter with @EastLDNRunner.
You’ll definitely need a ridiculous hat.
Don’t bother having a shower but you should probably look in the mirror at least once during the festival.
Don’t hang out in the backstage bar looking for celebrities. Remember that the only people who hang out in the backstage bar are people who are looking for celebrities.
Don’t be the guy who dives head-first into the mud. Waterskis make a much more classy impression.
Don’t stay up all night in the stone circle talking about the meaning of life. Life is an essentially amorphous constellation of consciousnesses driven solely by evolutionary imperatives and cannot therefore be condensed into crisp philosophical maxims. You’d be wasting your time trying.
Journalists: don’t bother going to the press conference where Michael Eavis proclaims this Glasto “the best ever, despite the rain”. Just re-transcribe your notes from last year.
Do save money by bringing your own drugs dog and using it to rummage through people’s tents to find their discarded stashes.
Do out-smart the £5-a-go Oxygen Bars by simply breathing in and out rapidly.
Don’t dance on top of a float to UK garage alongside a cheery policeman. That’s the Notting Hill Carnival. You’re too early.
Do impersonate a police officer. They secretly find it hysterical and love it whenever you do it.
Do remember that arks can be purchased in flatpack form from Ikea. 1 cubit = 23.2 metres.
Don’t eat anything you wouldn’t feel happy excreting into a public latrine.
When tripping, don’t mess with the space/time continuum in ways that you wouldn’t know how to correct at a later date.
Do stand in front the Pyramid Stage with a flag saying “Hi mum”. It’s a good joke and well worth obscuring 70,000 people’s view for.
Don’t tip cows. Their basic wage is quite adequate.
Don’t go into the woods with your girlfriend/boyfriend’s best friend, take a bucketful of hallucinogens and cheat on her/him.
Don’t try and buy sex in exchange for space under your umbrella.
Don’t mistake bodypaint for creativity.
If you want to pretend that you’re in your favourite branch of Starbucks, simply lie back and close your eyes while Fleet Foxes are playing.
Do bring sunscreen. It makes an excellent waterproofing balm for the bottom of your tent.
Don’t marry anyone who looks desperate enough that it might not be a joke after all.
If this is your first year, do take our advice on what to pack. Remember that you’ll probably only have enough plugs for a kettle, toaster, TV, curling tongs and clock-radio, so just bring those.
Don’t moan about “how middle class Glastonbury’s become” until you’ve checked first as to whether your dad a) mines coal, b) makes car parts or c) carries a hod. If the answer is d) is a teacher, manager, accountant, consultant, life coach, etc, then remind yourself that for all the ‘earthy’ qualities you feel you may possess, you are ultimately part of the alleged problem, not the alleged solution.
Don’t bring an acoustic guitar. We’ve already heard ‘Wonderwall’ and ‘Lucky Man’.
Don’t listen to advice. Advice is a form of nostalgia. Dispensing it is a way of a the past from the disposal, wiping it off and recycling it for more than it’s worth. But trust us on the sunscreen.