This evening, after a visit to see grandchildren, and with a day off tomorrow, I may have spent too much time with Eddie Noack.
And some other blokes. I shall endeavour to take (drag) my second in command along one Thursday evening.
Time was also spent with, Eels, Sam Baker and Cyndi Lauper.
Field mice, head lice, spiders in the kitchen …
It’s important to have a housesitter while you’re at a festival.
He (or she) is nameless. Well, he (or she) may have a spider name.
It’s been an inhabitant of our kitchen for a couple of weeks now. He’s (or she’s) now firmly a part of the household, though. So we could trust her (or him) to look after the house.
Eels are, as most people who know me, aware, are my most favourite band. If you have a spare minute, have a listen to Flyswatter.
My first shower in four days was quite delightful. Our second Kendal Calling was rather nice though.
So nice that very few pictures were taken.
One new discovery was made though; Glastonbury’s third stage, West Holts, was the main stage at Kendal.
We live on a big hill. Today we walked down to the Schooner. After a beer there, we walked across the river to the Tyne bar.
And then along the (other) river to the Cluny.
Where we had decent food.
And, now, we’re in the Cumberland Arms. Or, rather, outside it. Good music on a Sunday afternoon.
Most of these places also involved hills.
On a cocktail … Well, I was pretty impressed with Elbow’s headline slot at the first big night of the mouth of the Tyne festival.
Definitely a good performance. A nice atmosphere too.
A random conversation with a man who was also at the other week’s secret Park stage at Glastonbury happened too.
Happy.
The annual iPlayer catch-up has begun. After post-festival beer in the hole in our neighbourhood (in which we cannot help but fall).
We spotted heavily pixelated images of ourselves.
I’m not much more than a hat in That one.
And a hat and a belly in that one.
Yes, that’s me with the phone.
And, like (but not like) two years ago, the evening ended in the John Peel stage.
I’m sitting in the garden this fine Sunday morning. The garden outside the old Glastonbury showers, that is; waiting for my second in command.
The queue was very short this morning, a last day of festival thing I guess.
Our itinerary for the day is planned, although there’re the usual feelings associated with the end of something good.
Speaking of something good, the Foo Fighters were pretty astounding last night.
I’m now sitting in the garden, with a beer, listening to the baby woodpigeons moving around in the tree.
I’m paint spattered and dusty, but content that the spare bedroom, which was once two bedrooms, is now finished.
As is usual with any couple, there were disputed finishing touches. I asserted myself, though, hanging my old, beloved Cyndi Lauper poster.
Which was quickly replaced by William McCarthy.
There is twinkly music as Ms Paltrow boards the tube. And then there were two.
Hugh Everett. Many Worlds.