Welcome to the Isle of Avalon.
In June, after every, nearly yearly Glastonbury festival, hundreds of tired, muddied and substance-modified teenagers appear on the benches of Glastonbury high street, wearing their festival hats, ready for the next open-ended summer adventure.
Meanwhile, the Glastafarians, with their non-festival hats, sit sagely outside the many cafés, talking about energy, organic food and UFOs, living the dream. Watching them from a distance, as they sip on herbal tea and chain-smoke cigarettes, their lives look perfect. Continue reading “Glastonbury and the Glastafarians”
Glastonbury’s favourite medical intervention and cure-all is, amazingly, a tiny sugar pill. You’re not allowed to touch them except with your mouth and mint kills the magic. They call it Homeopathy.
Traditional Homeopathy is based on the German premise that the less there is of something, the more potent it is. No-one knows why. Continue reading “The Miracle of Homeopathy”
“You’re no better than Hitler, you lot. It’s not natural. Get a life. It’s people like you that cause all the wars. Vegetables scream when you pull them up so that makes you a murderer. Oh, poor little plant…
Have a burger, hur hur hur…“*
Vegans exist in a thin and exhausted scatter across society, occasionally clumping together in the more alternative towns across the country. They can sometimes be found trying to live together in car-free, oil-free, herbivorous, rule-filled communities or communing at a vegan festival stall, eating chocolate cake. Continue reading “All Flesh is Grass- Veganism in Glastonbury”