Some festivals are better enjoyed at home

The weather forecast predicted thunder and lightning the other day which was very, very frightening and also heralded the start of our annual love affair with music festivals.

Whatever day you pick to hold your event, you can be sure at some stage there will be the risk of a deluge of biblical proportions. I really don’t know why we do it.

Yes, you can see lots of bands and sometimes you can stumble on very strange satellite events hidden in tents even the Three Dog Night wouldn’t want to see.

Despite what hardened festival goers tell you, there is absolutely no fun slithering around in fields of mud unless you are a farmer with waders or a three-year-old boy.

The sound systems can also be punishingly loud although, to be fair, at my age that actually helps.

Some go mad for

Glastonbury, trying to watch performers from the previous century through a sea of flags.

What did you think of Macca and

Rossy? Neither can sing like they used to but, all things considered, even at their combined age of

158 they can both still out-sing me.

I’m just glad I watched them on the telly and not squeezed between an army of glitterfestooned giants.

So, will I end up at a festival? Strangely, yes. Kent has some really good ones which seem to be a little more civilised.

I’ve just survived a downpour at Sittingbourne’s Party in the Park and I am now looking forward to watching 10cc in a field in Stockbury and rock dinosaurs Jethro Tull, Atomic Rooster and The Sweet performing in the back lanes of Faversham. But I have learned lessons.

No, I won’t be camping.

And no, I won’t be partaking in the cider. The last time I did that I woke up in a bush three days later. Rock and roll...

‘Despite what hardened festival goers tell you, thereisno fun slithering around in fields of mud unless you are a farmer with waders or a threeyear-old boy’