Here I am at Glastonbury, watching festival-goers streaming through the gates as they begin a weekend of music-filled hedonism. Before most of them drink an orchard's-worth of cider and settle into an incoherent, yet joyful, haze, I thought I would talk to a few of them to give Huffington Post a live update on the chatter of who the festival-goers are most looking forward to seeing.
To those of you that are in mourning because you couldn't get your hands on a golden ticket, I put this to you: you are better off at home. Beautiful green fields were churned into plastic bogs and desecrated with abandoned tent poles, sleeping bags and more cups than I could stomach. By the end of the weekend it was like the aftermath of an epic battle.