You can’t just stroll up with a crisp fifty-pound note. No, no. This is like trying to join a secret society that only meets in a field. You have to register for a Glastonbury ID months in advance, complete with a photo that will haunt your passport forever.
Then comes the Great Ticket Sale. It happens on a Sunday morning in November. You will clear your calendar, make a sacrificial offering to the Wi-Fi gods, and sit there refreshing a browser until your fingers bleed. It’s more competitive than getting a dinner reservation at that hot new restaurant in Shoreditch—except the food here is a nine-pound halloumi burger.
If you’re lucky enough to get through, you pay a £75 deposit first. That’s the price of a decent jacket, but it locks you in. The remaining balance—£285—is due in the spring. You will now live in a state of mild financial anxiety until April, checking your bank balance like a hawk watching a field mouse.
