WOMAD, more decorous, you say? Cleaner and more organised? More sanitised?
In a way all this was true: but then I was never at Woodstock, Isle of Wight or Glastonbury anyway. Sat here in a field near Bath reflecting on the experience, I had a great time: but I’m not sure what I experienced.

To begin at the beginning. Labour Party friends Debbie and Pete took me under their wing a bit back in the winter: a couple of visits to the Folk Club and so on. I’ve bought a camper – ‘Great. Have you ever been to a festival, cos you can take it there.’ Operating the Just-do-it principle, I duly booked up for WOMAD, that they do most years. ‘We’ll be going, we can show you the ropes.’ It wasn’t cheap: I am, but that’s another tale. So Willma and I rock on down to Malmesbury, directed to our place in a field of long grass, and get settled in. After a long trek, I find the festival site, give Debbie a ring (‘Dont bother ringing Pete he’s never got his phone on’) and get directions to a bar near the main space. And met their other friends, another Pete and Julie, who are also festival regulars.

There are about five main stages, some covered, some outdoor. A whole village of merchandisers of dubious ethnic products. Actually some were quite nice. And streets full of food stalls from all over the planet. I sampled, in no particular order: Persian fusion kebabs (pulled pork not sure if that’s big in Teheran); Sourdough toasty; Goan Dahl with rice and raw onion ( I was craving salad at this point, so the onion was welcome.); Chilli burrito; coconut milk, from the coconut.

I come now to the music. Alison Goldfrapp, Amadou and Mariam I had heard of, so I’m counting them as headliners; both brilliant. Cerys Hafana, from Machyntlleth, playing a three-row Welsh harp, very chill. A number of guys playing variations on Samba music: particular mention to Bala Desejo. Quite a lot of Afrobeat: Seku Keira and the Homeland band were great. Odd acts, like the London Bulgarian Choir, and Pakistani/Flamenco fusion music. Pete and Debbie were great guides: Pete’s knowledge of artists was awe-inspiring, while Debbie had a great instinct for finding back routes between the venues. They introduced me to the Taste the World stage, where artists cooked while talking about their music; and played a few songs too.

I was drawn to the spoken word area, run by Byline Times. Patrick Grant (great British Sewing Bee) and Sarah Corbett (The Craftivist Collective), talking about how to influence people, rather than confront them. Also about the wast involved in the (fast) Fashion industry. Christopher Steel was giving his thoughts on Putin and other dictatorial types. Then there was the Bad Press Awards; Rosie Holt in her spoof Tory MP persona with Byline staffers. For poetry, I caught some of Lemon Sissay.

The aspect it’s taken me time to evaluate is the people who were there: other aging Tredies, like me I suppose; full-on hippies in full regalia; a smattering of steampunks. once again I got to thinking what my values were: clearly not as hedonist as many there; slightly folky – I even sported a red neck scarf for some of it, mostly because it got quite hot. Some folks were cross-dressing, as in panto dame rather than full drag, or trans styling. I suppose it was the notion of subversion through transgressing norms. Then there was the smattering of lamé and sequinned jackets, and stripes clothing in the manner of Jethro Tull. Much of the extravagant costume was definitely performative; except to my eyes I wasn’t sure what they were performing. Look at me I’m an individual. We’re all individuals! (I’m not!)

Same for the campers; a mixture of old and new. Willma, with her 23-plate and shiny paint, marked me down as a middle-aged, middle class tourist. I wasn’t the only one. Mostly, the campers and Motorhomes were a little older. Some were self-builds, though not as many as I’d expected. I think the price deterred the real Swampy contingent, so a certain income bracket was evident. Showers were a long way off, so I settled for a flannel wash. Portapotti for wees; compost toilets for No2’s. Got through about half of her water tank, while solar panel kept the fridge going well off-grid. My guides had hired a pre-erected tent. I saw an endless procession of campers carrying bedding from their cars, herding small children before them. Lots of provision for the youngsters.

Will I go again? Uncertain; I’d like to take the grandkids when they are old enough, to be able to read it through their eyes, I think. But at least I bought the T-shirt, so I now have bragging rights.