The next month was a blur of sourcing drums, cleaning cymbals, making furniture, labelling,
and inventory. The workshop is always full, but by mid-June it was hard to fit through the door. Even Bo, who spends so much of her life on the workshop floor that you'd be forgiven for thinking we had a dog-skin rug, was temporarily banished.
We delivered everything to Worthy Farm at the beginning of the week, a few days before the festival opened. We had rather naively assumed that delivery would involve whizzing in with the van, parking wherever was convenient and waltzing in with our stock. Oh, and that everywhere would be sunny and dry. Nope and huge nope. In hindsight, I think I’d just been looking at too much Coachella on Instagram. By the time we got as far as Silver Hayes, we had mud on every limb, had been through a safety briefing, were wearing wristbands, clutching two different types of ticket, with about five very important bits of paper stuck to the inside of our windscreen. We even had the van searched. Twice. In the rain. The whole thing seems terribly complicated and serious, but boy does the system work. It really is a well-oiled machine. We were advised before arriving to just follow the instructions from the stewards. If you’re ever there, please do the same! They really know their stuff.