With festival season fast approaching, we thought we’d take a look at some of the kind of people and situations you can expect to encounter whilst trying to watch your favourite bands. After the mad rush to get a festival ticket, you’re both shocked and disappointed to see that they’re going for less than face value on ebay in the week leading up to the event. However, excitement still grips you as you load up the car. As soon as you are within an hour’s reach of the site, you’ll come across traffic – the crazy people in the car in front of you will be standing up in the car popping out of their sunroof and playing terrible music really loudly, whilst you’re tailgated by those behind you, who can’t understand there is a queue, so spend their time blaring their horn at you and making insulting hand signals. Once off the road and onto the festival car park you’ll inevitably get stuck in mud. Once parked up, you will still have miles to walk with the weekend’s belongings on your back - either in searing sunshine or torrential rain. Never any middle ground so the choice is inevitable – heatstroke or pneumonia.

Once you have completed this hike, you’re now confronted by another queue – this time to get into the campsite. After what seems like hours waiting you’ll be confronted by a burly security guard with little sense of humour, as he insists on emptying your carefully and intricately-packed camping bag all over his table searching through all your bits and pieces, including forcing you to empty your wallet and so he can look through your Nectar card and driving license, whilst claiming to be on the “search for drugs”. Before you even have time to pack up your bag again, and with your things scattered all over this table, he tells you in no uncertain terms to move along. Attempting to carry everything human Buckaroo-style, you’re plied with even more corporate tat before you’re even given a wristband. You finally get this after what seems like hours queuing and the next mission is to find somewhere to camp – head for the high ground to avoid the deluge from the inevitable storms and do not, I repeat, do not camp anywhere near the toilets. Not only is there the smell, but you’ll also see the kind of people who camp by there later on – do you remember eco-warrior Swampy? Imagine him without the morals. They’re the kind of people that have no qualms walking around covered head-to-toe in mud, naked except for a tutu. And that’s just the blokes.

You’ll find the prime camping spot and whilst putting up your tent, you’ll get a tap on the shoulder: “Excuse me, what the f**k do you think you’re doing?”, Your look of confusion is met by sheer anger: “This is our space, we marked it out”. You’ll look on the floor and see some broken toilet roll which marked out the people you’ve camped near’s ‘fortress’, and what they thought would ensure no ‘intruders’ would camp near them. Threats of violence from them ensure you go and find somewhere else to stay, although you were already thinking this when you saw some blood squirt up the side of the tent and a needle on the floor. You move away from them and camp in a small space that you think is safe. Once set up, you decide to treat yourself to a well-deserved drink and some food. Confronted with yet another queue for a warm, watered-down beer for almost a fiver or £2.50 for a soft drink bottle that normally retails at 75p, you’re a little taken aback but this is nothing compared to the price of what is described as food. With very little choice, you suck it in and buy the burger that tastes like the remains of the local pet cemetery warmed up. Enough is enough and you head back to the tent to get a good night’s sleep ready for a day of watching bands tomorrow. I say sleep but the new campsite neighbours, whose tents block your entrance, have decided to play drinking games all night – it doesn’t end well and you hear some disgusting noises while trying to sleep.

Waking up as soon as the sun hits your tent, you walk through what looks like an apocalyptic wasteland and head for the one sporadically-dripping tap in your field that counts as a wash area. Other punters start to awake, and slowly the site begins to resemble 28 Days Later. After yet another queue, this time to get into the arena where the bands play, you’re finally ready to see some music. Although because they only opened the gates as the first band was coming on, one of which you really wanted to see, you’ll just end up watching the last note of their set. To get from stage to stage, you have to walk past the VIP area, which you can see into but aren’t allowed anywhere near, and see a bunch of Peaches Geldof-style z-listers and Hollyoaks actors being treated like kings and lapping up free quality food and drinks. You head to a main stage to attempt to watch a band, but the flags people have insisted on bringing are blocking your view. Minding your own business, you are soon surrounded by a bunch of sunburnt, shirtless blokes in jester hats who are trying to impress the ladies. Jumping around and trying to sing along to songs they don’t know, it won’t be long before one of them will spend a penny in a plastic beer cup. He’ll then close the cup and throw it in the air, while the theory of gravity makes his moronic mates cheer and laugh their heads off - as everyone else around you ducks for cover. It’s clearly never been done before, and is something that underlines just how cool these people are, as they also make an inevitable “wheyyyyyy” in unison when the cup is skybound before laughing their heads off at the unfortunate soul it lands on. They quickly run away to spend £20 each on a not entirely safe-looking fairground ride.

Thankfully, there’s some solace and like-minded people to yourself hidden away in the small tents but every time you hit the main stage, you’ll end up involved in a bottle fight/violent moshpit/huge crush/circle pit. None of which you asked for, just like that 14 year-old girl who is insistent on climbing on your shoulders. After the headliners finish the day, you have the long walk back to your tent with other festival goers, and this ends up as world record attempt at a rugby scum. Once finally back ‘home’, you’ll open the door to your tent to find some undesirable has been going through your belongings and thrown them all over the campsite while on the search for your wallet, phone and camera. After picking up your possessions, you attempt to get some rest and get ready for more of the same the next day. The way people trip over your tent, set off gas canister explosions just outside them and dangerously play with fire tonight is just a taste of what is to come for the final night “riots”. Hope you have a good weekend.