There's a Europe-wide shortage of coaches-with-beds-instead-of-seats. But we're here, and the sun's everywhere and the grass is going mental. Half the kids were ill on the first day, and some of the adults too, and Jackson Pollock had been through the bogs and there was a quarantine-the-infected / sanitise everything situation. It was save yourself for a while and the pale were shunned, along with the coughers and the sneezers and the woozy.
Everyone is a fruitball, a batcake or a sneaky nut. There's plenty of rock to go up. So "things" are "going well". Flip-flops are going on frequently. It's the end of week one and everyone's having a bit of a drink so they can get to know each other and maybe later their faces can get to know each other's faces or the floor. I am on stay-sober-in-case-terrible-things-happen duty due to being late to morning meeting due to massive clock failure due to unnoticed battery outage. The number one rule is don't be late because this is what happens. It's a bit of a shame as I like the occasional twenty drinks. But I have the secret cashew stash and the Belgian chilli tortillas. The results are in and the winner is yourself.
The site is between two rivers and next to an airstrip for all your smuggling needs. If you were going to smuggle something it would be bacon. The doom-cloud has gone, so don't delay. I can send you the co-ordinates, or you could just keep an eye out for a hundred and twenty tents and a lot of exceptional behaviour.