That evening we were disturbed by loud music coming, so it seemed, from somewhere nearby. Was it one of the other units on site? Or one of the very few nearby houses? We couldn't tell. But we were tired and irritable after a long day's drive from Wales, and were therefore more than a little irked. After about an hour or so I realised that pretty much everything we heard had been a song by The Kinks.
"Can't be a party," said I, "Not unless they're all massive Kinks fans,"
"Could it," I suggested, "be a Kinks tribute band rehearsal?
Mrs Snail was unconvinced. The music ended about half past ten, followed by muffled bangs that could only be fireworks some indeterminate distance away.
The mystery was finally solved the following morning when - on the way to somewhere else - we drove through Glastonbury. On the hedge that surrounds the ruins of Glastonbury Abbey in the centre of town was a MASSIVE hoarding advertising that "The legendary Ray Davis and his band" had been playing there the night before.
So. Not the actual Kinks, but certainly the most authentic Kinks tribute band there ever was...
And what that did was give me a huge amount of empathy for the people of this part of Somerset when the legendary festival takes place. Our little camp site** was seven miles or so away from the concert, and we could hear it pretty clearly. Now, add another three stages to that. For the festival revellers on site, I imagine the noise from the stage they're watching drowns out the noise from the nearby stages. Can you imagine the cacophony they must be able to hear from a distance though? And that goes on all day!
And suddenly I realise that I sound like a grumpy old git.
Not talking about the festival today though. Or the Abbey - that's getting it's own post. As is the magnificent Glastonbury Tor, No, today I want to talk about the town itself, which is unlike any place we have ever been before. Comedian Mark Steel, on visiting "Glasto"* for his Radio Four comedy show "Mark Steele's in town" remarked along the lines of "Glastonbury high street, eh? You want to re-align your chakras or pick up a dream catcher you're well in, but god help you if you only want a pint of milk!"
He was wrong, as it happens, there's a convenience store just over the road from the Abbey car park (OK, so that's not technically the High Street), and an "Organic Superstore" at the far end.
But he wasn't far wrong...
Now. Before we go any further, we need to get something clear. At no point in the rest of this post will I be deliberately mocking anyone for anything. Not their beliefs, not their dress sense, nothing. I will be pointing out things that seemed funny at the time. To be honest, the joke, if joke there is, is mostly on us. No disrespect is intended to anyone.*** That's not how we roll here at Snail Towers.
The High Street in Glastonbury runs, more or less, from the market place, up hill, ending outside the "Bag End Grow Shop" (which yes, sells all the things you're imagining it sells) where it forms a "T" junction with Wells Road (it goes to Wells, astonishingly enough) and Lambrook Street.
In some ways it's like any other High Street in the UK. There's a Post Office, a couple of pubs, some coffee shops, some restaurants, the usual smattering of charity shops, a church. Everything you'd expect really. But this is truly a High Street like no other. Having wandered up and down identikit main streets in towns across these Sceptred Isles past identikit chain stores and chain restaurants I have to say, Glastonbury was immensely refreshing.
So, let's start in the market place - which I have to say is pretty small. Indeed, used as we are to the kind of spacious market squares in Yorkshire market towns such as Ripon, Richmond and Masham (and of course personally I'm from Doncaster - a town which does an exceptional market) we didn't even notice that is was the market square - the only reason I know now is because I looked at a map before writing this up.
Still, the square (which was more of a triangle if I recall correctly) marks the point where Magdalene Street bends around to the right to seamlessly become the High Street. To the left you will see the impressive stone facade of the George and Pilgrim which has sat, in some form or other, at "Number One, the High Street" since the fifteenth century. It is, in fact, the oldest working pub in the south west - and given that it's been trading for close on five hundred years must be a serious contender for one of the oldest businesses of any kind. These days it's part of a chain and, in addition to a bar and restaurant it offers fourteen rooms for guests. We didn't eat there on this occasion, and of course we didn't stay there, but it looks nice - suitably old and authentic - and the Trip Adviser Reviews are largely positive.
It adds a little obvious age to the start of this genuinely ancient street which now stretches out ahead of you, crammed with cafes, restaurants, little alternative clothes shops, book shops, places to buy occult paraphernalia, fancy soap, you name it.
And you won't recognise any of them.
It's an absolute joy.
Crossing the street we ducked into a little shop selling crystals and stones. As we entered, a pair of middle-aged women dressed as if for a WI meeting were leaving, a random snatch of their conversation hanging in the air behind them:
"...I really must go and have a coffee and something to eat - I'm just resonating with everything in here..."
Mrs Snail and I smiled wryly to each other - what else would you expect in Glastonbury after all?
We explored the shop, which appeared, entirely predictably, to be much bigger on the inside, with back rooms appearing apparently from nowhere, crammed full of beautiful crystals and polished stones. Some are clearly for mere decorative purposes but others labelled with detailed instructions regarding their use to cure any number of ailments and ills. I don't believe in crystal healing - although quartz does excellent things inside a watch - but I do believe in really beautiful things, and that little shop was crammed full of so many of them. I could have stayed in there, entranced by the pretty things all day.
It was, however, lunch o'clock and we were keen to find somewhere to eat.
We might have gone back across the road to the George and Pilgrim, but however hungry we were, we have a strict policy of never going straight into the first place we see. Which is how we found ourselves half way up the street outside the impossibly groovy Hundred Monkeys Cafe. With massive plate glass windows looking out onto the street and a small queue made up of people in hemp trousers and dreadlocks alongside a terribly well spoken family in designer jackets suggesting that the place was popular with a wide spectrum of society, we investigated the menu, before joining the queue and being ushered to a table for two in the window.
The thing about this excellent eatery - which is clearly something of a local institution and was so full that it was turning people away within minutes of our arrival - is that it completely understands and reflects the diverse culinary preferences of its clientele. If, like myself, you have a carniverous nature there is an excellent range of meaty and fishy dishes on the menu. If, like Mrs Snail you increasingly eschew meat, there's an equally impressive selection of meat free dishes. If you're a vegan, that most ignored and despised group of diners in the eyes of your average chef? No problem. There's a good range of options for you too.
Because the Hundred Monkeys has a menu that does not descriminate. The bill of fayre is not divided into "sections" based on food preference. Nothing is presented as a vegetarian or vegan "option". Some of the dishes on the menu happen to contain no meat. Some happen to contain no animal products at all. And those latter two options? They're dishes in their own right, not meat free imitations of meals that usually contain meat. It was refreshing.
You're not going to be surprised that I had a burger, made as you might expect from locally sourced organic meat. It was sublime. Mrs Snail was much more original and opted for a "Roasted Peach and Goat's Cheese salad". That was also beyond brilliant.
I love Goat's Cheese, but I confess I was a little suspicious of roasted peaches in a savoury salad. Oh my goodness, but it worked! The peach and the cheese complimented each other beautifully, just the right balance of acidity and mid lactic notes against a well thought out mix of leaves, some fresh, some bitter, some peppery. It was an absolute triumph! There was also loads of it,which is how I know this, because Mrs Snail couldn't finish it all so I got to try!
The real star, however was the Cola.
The Hundred Monkeys is an ethical establishment. As such it has no truck with the evil multinational purveyor of sugar laden fizzy vegetable extract beverage that is the Coca-Cola Company. Which was potentially an issue for me because pretty much the only soft drink I consume is that self same sugar laden fizzy vegetable extract beverage.
With the same sigh that usually accompanies the enforced order of Pepsi I have to make in Pizza Hut**** I opted for the Hundred Monkeys' ethical alternative - "Whole Earth Organic Cola". I didn't have high hopes, expecting something that would taste off, in a "knit your own broccolli" kind of way.
I was wrong.
Very wrong.
It was a revelation.
This was the first non Coca-Cola cola I have ever enjoyed. So much nicer than Coke.
 |
| Wasn't kidding about the queue. And of course there's a VW camper outside... |
Come back next time, and I'll tell you what we saw.
*This, I have been informed by some of the hipper young people of my acquaintance is what all the bright young things call the town. Although they seemed unable to distinguish the town from the festival, so what do they know?
**About which more in a later post... (Probably...)
***In a later post however, I'm going to be incredibly rude about a young woman I met at the top of Glastonbury Tor, because while I have infinite respect for the beliefs of others, I have neither respect nor patience for their pretentions. You'll see what I mean when we get to it...
****Which is owned in part by Pepsico, and so does not offer "The Real Thing".
