It’s a simple equation: rain + field + hundreds of pairs of feet = big mud. Festival organisers kindly try to mop it up a bit by chucking a few handfuls of straw at the problem every now and again. The straw usually has a good laugh at them and floats to the surface of the puddles.

The irritating, sloppy, oozy stuff gets everywhere. Even the cleanest amongst us will find muck in our tent, in our hair, on our clothes, and wherever else you care to imagine. Yes, even there.