Glastonbury? No thanks, this festival sums up everything that’s wrong with modern culture

The perceived joy of hundreds of thousands of people all photographing and filming each other and every performer on their phones; the delight of sleeping in lines of tents which look not dissimilar to those set up in disaster zones; and a strict class system, based on how much visitors are willing to pay to kip down in a field

Faced with the grim prospect of more pictures of Jeremy Hunt eating (he’s certainly covered the waterfront, from chips to milkshakes to ice creams) or Boris posing, Mussolini-style, in front of a Union Jack, the media has gone mad for Glasto.

Every day this week we’ve been drip-fed breathless pap about the world’s biggest get-together, from news about a fire-spewing crane named Spider that’s powered with chip fat to the challenge facing sign language interpreters tasked with deciphering Stormzy.

Kylie is said to be ‘tearful’ about her return this Sunday, 14 years after she was diagnosed with breast cancer; the first wedding has already taken place, and Robert Smith of The Cure promises he won’t be playing “gloomy” music.