Glastonbury Day One: See You In VIP Suckers!

Yesterday team Noisey set off down the M4 to the only festival that we actually care about. Aiming to pack light, we just brought a few key essentials.

We chucked that in the back of a van and set off down the M4. No sleep till the Gordano service station!

For reasons too dry to explain we set up camp by the Leftfield stage. One of the advantages of this was we managed to skip the most horrific part of Glastonbury, walking to your campsite with a sack full of Fosters and Soreen malt loaf on your back. We were escorted across the site in a van as people walking through rain and mud flicked us evils.

As we dropped off our bags, Billy Bragg, the festival's lefty overlord, walked over and said "Welcome to Glastonbury! I'm sure you'll have a great time! Tent inspections are at 0900, beds must be made, sheets folded. Roll call is at 0901." It was a bit like that Simpsons episode where Tony Blair greets each individual family coming to London, only real.

Things got weirder when it turned out we were camping next to Labour MP and @NoiseyMusic follower Tom Watson. Here he is trying to put up his tent.

At this point I should point out that our Noisey photographer has gone AWOL, so while we hope to bring you beautiful shots of wasted ravers back-lit by bonfires and daybreak later in the weekend, at the moment you're going to have to deal with crap, shyly taken, wrong orientation, out-of-focus photos taken on my festival phone. SORRY GUYS.

Eventually we got all our shit together and made it over to the WOW tent to try and see Zebra Katz. Fat fucking chance. It was about 40 rows streaming out the tent from every direction. What the hell? I mean I know it's Thursday night and there's not much on but Zebra Katz, everyone's favourite pro/faux homo-horror rapper? Is he the new Tinie Tempah now? Is he going to do a song with Tulisa? What's going on UK?

We go and get a drink instead, only to discover that four Jagerbombs and four pints cost almost £50. Sorry future children, looks like you won't get to go to university after all. A few drinks later we feel invincible enough to push right to the front of the WOW stage. We see T-Williams play a set of brash bassy house, which includes an oddly brilliant footwork mix of Basement Jaxx's "Red Alert". Up next, is Eats Everything, the aptly-named rotund party boy that keeps us feeling good. And then, LOLOCAUST, it's Fatboy Slim, playing a secret three-hour party set just for the jokes of it.

To get a sense of our state of togetherness at this point, have a look at these excellent photos we thought we were taking:

It's pretty funny, watching one of the biggest DJs in the world, gurning across the turntables in the manner of a dad doing an impression of "all this repetitive nonsense music that you hear nowadays". And honestly, everyone was having a pretty top notch time. At one point two guys in Daft Punk masks came out and dropped "Get Lucky" and everyone lost their shit. I'm pretty sure the actual Daft Punk wouldn't take a featured spot in the DJ set of a man who produced a Rizzle Kicks single, but maybe it was the real them (editor's note: while no photographic evidence exists yet it was rumoured to be wife Zoe Ball and her mate #disappointed.)

Then I went back to the tent, had a shower, covered my balls in talcum powder and went to sleep. Until tomorrow.

Follow Sam on Twitter @samwolfson