We were more than a little bit heartbroken to miss our friends' micro-festival last weekend. Ted got sick, then it spread through the house. But by Saturday, we all felt well enough for a day trip, so we headed to Glastonbury.
After a potter about in the magic shops of the town itself and a very lentil-y lunch, we donned wellies and waterproofs and headed up the hill to the Tor. It's a steep old climb to the top, but such an adventure.
As we climbed, the clouds darkened and rumbles of thunder echoed across the valley. The wind picked up and flashes of lightning blazed through the sky but, miraculously, we stayed dry. The children were thrilled by everything, emerging at the top triumphant.
Among the crowds, we found a patch of grass to sit and break open the Fruit Pastilles. We people-watched, our favourite Tor-ist being the goth reading aloud and applying copious amounts of factor 50 to her neck. And we told tales of Avalon; when you're six years old and your name is Arthur, legends of ancient kings are about the most exciting stories in the world.