Blaise Tapp: Festival time is here and we are heading for the garden

​It’s the same every time; from Friday through to late Sunday evening, the only thing on our telly or our too-smart-for-its-own-good-speaker is coverage of the goings on at a farm in rural Somerset.It doesn’t matter whether it’s 30-odd degrees at the Pyramid Stage or the mud at Worthy Farm is thigh deep, the mood at ours is always the same - oddly calm and one of the few occasions when there aren’t demands to turn over to something less boring.We don’t go overboard - we don’t dig out the string of garden lanterns from the shed or don the bucket hats that have seen far better days - we have the coverage on for the best part of 72 hours and, if it takes our fancy, we will sit down with a brew or something a bit stronger and take it all in.The appeal has always been the same: the only chance to watch some of the biggest names, along with acts you’ve never heard of, perform in the same place over the course of one weekend.The only difference these days is that if Aitch or Lewis Capaldi aren’t your thing the red button will immediately transport you to a session with Lana Del Ray or Yusuf.While there have been times when I regret not being among the 200,000 pilgrims who have gathered in the South West - sets in recent years from The Cure and the excellent Sam Fender immediately spring to mind - I’m more than happy that I’m able to watch it within reaching distance of a tub of Pringles.The benefits of camping out in your living room include not having your view obscured by the backside of some attention seeker on their boyfriend’s shoulders and, of course, not having to queue to use a toilet that has already been used by 1,000 other people that day.While we haven’t ruled out ever doing Glastonbury for real, I’m told that the only way we would go as a family is if we could hire one of those really posh camper vans with a proper, flushable loo and if I could guarantee sunshine for the five days.

Whatever the weather this weekend, I’ll be kidding myself, once again, that my music tastes are cutting edge when really all I want to see is Axl Rose from Guns N’ Roses belt out Sweet Child O’ Mine.