Glastonbury, by mistake
A quick - a very quick - visit to Glastonbury.
After my visit to the nature reserve at Ham Wall, I thought I might head to Glastonbury in search of a pot of tea, since, with Glastonbury Tor on the skyline, it seemed unlikely I would get lost again. Another big mistake. Glastonbury is a Tourist Hell. Absolutely heaving with visitors.
Along the colourful main drag: high class, serious establishments selling witchcraft supplies next to shops selling neo-pagan plastic tourist tat, and shops selling hippy clothing, from whose doorways the scent of incense knocks you over as you pass. Tarot readings. Wiccan B&Bs. Buskers playing in the streets. Buskers with amps, so there is no escaping their music, no matter how fast you walk.
£6 to pay for 4 hours car parking! £12.10 to visit the Abbey ruins!
At the time, I was not impressed. But thinking about it now, this is exactly how Glastonbury should be. Back in the days of the Abbey, the town would have been all about relieving the pilgrims of their money, and so today, alternative Glastonbury is all about relieving the pilgrims of their money. I just approached Glastonbury with the wrong frame of mind. Not as a pilgrim, glad of the common bustle of the pilgrimage business, but as someone in search of a quiet, ordinary place to enjoy a pot of tea.
I am perhaps a little prejudiced against the town, because it failed to provide me with a pot of over-priced tea. There was a very traditional-looking tea room along the high street, with a sign advertising outdoor seating in a courtyard. But when I went in and asked to be seated outside, I was directed to the end of a very long alley beside the tea room, to where there were a scattering of tables and chairs outside the open door of a hair salon. I was informed that someone would come and take my order. No-one came. In the hair salon, a hairdresser and customer were discussing intimate health issues. I escaped. Left Glastonbury much disappointed, having failed to find the Holy Grail a nice pot of tea.