My first festival was Reading at 16. I took virtually nothing, slept in the back of a van crammed with friends, and didn’t care one bit. That was the beauty of youth – the music came first, everything else was just background noise.
There was Windsor Free, when the police swooped in. A day at Knebworth where we missed the last train and slept on the grass outside the station. Back then, discomfort was part of the adventure.
By ’92, I was at Glastonbury with two small children, explaining the chaos around us between stages. I kept our clothes in one carefully packed bag, promptly stolen, as often happened at Glasto in those days.
Then life shifted. For a while, festivals were replaced by folk gatherings – songs around campfires, dancing and the kind of community that comes from shared music. Eventually I made my way back to the big ones – Creamfields, Bestival, The Big Chill, Festival No 6, Rockness, Bearded Theory, Beautiful Days, V! and Nozstock, Blissfields – sometimes ten a year.
What gets me most is dance music I can feel – beats that vibrate through my body so I’m not dancing to impress anyone, I’m just letting the music take over. But I love big headliners too, the kind you can lose yourself in completely. Festivals make that possible. You’re surrounded by people who, like you, don’t mind the mess or the mud. Conversations spring up easily – not the “what did you think of this band?” small talk, but the real, anything-goes kind that festival settings seem to invite.
Of course, there are always the fashion-focused. I remember a wet Creamfields where I’d dressed for the weather, while young women in pristine UGG boots (the furry ones) struggled ankle-deep in mud the next day. My own festival kit has evolved – I still recall the moment I spotted someone at End of the Road in a huge military-style poncho made to fit over both a soldier and their rucksack. Genius. When it’s wet, it keeps you and your chair dry – because yes, sometimes I sit down these days, especially between bands.
Now, I also tend to leave before the bitter end. I’ve learned the hard way that slipping out early can mean the difference between a calm journey home and hours stuck in a car park. It’s not just age – it’s practicality.
Why Older People Still Go
At nearly 68, people sometimes ask me why I still go to festivals. Isn’t it too tiring? Too young a crowd? Too much mud?
The truth is, it’s not just nostalgia that keeps me going, it’s curiosity. Festivals give me a sense of vitality I don’t find anywhere else. They’re one of the few places where you can stumble across something entirely new and fall in love with it on the spot.
Yes, there’s joy in seeing heritage acts and re-living old favourites, but for me, the real magic is in discovery. I’ll skip the main stage if there’s a BBC Introducing tent nearby, because that’s where you find the bands, you’ll be telling your friends about in five years’ time.
A few years ago, at a small festival near Ross-on-Wye, the main stage was full of bands playing covers. The other stage, however, was bursting with new music – and that’s where I first heard Marissa and The Moths and Two Year Break. Both are now firm favourites I’ll travel to see whenever I can. That kind of connection simply doesn’t happen from streaming alone.
The Joy of House Music
While I love to bop or sway near the stage (earplugs firmly in place), I truly come alive in the dance tent. At the most recent festival, Dave Pearce, Seb Fontaine, and Paul Oakenfold played belting sets — and I danced like no one was watching, because the teenagers were just standing around talking. The bass thumping through my body makes me feel electric, fully present, and grateful to be there. And, surprisingly, dancing is much easier on my body than standing still.
This year I went to three festivals, each very different.
2000 Trees – just seven miles from home – is like a friendlier version of Download. I camped, because staying over is part of the experience. The crowd was all ages, the atmosphere warm. Two fields with alternating main stages, a forest stage, music until 11pm, then silent discos with the same kind of beats we’d heard all day. Even the campsite had unamplified sets from festival artists. Security was relaxed – you could take your own beer into the arena – and it felt like a community.
Silver Sky was more about talks and experiences than music. Interesting, but I realised I missed the pulse of live bands and the joy of dancing until my legs ached.
Lakefest was bigger and sold as family-friendly, but the atmosphere couldn’t have been more different from 2000 Trees. Huge campervan-style chairs dominated the arena, making it hard to move around. Security was tight – bags searched every time; no alcohol allowed in – and it felt more commercially driven.
The Challenges for Older Attendees
Of course, festivals aren’t as easy at 60-plus as they were at 40.
Long hours on your feet.
Trudging across fields to reach a stage.
Toilets and showers that are functional at best.
Crowds that can shift from convivial to chaotic in the space of one spilled pint.
And there’s the reality that camping isn’t as forgiving on older bodies. I can still manage it, but I’ve learned to pack a chair, earplugs, and a torch that actually works.
What Promoters Could Do Better
If festivals want to attract more older people, they could consider:
Creating proper seating areas with good sightlines.
Making accessibility routes clear and usable.
Offering quiet zones for those who want the music without the mayhem.
Mixing headliners with smaller acts to keep the programme fresh.
Allowing single-day tickets for those who can’t or don’t want to camp.
These aren’t just “nice extras” — they are changes that make festivals more inclusive without dampening the atmosphere.
There is the option of VIP and glamping which addresses some of these needs.
Keeping Curiosity Alive
For me, festivals are about keeping that spark of curiosity alive. They’re one of the few places where I still feel the thrill of the unexpected, turning a corner and hearing a voice, a guitar riff, or a beat that makes me stop in my tracks.
Older people don’t just go to festivals to relive our youth. We go because there’s still music to discover, conversations to have, and moments to share; whether it’s dancing in the mud or sitting in the sun with a cold drink, watching something new unfold on stage.
That’s what keeps me coming back. Not just the big names, but the small tents and side stages where the future is playing, right in front of you.
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