The fortnight leading up to the festival was among the most stressful and exhausting of my life. Short version: the place I thought was going to be my new home was withdrawn from the market on the day I made my formal offer for the pre-agreed amount; my plan B turned out to have hidden deal-breakers; and when I viewed my plan C, I discovered that the seller had decided to take the best offer by 5pm that day … and I got to view it at 4.43pm. And that’s skipping a whole lot of steps. What should have been a simple ‘Here’s my best and final offer, let me know’ deal on what became my preferred flat instead turned into some fast-and-furious negotiation, complete with an agent who went AWOL in the middle of it.

Suffice it to say that by the time the festival rolled around, if I hadn’t already been booked into it, I would happily have stayed home and spent the entire weekend sleeping. But I had a wonderful time last year, and suspected this would be the same. It was indeed, and turned out to be the perfect antidote …