A Glastonbury adventure with Led Zeppelin, Lana del Rey, drug dealers – and my son

‘Charlie. E. Powder,’ said the friendly, helpful man working his way through the crowd during the mindblowing Friday-night headline set by the American dubstep DJ Skrillex. I looked wistfully at his man-bag of chemical  enhancers. Skrillex was good. Maybe the best electronic act I’ve seen in 24 years of Glastonburies. (‘Slivers of mutant dancehall, booty house, Daft Punk arpeggios and big pop choruses, all mangled into oblivion with his signature sub-bass wobbles,’ as the Guardian’s critic so rightly put it.) But imagine just how much more trippy that Transformers light show would look if…‘Dad?’ said Boy, next to me. ‘I’m really tired. Can we go soon?’

Yes. There comes a time in every father’s life where he has to put away youthful irresponsibility and pass on the baton to the next generation. Even if it does mean missing the apparently incredible bit at the end where Skrillex’s console spectacularly transformed itself from a sort of dinosaur spaceship into a ginormous metallic mask, the like of which Dad will probably never see again before he dies.