My daughter wants to know why you haven’t heard of the Jayhawks

One of the many delightful aspects of having children is that you can get them to do things you are too old, lazy or important to do yourself. My disinclination to attend any sort of music festival, owing to a distaste for tents, chemical lavatories, mud and other people, has happily not passed down to my daughter, aged 15. Last month she went with a group of like-minded 15-year-olds, and large quantities of cider, to Latitude, which everyone says is much nicer than Glastonbury, if only because it doesn’t sprawl across several counties like a giant upper-middle-class shantytown. (The Guardian published an aerial photo of Glastonbury this year. It looked like Mexico City, only with a higher incidence of red trousers.)

We sent her off with her sleeping bag and 83 changes of clothes, which she thought had been put in the other car, while the people in the other car thought it had been put in her car.