I haven’t been this preoccupied by a packing list since my first baby’s hospital bag ten years ago. Then it was a question of one muslin or two; now I’m obsessing over bum bags, phone lanyards and whether I’m too old for a crop top.
Glastonbury kicks off this week and — I still can’t believe I’m saying this — I’m going. I’ll be joining the bright young things surging through those gates as a 44-year-old mother of two whose last festival experience was a Rock FM gig in a field near Preston in 1995. And so almost as soon as the delight at winning the ballot wears off, the dilemma of what to wear sets in.
When I ask for advice from my stylist