From womanist pottery to palm reading, it was a glorious cross section of Glastonbury strays, Gen Z astrologers and lost-looking cider drinkers. It fell somewhere between a busy afternoon in Waitrose and The Wicker Man, which is not to disparage. The only thing I regretted was missing the ley line activation ritual, and that was because I was stuck in the Tarot queue, burdened with questions about the next few weeks of Premier League football.
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