What do you want?

The extraordinary explosion in the popularity of sitting in soggy pasture and listening to a band you heard on BBC 6 Music once means that every whim is catered for, whether it’s fancy dress and a play area for children, an arms-aloft Wonderwall sing-along or stand-up comedy, organic cider and performance poetry. So consider your interests, and consider them well in advance. Festivals are catching up with fashion in the forward-planning stakes, so it’s likely that you will have already booked for this summer a year ago. Large, established shindigs such as Reading/Leeds, T in the Park and V are at the pricier end of the ticket scale, but they’re so experienced at getting muddy throngs worked up into a frenzy that you’re unlikely to encounter any of the problems that can strike the smaller, newer, cheaper affairs. Running out of beer, the logistical upset of having only 10 Portaloos for 20,000 people, having the bands finish at 2am but failing to organise transport or accommodation until 8am, or just a simple last-minute cancellation owing to “unforeseen circumstances”, such as that international megastar headliner being quite expensive, actually — they’ve all happened, and recently. On the other hand, some tiny festivals pack more atmosphere into their cow shed than big guns can cram into a main arena. Oxford’s Truck has the atmosphere of a mini Glastonbury. It even got rained off in 2007 to get into the spirit of things. Of course, rain is a constant worry on our gloomy isle, so consider a trip abroad. Serbia’s Exit celebrates its 10th anniversary with Arctic Monkeys and Lily Allen, and Romania’s B’estfest has the Killers and Franz Ferdinand. Both charge far less for tickets than the UK behemoths, with a notable lack of £5 pints. While you’re there, you might learn the Romanian for “Thank you, but a jester hat is not a necessary aid to my enjoyment of this event”.

How will you live?

Is a basic standard of living tied into your enjoyment of a weekend of music and, optimistically, sun? I met someone last week who went to Glastonbury in 2005, the year the camp sites were wiped out by flash floods. “It wouldn’t have been so bad,” she mused, clearly still scarred, “but I’d been there for six days before the festival even started, so I was already miserable.” The lesson? Pace yourself. And don’t pitch your tent next to a river. Or the toilets. Or floodlights.

Or the car park. Or the cast of Hollyoaks. I’ve tried them all. If camping really isn’t for you (and there’s no shame in that), then you could try one of the wonderful All Tomorrow’s Parties weekenders, which take place roughly three times a year at a Butlins holiday camp. Not only do you get bemused redcoats mingling with earnest Sonic Youth fans, the chalet accommodation means you also get a kitchen, a bed and a bathroom that isn’t shared with several thousand other people. Where reliving Hi-De-Hi! isn’t an option, there are still plenty of tent alternatives — rentable pods and seaside shacks make a happy medium at Glastonbury, most sites will let you bring in a caravan for a few extra quid, and if you choose a festival that’s within walking distance of a town centre, such as Reading, or London’s Wireless, you can cheat and stay in a hotel, like the bands do. I once shared a lift with Frank Black and Kim Deal. I’m a big Pixies fan. I didn’t say a word and they didn’t acknowledge my presence, but still — the Pixies! In a lift!

Getting through the day

By this stage, you’re where you need to be and you have shelter. Well done. You are a rock’n’roll Bear Grylls. Now you must get through the day. The first step to festival zen is to accept that you will not see all of the bands. Sometimes you may only see three, because you have been distracted by the Butlins waterslides. That’s okay, too. Pick the acts you’d give your wellies to witness and shoot for the stars, but remember that part of the fun is finding something new and unexpected: Dockers MC stormed Latitude with her poetry set last year. Honestly. And she’s doing it again this year, so make a point of seeing her.

Remember, too, that while eating is important, this is a time of fiscal crisis, and most festival food is inflated by roughly 1375%, so unless you cannot live without an unidentifiable meat patty in a stale bun with some grey things that might be onions, don’t forget the beans. And bring a bike pump. Inflatable furniture (rain-friendly and surprisingly comfortable, but never, ever bring it home) might not look that big, but unless you’ve got the lungs of a free diver, it will take you three experimental math-rock sets to blow it up.

Style and comfort

Yes, Lily Allen looked sweet when she dressed up in that dinosaur all-in-one at Glastonbury, but you can bet she didn’t have to negotiate the drop-toilets of the masses in it. It did, however, make her easy to spot in a crowd and saved a good few quid in “Wer RU?xxx” texts from her friends. The key to festival style is to realise that when you’ve pitched up with three other people in a £30 one-man pop-up tent, and you daren’t use the showers because somebody pooed in them on the first night, the benchmark for looking good is lowered. As long as you remember wellies, some sort of rain mac and sunscreen, you’ll be fine. Just resist buying anything that seems like a good idea after several hours of daytime drinking. That means a hemp cardigan, hoodies with rude slogans on and T-shirts spelt “Redding and Lieds”.

The backstage myth

Covering festivals for music rags means I’ve ended up with a wide array of backstage passes. One year I bagged an AAA, the holy grail, which got me into every single area. Want to know what I saw in this mysterious land? Someone from Snow Patrol who wasn’t the singer, a naked newsreader, a handful of Big Brother evictees and several paparazzi-friendly “starlets” who complained that they had to pay for their beer like everyone else. The only reason for begging, stealing or borrowing a backstage pass is that if you manage to get through into the artists’ area — which usually requires another level of wristband entirely, quite possibly made of gold and hand-loomed silk — then the lavatories have soap and sometimes still flush after two days. That’s it. Don’t believe the backstage hype. Stay out front, where your view is better and the people are nicer. And that’s it. You’re all set. Pack wisely, play nicely and enjoy your summer of festival love.

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