SHE’S well off key, I said as Lady GaGa cavorted on stage at Glastonbury.

"Have we got any more Ginger Crunch and while you’re up, could I have a cup of tea please?" I said from my recumbent position on the sofa.

And then I realised I was an old man. It has been a full 13 years ago since I last went to Glastonbury.

Back then it was all about love, peace and not leaving anything of value in your tent during the day.

I’d travelled there from Nottingham with eight friends in the back of a Land Rover.

Obviously, I couldn’t do that now – no air conditioning, dodgy back and my prostate’s been playing up.

Naturally, we didn’t have tickets, nobody did then – it was all about what you brought to the party (and not getting caught).

As a result of the ticket oversight, we had to park miles away and walk there. Now I rarely walk any farther than my car and feel nervous if I don’t Pay and Display.

Luckily, since everyone else seemed to be climbing the fence, we joined the crowd, and the young man with the security jacket seemed to be just watching helplessly.

At one point, he pleaded: "Awww, come on now, please, you’re supposed to go around the front."