Robin Jarvis - Freax and Rejex

Jody tactfully reverted to the previous subject. “I wonder if they’ll even have Glastonbury this year?” she murmured. “I was going to go without them this time, just me and my best mate, before all this happened. If they do have it, it’ll probably be full of mass readings and minstrels and hey nonny nonnying.”

“Do they no have plenty of that there anyway, wi’ all the tree-hugging hippy caper and henna tattoos?”

Jody coughed to disguise her laughter. She’d hugged plenty of trees and had her hands decorated lots of times.

“That’s only a tiny part of it!” she said. “The best, most amazing artists in the world play on those stages. It’s incredible – was incredible.”

Before Alasdair could continue, they were distracted by Marcus emerging from the next cabin. He had changed into a Man United strip and came jogging over.

“Going to do some exercise before turning in,” he addressed the Scottish lad, ignoring Jody. “Want to join me?”

“No, I’m good thanks.”

“Play me something to work out to then!” Marcus called, trotting to the centre of the lawn, sparring with the night air as he hopped from foot to foot.

“I do believe I’d rather catch leprosy,” Alasdair remarked to Jody.

“He’s full of himself that one,” she said.

“Aye, well, that’s probably what’s kept him going. With me, it was my guitar. I dinnae know what I’d have done without it these past months. Takes my mind off it, mostly. How did you manage?”

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