What's the difference between Glastonbury and Wilderness? Apart from a posh loo, not much at all

The loos at Wilderness festival are probably nicer than the ones in my own home, which is not to say that I live in squalor, but rather that the organisers are acutely aware of the needs of their clientele and what it takes to convince them that standing in several fields in Oxfordshire for hours on end is a fun thing to do.

You can tell a lot about a festival by its loos. At Wilderness, they smell like hope. At Glastonbury, they smell like a Premier Cru of thousands of hours of bad decisions that have been left to brew in the sun for days, because that’s exactly what’s in them. What unites them isn’t necessarily music, but graffiti. Glastonbury is scrawled with diatribes of capitalist downfall, struggle and injustice. At Wilderness, we are asked to support trans rights, while also being informed that ‘Erin Figg is a [sic] wart hog’. No matter the location, lineup or ‘curated fine-dining experience’, creativity will always manifest itself on the walls of a cubicle in marker pen.

I’ve been going to music festivals since I was 16 and, regrettably, I am now 33. In the fields of Reading, Pilton, Oxfordshire, Powys, Essex and Suffolk, I have found every slice of society, split open and presented like a geode and all usually worse for wear. I have seen people in a shade of pink that would make Chappell Roan blush. I have seen people slide through the mud like Uruk-hai. And in between it all, people having fun in the countryside.

The pinnacle of it all, of course, is in Somerset. The Glastonbury Festival of Contemporary Performing Arts, to give it its full name, has been a cornerstone of the British summer experience since 1970, when Michael Eavis invited 1,500 people to his farm for the princely sum of £1 each. Since then, it has grown into one of the largest and best festivals on the planet, with 200,000 attendees, prime-time coverage on the BBC and the biggest names in music, comedy and theatre. It is, to use a well-flogged cliché, like nowhere else on earth.

That being said, while it is for everyone, it is not for everyone. As discussed, the loos are diabolical. Showers exist, but require an early start and queueing, which is not conducive to a cider-induced hangover. There are very few trees, plenty of dust and, if it’s been raining, plenty of mud. Agoraphobes will find the seething mass of humanity that ping pongs around the 1,500 acres overwhelming and everyone smells bad and is on drugs. Despite the almost bi-annual presence of Coldplay, it is understandably not everyone’s cup of tea.

Wilderness Festival, in Cornbury Park, Oxfordshire, exists in stark contradiction to the ethos of Glastonbury. It is a festival, in that it exists outside, in the summer, and there is music and cider. But that is just about where the similarities end. Rather than a dusty field in Somerset, we are in gorgeous Cotswolds parkland. Instead of burrito bowls and Somersby Cider, we are treated to curated dining experiences, champagne and craft ales. Where Glastonbury is a sea of ravaged Argos tents that stretches for miles in every direction, Wilderness is the very definition of ‘glamping’, with amenities that would make most hotels blush. It is a festival in the way that an armadillo is a basketball: it’s round and you can probably bounce one, but that’s about where the similarities end.

There are plenty out there who might suggest that Wilderness is not a ‘real’ festival. That it does not eschew the values of peace and love that were the guiding ethos of the Sixties and manifested themselves at institutions such as Glastonbury and Woodstock. It is too ‘corporate’, they would say, pointing at headline sponsorships with Audi and charging stations provided by Vodafone (pointing out that Glastonbury is also sponsored by Vodafone would be a churlish thing to do, so I won’t). Perhaps they have a point. Wilderness is very much a polished version of the festival experience, made for those who enjoy the finer things in life and want to let their hair down a little (but not too much, and have access to a shower and drier the very next morning). When I visited last year, the headliners were Air and Orbital; it would be strange to imagine a world where Kneecap would command a crowd in this part of rural England. In the crowd, which was busy but polite, young mothers and fathers without a speck of mud on them bobbed their heads, often clutching young children to their chest with noise-cancelling headphones offering protection.

Outside of the music, vintage clothing shops with eyebrow-raising prices are eagerly browsed by attendees who are feeling underdressed. There is plenty of glitter and facepaint. In one corner is an adults-only area called ‘The Riddle’, where entry is granted only on the condition that the camera of your phone is covered by a sticker. What was to be found beyond the door? A writhing mass of hedonistic flesh and oil? Ritual sacrifice? A little bit of both? Alas, it was just another DJ and a cocktail bar, where be-chinoed people reclined on sofas and beanbags and discussed KPIs. If it’s true that the elites of our society are engaging in some Eyes Wide Shut-style behaviour while playing with the weather, disappointingly, they aren’t doing it here. Instead, my dinner is prepared in the Audi Haven by Masterchef Monica Galletti and it is fabulous. Delightful cuts of beef and freshly cooked vegetables. What Wilderness lacks in free love it makes up for in fibre.

Now this all might make you consider whether Wilderness is a festival, or a rally for some of the most annoying people on earth. The truth is simpler, which is that it is both, and so is every festival in the country. Everywhere you go, whether it be Somerset or Oxfordshire, will be replete with people who take life too seriously. At Glastonbury, it can be hard to move for people who yearn to show you their crystals and who simply must take a bath. At Wilderness, it is Hugos from the world of finance and real estate, performatively reading the Guardian. At their essence, they are gatherings of people who want to drink too much, listen to live music, and write screeds on portaloos. The only difference is that the ones in Oxfordshire flush and haven’t run out of roll.

If there is a spectrum of festivalness, Wilderness and Glastonbury can be found at almost opposite ends. The music is better in Somerset, but the food and scenery is better in Oxfordshire. Choose your poison. All you can guarantee is that you will likely be sharing it with irritating people, but that is the contract we sign when we are a part of a rich and diverse society.

That we have such a rich exposition of culture and that it can cater to everyone is something to celebrate. Imagine if all the Hugos went to Glastonbury? What if Cornbury Park was infiltrated by people with hair on their feet? How pleasing it is to have a seemingly endless à la carte menu of music and venues and elite catering that we can choose from at will. The countryside is a rich and varied place, and the wealth of festival experiences on offer is just another example.

It could be worse, it could be Coachella, where Instagram rules supreme and the idea of dust and dirt is avoided like a live hand-grenade. Whatever we might think about each other, at least we aren’t Them.