FESTIVAL season is well and truly upon us, and so begins in me the eternal conflict: “I wish I was going to one.” versus “Oh, but the reality...”. Since I first went to Glastonbury aged 17 with my four best friends I've romanticised and demonised music festivals in equal measure.

The incredible feel of this weird, wild and wonderful community in the middle of the countryside. But also feeling completely overwhelmed by the sheer scale.

The Levellers at dusk with didgeridoo player synching us in with all people throughout the ages - waking with squinting eyes, dehydrated and with a touch of sunstroke at first light.

The fresh air and wide open spaces - the exact opposite of the inside of a Portaloo.

Getting back to nature - the fact we pitched under a pylon and kept getting electric shocks from the tent pole. And so on… It is mind-boggling how many music festivals there are now - from the tip of Cornwall to the Scottish Highlands.

Love Box, Shakedown, Boom Bap, Redfest, Deer Shed, Tartan Heart, Glass Butter, Leopallooza and the Vicar's Picnic.

And those are just the ones I've mentioned because I like the sound of the words together.

Specialising in metal, vintage or cider - ones where you can bring your scooter; another which incorporates the start of the Tour de France; 'the north-east's largest 70s outdoor music festival'; 'south Somerset's first ever tribute band festival'.

The specificity is incredible.

Just up the road we have our very own Larmer Tree Festival in two weeks’ time, which has really blossomed over the years and is this year headlined by Sir Tom Jones.

I've never been before, but am hoping I haven't left it too late this year, as friends tell me it's one of the nicest festivals they have been to.

Additionally it has not only won Best Family Festival at the UK Festival awards, but also Best Toilets. I'm sold.