Burger Queen

Essential training for Glastonbury involves mucho hangovers and cravings for junk food, so not only did we take Ash’s Charlotte to a food stall, we put her behind the counter for some service with a smile. It’s long, it’s floppy and there’s sauce dribbling out of it. Frankly, the last time we saw anything quite so phallic, it was bobbing somewhat controversially between the lips of Ash’s singer, Tim Wheeler, in their big-black-strap-on-sucking “Numbskull” video. Appropriate enough, then, that Ash’s guitarist, Charlotte Hatherley, shouldn’t be quite so keen to pop this particular meaty truncheon into her gob. “I hate hot dogs!” she squeals, blushing red enough to match the ketchup she’s somehow managed to decorate her stall with.

What stall? The stall in a secret Central London location, where The Maker’s managed to find Charlotte gainful employment for the afternoon, selling fast food to innocent punters as a kind of immersion therapy for the gastric Golgotha that is Glastonbury. “I think the owners of the stall might be a bit upset about that,” sniggers Charlotte afterwards, as we flee the cabin for a nearby pub. “I keep breaking their sausages. I always do that!”

Have you ever worked in the catering industry before? “Um, no,” grins Charlotte, now happily seated with a perfectly cooked plate of pub grub sausage n’ mash. “I think I’d make a big hash of it if I did - and I’d be far too tempted to spit in annoying peoples food!” Our enquiries as to whether Charlotte is a good cook have already met with hysterical laughter from her friends (including one whispered revelation that “she only learnt to peel an onion about a year ago!”) So we’ll take it as read that Charlotte will have to stand on the customer side of Glastonbury’s many foodie outlets. Not that she’s especially looking forward to it, you understand…

“But what else can you do?” she shudders. “Your worst bet’s anything to do with meat, so I suppose I’d just go for a vegetable curry or something. Although that may play havoc with your belly and that’s the last thing you want, considering the festivals toilets. They’re disgusting, especially when they’re overflowing with curries. Don’t people tip them over, too? I heard a story that some girl actually drowned once at [Undisclosed British festival - legal Ed], in one of the big cesspits they’d dug out.” No way. “Yeah, apparently. She drowned in all the piss and shit.” Surely that would’ve been on the news, Charlotte. “I think it was a cover -up,” she frowns. “Maybe they should have covered the pit up!”

Of course, there’s a simple alternative to buying food at Glastonbury, even if there’s no known alternative to the toilets, bar crossing your legs and praying. It’s a very rural place, Charlotte. You could always do a spot of foraging. “Really?” she asks. “I’ve never actually been. Have they got big fields there?” Oh yes. And cows. “Cows? Well, there you go, then - in the dead of the night, go and shoot some of Michael Eavis’ cows! Lug ’em back to your tent, drag ’em on top of your camper stove and enjoy. Hmmm, beautiful! A big, festering cow - delicious!”

Ah, the good old cooking-your-own option, eh? Of course, after her hot-dog-mangling antics, Charlotte’s not entirely convinced by the prospect of preparing one’s own grub. “To be honest,” she shrugs, “who the fuck would go to all that effort? I certainly wouldn’t! I’d probably end up setting my tent of fire. Still, you’d be able to make a decent fry-up, I suppose: sausages, bacon, eggs, hash browns, beans, spaghetti.” Perfect hangover food, right? “Actually, I always find it really helps if you eat a big lump of cheese before you go to bed. Apparently, cheese is supposed to give you nightmares, but not when you’re that far gone! So go and find some festival cheese, kids.” She pauses to munch through the last of her sausages, then looks up and giggles. “Grate some cheese onto the cow!”

By Robin Bresnark