I've finally scraped the mud off my keyboard so I think it's time I wrote about Glastonbury 2007.

I got up at 8am on a Sunday morning and pressed refresh on my computer internet browser a good 17,000 times whilst constantly ringing a ticket hotline for three hours back in April. I still didn't get anywhere near buying a Glastonbury ticket, as the website remained unavailable and the hotline remained engaged.

I thought I wasn't going to get tickets for me and my two friends until another friend rang me up, telling me to ring a girl I'd never met who was on the website and able to buy tickets. Sounds dodgy, I thought, but I was desperate.

"Oh," my friend said before he hung up.

"You need to pretend you're originally from Stoke too."

Fine by me. I was desperate.

In my best Stoke accent I spoke to this friend of a friend of a friend who told us the only tickets available were coach tickets, which I went for.

As the pictures showed, Glastonbury was a complete washout. Mud was everywhere, and you'd spend most of the day wading through slop which was about a foot deep.

We wisely chose to camp at the top of a hill, quite far away from the main stages, but not far away enough to stop the frankly terrible screams of the world's most annoying pop star, Mika, reaching our camp. It meant that unlike several other tents we saw, our tent avoided being swamped in the quagmire.

The highlight for the weekend for me was getting to be at the very front of the crowd for Friday night's headliners, The Arctic Monkeys.

My Dad said on my return: "Did people not mind you being at the front, I mean you are quite tall, could people see?"

There was someone about 937 rows back who tried to attract my attention so see if they could swap places but the terrible thing about these kind of gigs is you can't hold a conversation in them.

Being at the front had its positives. The view was obviously pretty good, and the super friendly security staff gave us pints of water on request. They stopped being super-friendly once we asked them about the possibility of fetching us some pints of beer.

The downside to being at the front was that as crowd surfers and people getting too squashed were pulled out of the crowd, their mud-soaked wellies, jeans, skirts and trainers got dragged across my face. I was on the BBC highlights a number of times but because of my recently shaven head and the amount of mud that I was caked in, I looked like a stockier version of Gollum. What a way to make my TV debut.

We caught a bus home at 1am on Monday morning, in torrential rain. By 7.30am we were back in London, so boarded a commuter-filled tube dressed in wellies, smelly clothes and... mud.

In a way that only London people can. The entire tube carriage stared at us from their copies of Metro.

One man, after several minutes of ogling, plucked up the courage and said: "So have you been to Glastonbury?"

So early in the morning and already this particular gentleman had asked the world's most stupid question for that day.

I felt like saying, "No, actually. These are my two colleagues and we're city traders just on our way to Canary Wharf to close a multi-billion pound deal. Why do you ask?"

As it was I responded with an equally stupid answer. "Yes. It was muddy."