or years I believed there was no low so low that a festival couldn’t help fix me. Ever since my first one – Roskilde in 2007 – they have always been a sort of analgesic balm, three or four days of joy and catharsis. The time I was dumped? My friends dragged me to Glastonbury, and the defibrillating shock of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs restarted my heart. That spring sodden in grief? Bon Iver’s falsetto soothed my soul at a sun-drenched Primavera. When I was filled with self-loathing?