On why middle aged women should take recreational drugs ...

At some point in a woman's trajectory we become, by necessity, sensible. It may be the career, the need to look after children, the mortgage, the dodgy knees after years of stilettos and/or running on roads. It may just be the years of multi-tasking as professional, activist, sex goddess, carer. As women can now apparently have it all, I am therefore going to advocate the need to let it all go, even if it's just for one night a year. Be unsensible. Find yourself a comfortable festival and pop some recreational drugs.

The advantages of waiting until middle age is that we now have the perfect combination of skills to actually enjoy getting off our trolleys. The side effects of staying up all night dancing can be a bit like jet lag perhaps but we know how to deal with that ... we travel. We spend our days organising ourselves and others, so no matter how spacey we get such is the training of our minds we can remember where our tent is and when and where we booked the massage for the next day's recovery, including that we booked in for an hour so we can tell the hippies trying to jump the queue to sod off. We always remember to put on the sunblock and we don't have to spend ages looking into a mirror - which is just as well if your face takes a bit of a trip without the rest of you.

We have an income so if we forget where we put the teacup from the cafe, no worries, it's just a pound deposit. And while the young ones try singing along to the words to Sympathy for the Devil  we actually know them. (I really wanted to hate the Rolling Stones but damn you Mick Jagger, with your moves and your 'woo woos', you really are rather charismatic). We can enjoy the musicians no-one has ever heard of, and the fact that there are still people selling magic wands and spirulina balls. Another economy is possible.

We have the clarity of insight (both with and without chemical enhancement), to recognise that Nick Cave is not a rock god, not the messiah nor satan, but just a grumpy man having a very long mid-life crisis. (I felt for the young woman he singled out from the crowd - her moment of glory slightly mocked when hit in the head by an inflatable dolphin). Get some therapy Nick and be well.

We can stretch out on the grass wherever we like and not worry that people are dancing over the top of us because at our age it just shouldn't matter any more; like it doesn't matter that I forgot a strip of leg hair in the rapid epilation before launch or that I'm wearing a purple bra under a white t-shirt or that I'm not wearing anything remotely neon in colour or waving glow sticks about. We can fully appreciate how Sinead O'Connor, Moya Brennan, Beth Gibbons and Laura Mvula really feel. And if you think you can move like Beyonce you probably can. Your knees and hips will remember what to do.

We don't feel the need to keep talking about a trip for days on end (do people still not realise how boring this is!). We have the maturity to know when to let it go; that a festival will end and we will go back to our homes that we own, wash our own clothes, have a cup of tea and be sensible for the rest of the year. But if things are still moving the day after in slightly odd ways it's okay. We can cope. That's what we do. The world can shift from under our feet - divorce, mentally unstable partners, cancer - and still we keep on going, fortified by 24 hour Farmers Markets that sell green tea and cheese platters with double gloucester AND goats cheese. 

What to avoid? The Orb .... great music but very, very scary projections of gigantic eyes. Drinking too much toffee apple flavoured cider, no matter how good it tastes. And under NO circumstances take recreational drugs if you are sad or in any way deviating from what your friends would define as a relatively normal state of mind. We all have a suitcase of baggage we carry around but some are more neatly packed than others. There is nothing worse than splitting that suitcase open for the world and all the young ones to see. Crowds will part to avoid you. There is enough of that from the young ones - 'but he said he loved me' she sobs. Well yes honey, but was that before or after he popped an 'e'?

With the usual caveats in mind (yeah yeah I'm still middle aged!) throw yourself into that mosh as Fat Boy sets it alight. Trust that everyone else is on happy pills and looking out for each other. Trust that English men are generally shorter, lighter and politer than Australian men, tend to be on more disco biccies and less beer, and know how to dance (i.e. wont accidently knock anyone out with uncontrollable thrashing motions if they happen to be standing nearby). We have no-one to impress but ourselves, so pick a colour you like ladies and move.