Reading Festival doesn’t creep in, it descends. By Friday morning the site was already a sprawl of tents, flags and bleary eyes, the air carrying equal parts burnt coffee, mud and anticipation. The first day always feels like a reset: thousands of people shaking off the motorway, testing their voices, queuing for the first overpriced pint with the giddiness of kids at a fair. The promise is simple—three days where every stage might give you your new favourite band or a story you’ll tell until next year.
