Whitby on a shoestring: I crept into the festival campsite under cover of darkness a good many years bck, hoping to avoid anyone finding out I didnt have a ticket. I pitched the tent in what appeared to be a suitable spot, and went to sleep. To be awoken at some unearthly hour of the morning by someone waking us up and shouting. My God, I thought, it's the festival police police, come to make me buy a ticket. But in fact we had made camp a few yards downhill of the latrines (which were fairly primitive).. Which had unforunately overflowed in the night, as a result of rain and excessive use by loose-bowelled beer fuleed folkies. And a sluggish tide of turds and looroll was just started to lap round our uphill tentpegs. We struck camp in record time. And we never did buy a ticket.