Which British festival would you actually queue in the mud for? Rank them from worth-it to never again.

Worthy Farm's five-day chaos is the festival everyone claims to love, even when they're crying in a Portaloo queue at 3am. Tickets vanish faster than a Greggs sausage roll on payday.

The unofficial graduation ceremony for British teenagers, complete with burning tents and questionable decisions. If you survived it sober, did you even go?

Suffolk's leafy answer to the mud-fest, where families sip flat whites between poetry readings and indie sets. Basically Waitrose with a wristband.

A theatrical fever dream where you're never quite sure if that pirate is an actor or just really committed to the bit. Not for the faint-hearted or the early sleepers.

Older than most of the acts booked, this island institution trades edginess for nostalgia and genuinely decent showers. A gateway drug for festival newbies.