TWENTY-SIX consecutive Glastonburies for me now and this year’s line-up was one of the best ever as far as I was concerned.

The militant reggae of ’70s Rock Against Racism heroes Steel Pulse, the modern-day rants of Slaves and Sleaford Mods, the wonderful sight of my best mate Newtown Neurotics’ Steve Drewett playing alongside Billy Bragg on the Leftfield Stage and the soaring tunes of the Zombies — that’s the ’60s pop group not the walking dead — in the Field of Avalon were just a few highlights of very many.

And my two weekend favourites came from absolute opposite ends of the musical spectrum. Suede were superb on the John Peel Stage, with frontman Brett Anderson — without a doubt the best thing ever to have come out of Haywards Heath — alternately preening and crowd-surfing his way through a blistering set of their classic songs.

But for me the absolute highlight was Motorhead on the Pyramid Stage, and it was a bit of a personal one for me after the medical scare I had recently.

Half-way through their set I thought to myself: “I’m 57-years-old, pissed, wet through, spattered with mud and down the front at Motorhead. Not dead yet!”

It was indeed a life-affirming experience.

And I had a lovely time in the Cabaret Marquee mucking around with my mate John Otway, catching up backstage with old comedian friends Jeremy Hardy and Steve Gribbin from the days of the ’80s London alternative cabaret scene and reading some excerpts from my forthcoming autobiography in the Poetry & Words Tent.

Jeremy will be doing a guest spot at the London launch of my autobiography at the Borderline, Soho on September 25, alongside BBC Radio One and 6 Music DJ legend Steve Lamacq — my erstwhile roadie and friend for 30 years — the Newtown Neurotics, my band Barnstormer and more. A date for your diary, dear reader…

Glastonbury remains for me the one festival where you can have a wonderful time even if you don’t like any of the main performers. There’s so many places to go and so much to see.

The one big issue, of course, is the ticket price, something I’ve never had to worry about since I’ve actually been paid to be there for the last 26 festivals — I know what an honour that is, don’t worry.

And then, last Saturday, I was back at the Square music venue in my adopted ’80s home town of Harlow.

For 35 years it has been the one and only haven of alternative music in that Essex new town which gave the aforementioned Neurotics their name — it’s a safe and comfortable oasis for all those whose chosen lifestyle can, sadly, sometimes make them a target there.

I was compering one of the last gigs which will ever be held at the Square unless the housing association which owns the venue can be convinced that the above fact means that it is of more value to the community as a social facility for hundreds of people than it would be knocked down and converted into flats which would house perhaps a couple of dozen.

A campaign is brewing, I reckon…