Over 200,000 people flock to Glastonbury every year. It's by far the biggest music festival in the UK and features a total of 62 stages.
Keeping track of your mates on a night out in town can be hard enough, but imagine losing them at Glastonbury? From campsites, bars and bathrooms - where do you even begin to look?
It doesn't help that phone signal at the Somerset festival comes and goes as revellers scramble to muster up a single bar, so unless you've arranged an emergency meet-up spot, panic can quickly set in wondering when are you going to find your group again.
Here's what Bristol reporter Sophie Grubb had to say about getting lost at Glasto...
Of the many things I was apprehensive about as a first-time Glastonbury Festival goer - the long drops, the crowd crushes, the tent life to name just a few - I hadn't even considered the lack of signal. That was an oversight on my part given that 200,000 people are descending on a rural farm in Somerset, all fighting for 5G.
Vodafone is the provider this year, taking over from EE and promising "the highest capacity ever" on its network, but that's no use to me on O2. That realisation soon hit me after I'd stupidly arranged to meet my friends 'by the Pyramid Stage', a vast arena that was rapidly being flooded with thousands of people for the Arctic Monkeys' headline set on Friday.
With just a photo of their view for reference and a live location pin that had timed out 10 minutes earlier, I attempted to track them down, honing in on a pink unicorn flag as per their description before our signals died. Having spent about 15 minutes battling my way into the middle of the throng, much to the annoyance of people who had staked out their spot much earlier, it was human gridlock, I'd lost the flag, and I began to panic.
It must have registered on my face as I felt a tap on the shoulder from someone asking if I was ok, and if I had the 'What Three Words' app to be able to find them even offline. I had downloaded it but not in time.
It was a choice between attempting to battle my way even further in, on the slim chance I might stumble upon them, or fight my way back out and resign myself to a night singing along solo. I reluctantly resigned myself to the latter and admittedly had a bit of a wobble, looking around at the groups of friends laughing and drinking together. I felt lonely despite the number of people.
I had to apologetically explain as I tried to wriggle my way out of the packed crowd that I was by myself just wanting to get out, and was stopped by a pair who took pity on me and offered for me to spend the set with them. Squashed sideways and able to see nothing thanks to being 5ft, I headed for thinner ground but was boosted by their gesture of kindness.
I do struggle with social anxiety in these situations but, having settled into a spot further back, decided to just enjoy the music and accept the uselessness of my phone. As Alex Turner took to the stage there was a big surge that sent someone shoving into me, and I felt another protective arm on my shoulder from a woman behind me.
She asked if I was alright and I explained I'd lost my friends, which she looked dismayed by. She was with a bigger group and they welcomed me to stick with them, despite us being total strangers. As the band launched into Sculptures of Anything Goes I felt my mood buoyed by the bass and the cheerful whooping of everyone around me.
Music has the power to bond people and even with people you've only met five minutes earlier, you can't help but feel 'in it together' when you're singing along at the top of your voice in sync. This lovely group soon noticed I didn't have a drink, and shared their beers with me with no concern about their stash being depleted by the randomer in their midst.
Whatever the reviews of the Arctic Monkeys' set, I ended up loving my lonely night in the crowd. When I started reporting from the festival on Wednesday, I asked people why they kept coming back to Worthy Farm.
A wise man wearing the Pyramid Stage on his head simply told me: "It's the people." I've found that statement to ring true for everyone I've met here, from the stewards on the entrance gates to the strangers in the crowd.
