There was a moment on Thursday at Glastonbury – my first time at the festival – when it seemed as though everyone was destroying everything. I hadn’t prepared myself for people dropping their rubbish and walking away from it; or peeing on the land, which ruins the river and kills the fish and wildlife; or leaving their mess on the toilet seats without a thought for the next person. I had naively expected a wonderland of cooperation and conservation. Disillusioned, after less than a day, I kind of hated the entire crowd. I wanted to go home.

My unfazed boyfriend – this was his 10th Glastonbury – pulled me out of the gloom, encouraging me to see that it’s a minority of festival-goers who behave this way. He said that, while baffling numbers will abandon their camping gear when they leave, there were also thousands cleaning up after themselves, using the 40,000 bins around the site. This calmed me down. I had another beer. As we sat by the Park stage, I looked around and tried to see beyond the cups and plates of half-eaten food all over the grass and notice that people were mostly respecting their surroundings. Most were abiding by the rule of the farm: leave no trace.

Still, throughout the weekend, as I tried to get lost in the music, I found it hard to get past my anger about those who litter. There are workers appointed to clear this up, they think – and anyway, the bins are overflowing, my hands are full. That’s just how it is at festivals.

I coped better than I expected with the bits of Glastonbury I thought I’d struggle with. The mud, the tent getting hot, the long drops, the Fall. None of these, though tough to endure, were really enough to stop me going back. But the littering was, and that surprised me.

As the 800-strong litter-picking crew begin the mammoth task of clearing an estimated 1,650 tonnes of waste – including 5,000 abandoned tents, 6,500 sleeping bags, 400 gazebos, 54 tonnes of cans and plastic bottles, 41 tonnes of cardboard, 66 tonnes of scrap metal, 3,500 airbeds, 2,200 chairs and 950 rolled mats – it has crossed my mind that I could return as part of their team. I’d get some satisfaction from mitigating the ingratitude of people who don’t give a damn about keeping the farm clean for each other and the wildlife. I’d still be angry, though: the rubbish gets cleared up but the people don’t learn. It’s probably best I just stay away.

“Everyone’s so lovely, I love it here,” gushed a man next to me as we waited for breakfast hotdogs at the Popdogs stand on Sunday. Many have this loved-up feeling by the end of the festival, but I didn’t. There are enough people behaving badly to make me suspicious of the whole crowd. The few who enjoy themselves thoughtlessly, going against the green Glastonbury ethos, spoil it for the many.