Seven years and nine million album sales later, Butler is more forgiving. Slightly. ‘We had this amazing experience,’ Butler, the singer/guitarist, says. Offstage he’s a sincere, sober chap, but his demeanour – and his previous comments – suggests it wasn’t quite what they had expected. ‘Our friend was getting married in Ireland, so we flew in to the UK and took a cab. We said to the driver, “Glastonbury, please…” And he said, “Where’s that?” He was from Bangladesh, and he got us on site and we just drove through all the humanity,’ Butler says with feeling, the image of 177,000 bedraggled music fans clearly still etched on his retinas, ‘along a wooden trail, through everyone. And the driver said, “Woah, this is so much crazier than Bangladesh.” There were drunk people putting mud patterns on the windshield of the car,’ he says, ‘and we were beeping and there was no one from the festival [organisation] clearing a path. There was no way to get backstage at that point; you had to drive through the whole crowd. It was kinda, ah, amazing,’ Butler says again, still not entirely convincingly.