Last night ranks as my second worst festival camping experience ever. Admittedly, it wasn’t because of the T campsite, but more to do with an assortment of circumstances that culminated in me sharing my friend’s ‘tent’, which turned out to be a kid’s pink tipi. In my day they were called wendy houses. The rain came down in torrents, and I woke up in a pool of water, along with all my remaining clothes for the weekend. Brilliant.

The rain cleared up in the end, and the sun returned to the final day. Aside from going to see Lily Allen, which because, let’s face it.. You would, there was plenty on that I actually wanted to go see, and not just for the sake of watching. Big festivals always seem to distract you to the bigger names that you would never pay to see for yourself, but that you may as well check out out of curiousity.