Huh.

The sun is out. I knew Points West's weather forecast wouldn't let me down. I am currently sat in a field on a brightly painted bit of wood that was probably once a railway sleeper and now exists as a resting place for the bottoms of weary festival goers.


There is noise coming from all over. I can hear a man who is on a stage nearby spinning plates, someone playing a sax, some tribal drumming group and for no reason I can tell a woman has just turned up with an amp in a wheelbarrow, playing reggae and encouraging us all to dance and "get ready to party."

I was aiming for the circus field and sort of missed, finding myself in the green fields, then lost forty minutes listening to Maybe Myrtle Tyrtle, a sort of...um... bluegrass band, I think - not that I'm too au fait with the country genres. They were playing covers, everything from Elvis to The Doors to Bon Jovi. I didn't actually mean to stop and listen, but a cover of Talking Head's Psycho Killer reigned me in and I ended up sort of hooked. Working 9-5 was a work of genius, Living on a Prayer had me singing along and before long they'd managed to attract a decent enough crowd, a few of which were yelling requests.

It was one of those sets where you kinda had to wait and see what they were going to do next, and if it was as good as the last song. And, generally, it was. It took a supreme will of effort to peel myself away and carry on exploring.

Oh. Urk. A dance troop have just showed up dressed as skinheads and are doing a synchronised dance to "someone's gonna get their head kicked in tonight" in between asking people what they're looking at. Think I'll get a shifty on.