Good morning, beautiful.

I love Sundays at the festival, because they always have such a good atmosphere. We might all be exhausted, so we haven't had more than 12 minutes sleep between us, but the end is in sight.

Just waking up, or not been to bed yet?

The showers are looming, our own beds are calling us, the prospect of getting a full night's sleep without waking up to find someone else's foot in your ear..the real world is calling, and we have to answer, so until then, we're going to drink in every last moment.

Already passed loads of people dragging their dust-covered tents and belongings out of the site and back to their cars, so they can get a bit of a head start on the mass exodus. Be interesting to see how that goes, as the mass...invasion was handled pretty well, sort of. Well, the queues of traffic were mostly gone by Wednesday afternoon, at least.

Tractors have been out and about at some point, spraying down the dust tracks, that last year were sticky, and the year before that were slidey, goopy messes. I don't think it's going to make much difference - it's already 17.5 degrees and there's a permanent cloud of dust (it really is dust, nothing else) hanging over the site.

Slightly more sinister is the flock of seagulls that are circling ominously in the air about the Pyramid and the Other stage. This concerns me for a few reasons: a) My Mum always told me that seagulls come inland when the seas are rough and stormy, and b) it's a bit like a scene from The Birds. Oh, and c) they might do a whoopsie on me, and I'm pretty sure that wouldn't come off with a supermarket own-brand, tutti-frutti smelling wet-wipe.

And I'm pretty sure it'll be hard to convince Slash that I'm the woman of his dreams if I'm coated in seagull doo-doo.

It'd take a lot to get over that particular first impression. I'd really have to hope my personality shone through.