Eviction

I've evicted Style.com from their bit of press desk and I'm trying frantically to sober up a little in the press tent before Flogging Molly? Why? Because I want to remember I've seen them.

Quote of the day came from a Pap, who was belting along after some woman or another, swiftly followed by many of his flock, scrambling over the mud, which has now turned into something deadly and mutinous, capable of sucking off a welly just by looking at you.

"Who is it, Beyonce?" a slightly out-of-breath Pap yelped as they tore past me.

"No, it's just Kate Moss," muttered another.

Just Kate Moss, indeed.

Just Kate Moss.

It's getting to be a bit of a pain, trekking around the site. As welcome as the sun is, it's transformed the mud into something terrifying, and monuments to fallen wellies are popping up all over the site, as are groups of people screaming at each other as they fall victim to the mud. The walk up to the Park was a bit of a killer - I slid backwards as much as I went forwards and several times I almost ended up on my backside.

Mount Wellington

When I finally did fall over, it was pretty damn impressive. The walkway between the interstage area and the Other Stage has become the thing of nightmares, a horrific mass of liquid mud, hiding unexpected slopes and holes. One minute I'm making my way carefully through it, the next I'm sitting down in it, without much of an inbetween stage.

Ollie and Jason were complete gentlemen, Jason wading over to drag me up and Ollie muttering about feeling guilty while taking photographs of my backside. Stomped back to the tent to get changed, bumping into neighbours who stared at me with horror.

"I'm rocking the mud look," I said, as if this explained things. Apparently, it didn't.

"Did you fall over?" one asked, while I threw my bag on the floor and checked my phone for damage.

"No," I snapped, vanishing into the tent. "I just really like mud."

One wet wipe bath and change of clothes later, and things are better. The temperature was hitting 20 degrees, and around 4 million in the tent (well, it felt like it) so as fast as I'm wet-wiping mud out of places, I'm sweating off all the lovely wetwipe juice. By the time I'd finished, I was more than ready for a drink.

Caught up with Ollie, Ian and Jason, then Anna and her family. Vodka seemed a bit of a theme, and we mixed White Russians, Blue Lagoons and Rabid Dogs, and I honestly can't remember what we were talking about, but I'm reasonably sure we solved all of the world's problems, and entered into deep and meaningful philosophical conversation and absolutely didn't just talking rubbish for a couple of hours.

I interviewed Gary Stringer. Working on a local paper, you don't get to meet many famous people, and I'm still not entirely sure how I did that. I did have a bit of a foot in the door, since I'd warned him in advance that I'd try to catch him, but I wasn't really expecting myself to shout his name a few times, and then when I finally got his attention, 'Central Somerset Gazette!'. I certainly wasn't expecting the dawning recognition on his face and a few minutes to chat with him. I think I just about managed to come across as professional, instead of like a gabbling idiot.

(Despite the fact that I am, in fact, a gabbling idiot.)

Coldplay will be taking to the Pyramid shortly, which hopefully should leave much of the tracks clear for me to make the run up to the Avalon Stage, and, with any luck, try and catch up with friend #1.  I can't wait to see Flogging Molly. I've waited years for this. It's going to be awesomesauce. I've got no idea where the Avalon Stage is, or if I'll get a signal there, but I'll try hard to try and upload a few snaps for y'all.

Thanks for reading and commenting. You guys rock so hard.