Too...much...genius.

My poor brain. My poor feet. My poor back. My poor everything.

Rolf Harris and Spinal Tap on the same day. Too much genius for any mind to handle. From Two Little Boys to The Majesty of Rock. I can die a happy woman.

First, Rolf. And from the word go it was clear there was going to be trouble. Headed to Jazz World and pointed out to a mate that it was odd that he was playing there.

"I saw him on the Pyramid in 2002," I said. "The whole of Glastonbury turned out."

And, it turned out that the whole of Glastonbury had turned out again. Jazz World is clearly a smaller field than the Pyramid and foot traffic became gridlocked as people tried to get to the field. When Rolfie took to the stage the paths leading to the stage were packed with people, flags and banners and we were forced to listen to his first number while standing next to some toilets in the field next to Jazz World. Mmmm. Stinky.



Eventually edged a little closer and started shaking my funky thang to Sun Arise and The Irish Rover, watched a thirty-year old man with a spike through his eyebrow get reduced to tears by a rousing rendition of Two Little Boys. The sacrilegious -but-hilarious wobble-board version of Stairway to Heaven was a perfect closer.

Sadly, Fine Day was missed off the setlist for some reason, but given the patriotic version of Tie me Kangaroo Down, Sport (sung to the tune of Land of Hope and Glory) I'm prepared to forgive him. Once again, Rolf has cemented himself in my conciousness as my favourite geriatric, animal-bothering, Australian entertainer. 

Then a quick jog to the Pyramid for Spinal Tap. "Hello, whoever you are!" barked Nigel. "You've missed us!"

At this point I could start making quips about turning it up to 11, but that would be lame. Nigel and co were genius. Perfectly bemused the Majesties of Rock treated the hot and sweaty crowd to Stone 'enge, Hotter than hell, Hell hole, Big Bottom, Gimme some Money, the deeply appropriate Stinkin' Up The Great Outdoors, Saucy Jack and Sex Farm amongst others. A mini Stone 'enge carried through the crowd by a couple of punters raised cheers before the band had even made it on stage and predictably made it to the big screens.

Cameos from Jamie Cullum and Jarvis Cocker, a misbehaving inflatable Stonehenge and two dancing dwarves dressed as monks and forgetting to introduce the drummer because they expected him to have died all served to make me a very happy (if sweaty) camper indeed and made me want to rush out and see This is Spinal Tap again.



Threw some horns, played air guitar, waved my hair in people's faces and generally had a brilliant time. Course, I'm from Street. I was bound to appreciate a band featuring the namesake of the patron saint of quality footwear.

Anyway.  Must crack on.

Are we there yet?

How exciting. Rolf Harris, Maximo Park, Spinal Tap, Kasabian, Blur, Neil Young and..um.. Status Quo. The full line-up has been revealed, I'm obsessively clicking on long range weather forecasts and have found myself looking at welly boots and wondering if it's worth shelling out £16 for ones with little designs on, or if I should shun labels and dredge out the green pair I wore last year. (Although this would mean digging them out of the garage and a thorough inspection to make sure no spiders have moved in.) Not that I don't have faith in the weather of course.

I'm really excited about the festival this year - promises of a long hot summer and the first line up I've been excited about since Rage Against the Machine played there in...um...I can't remember have made me come over all a-quiver.

Thoroughly looking forward to Rolf Harris. The guy's a legend and his stint on the Pyramid back in 2002 ranks up there as one of my all-time-best-Glastonbury-moments ever, (then again, my second would probably have to be The Wurzels last year, so let's not put too much stock in my musical taste.)

Quite looking forward to Blur, since the whole Brit-pop thing totally passed me by at the time and I've since found out that I kinda like some of their stuff.

And Neil Young. Neil Young. I can't wait. The idea of seeing him live is making me practically salivate with excitement.

In the office, we're all working our collective socks off on this year's festival preview and website, I've finally worked out how to make the Facebook page, somebody else is sorting out the Twitter thing so I don't have to and all in all things are starting to take shape.

I'm particularly excited about being able to blog while I'm out and about on the site (in theory, at least) and not being chained to the dodgy wireless connection in the press tent.

The whole festival is hanging in front of us, the festival site is taking shape on our doorstep and I. Cannot. Wait.