Being hardened veterans of camping while 4,000 metres up a mountain, and in tribute to Bernard Manning, we are watching this year's festivities from the comfort of my Chesterfield. The Glasters vibe looks present and correct, lots of menacing clouds circling the Tor, paving the way for some teepee and beautiful sunset action. Ooh, I can almost smell the patchouli and grab the lentils. Funniest moment so far has been seeing a clearly loaded Gruff Rhys being interviewed and breaking into his own internal monologue on several occasions. But the Furries were ace, and Bunf may have cultivated his beard for a while, but I've never seen it looking so elegant. Not too impressed with The Fratellis, they sounded quite weedy to these ears. And what's with the check, Jack Penate?
Reason for writing about Glasters: There's just not much happening with me at the moment. We're skint, and moving house, and I'm looking for a job, and I've got a few magaziney and musicey things developing, and, well, everything's kind of just ticking over in a post engagement kind of ambience.
Other stuff: The beggars at top of street have got things sorted. One on each side of the road and one weaving in and out of traffic.
Reading: The Last Raj - William Dalrymple
Aghast at: Dalziel and Pascoe - like, when's Pascoe gonna be found out?