Thursday began precariously with me and James walking along the long country road leading to the festival itself (having been dropped off at the beginning of the queue), with a couple of tons of luggage between us. We walked up the road taking 5 minute breaks every 10 seconds, until finally we and our luggage sat in a heap at the side of the pavement. 10 minutes later, I (probably) had an idea. "Let's hitch a lift" said I. Tearing a piece of paper out of my already thin notepad, i wrote "Could we have a LIFT ta". James held it up and the door of a car next to us opened. 

One lug of bags into a boot later, we sat in a traffic jam and thanked both the driver, and whatever cosmic force made it so darn easy. The driver was playing some music which I can't classify further than dance. Whatever it was, it can't have been memorable enough for me to remember.

Arriving at the front entrance - where we had arranged to meet James' friend Aaron, we discovered handily that perhaps "2 o clock" means "2 o clock" and not "A bit past 4". Anyway, pausing only to buy an official magazine (£5!!) we set up camp on our own, in a suspiciously empty patch we found next to the bins. In a matter of oooh, hours, we had put up the tent and were lying down in no mood to go anywhere.

And so, at this point there should be a review of Kenickie and Gene etc., but due to matters beyond our control, we found ourselves arriving in the actual arena halfway through Gold Blade's set.

Gold Blade were really good actually, despite glittery suits which went well over the border of "gold lame swamp blooze" and strayed well into "just plain sweating Gary Glitter-ness" territory. As I arrived so late, the only memorable song I heard was "Soul Power". A roadie was very impressed.

Next up were Urusei Yatsura, who came on immediately after the 'blade, and tuned their instruments in the safe knowledge that the audience would think they were roadies. They were generally, very good in a punky pavement-esque sort of way. Their performance was greatly improved by one of them playing his guitar with drumsticks - you have to see it, ok.

I was pulled over to the main stage, where the Prodigy had just begun their set. I found them strangely disappointing, and although they didn't admit it at first, most of the people I have talked about it with since agree. Nevertheless, it was pretty good. After a bit of manic pretence on my part, I escaped to the Dr Martens tent for a couple of minutes to see Quickspace Supersport. But woe, the tent was surrounded, and I went back to the Prodigy.

Who promptly finished, and unwilling to wait around for David Bowie, we went over to the G2 stage to see the Cocteau Twins.

And was I in for a surprise. There was I thinking I was in for a bit of dull early eighties' electro-pop, when out they came and built up an atmosphere I would have previously had difficulty imagining in a tent. The word is Glorious.

It was a bit late, and so we couldn't be bothered to go anywhere, ands instead settled down in the "Phoenix TV" tent. There was a truly awful festival magazine program made by some film students. They undoubtedly have jobs waiting for them at the Girlie Show.

We stayed for "Muriel's Wedding" and "To Die For" which I would review if this was a film fanzine. Which it isn't. Not bad though.

When everything was finally closed, we quickly returned to the tent, which to our surprise had not been pillaged in our absence. Surprisingly, I went straight to sleep - surprisingly because seemingly everyone in the world was shouting various words unrepeatable in a nice fanzine like this.