A river runs through it

Andrew, 1730, Friday

In 15 years of going to festivals, and three years of reporting from them for 6 Music, I've never done anything so shameful as stay at a hotel. But I think I chose the right year to start.

The sight that greeted us on arrival this morning was pathetic in the truest sense - drenched, bedraggled festival-goers standing outside their tents, watching a dirty brown river flow through their sleeping bags.

The police tell us that only 100 people were "severely distressed" by the weather, but that ignores the thousands that were pissed on and pissed off this morning.

I've seen naff all music yet, which has to change, and soon.

The true hardcore aren't bothering with wellies or waterproofs (the best tenner I've ever spent, this morning on the way to the site). There are plenty of bare-chested men and girls in bikinis and sandals, blithely ignoring the onslaught of British summertime.

Rumours include tents being struck by lightning, people being struck by lightning, a huge hole in the fence caused by a mudslide that people are streaming through - but so far, if the police are to be believed, none of them are true.

All the policehorses did have to be evacuated, to the Royal Bath and West Showground, but the organisers are accentuating the positive.

Apparently, all this proves that the site is working as it should do.

I've seen naff all music yet, which has to change, and soon. Elvis Costello is on any minute, then Roots Manuva, then the White Stripes.

All I've managed to catch is about a third of the Thrills set, during which Conor Deasy proved that he'll never make it as a weatherman, saying "Look up at the sky, it's sunny, I reckon it'll stay fine all weekend now".

If only - it's overcast, after two hours of sunshine, and there's more rain predicted overnight. Plenty of people will soon be in danger of the ultimate festival double-whammy - sunburn AND trench foot.

Land ahoy!

Mark Sutherland, 1615, Friday

Ahoy and avast there, landlubbers. 'Tis that old scurvy dog Captain Mark Sutherland here once again, back from my voyage to the bottom of the sea (aka the site outside the backstage arena).

The good news is, one or two patches of dry ground are now visible. The bad news is 118,500 people are trying to fit on both of them. Message to the outside world: I think we're going to need a bigger boat.

Still, rock star life is finally stirring out there so I bring news from whatever the sea-battle equivalent of The Front is.

I think we're going to need a bigger boat

Hot Hot Heat are currently rocking The Other Stage and winning the Most Ironically Named Band Of The Weekend competition.

In the corresponding Song contest, it's a dead heat between The Undertones' Here Comes The Summer and The Thrills' Don't Steal Our Sun (what next fellas, a song called Locking The Stable Door Even Though The Horse Is Bloody Miles Away By Now?)

If I can change poor quality metaphors mid-stream (as it quite literally is), I've also been turning Private Detective.

A snoop around the backstage area of The Other Stage revealed nothing in the way of Pete'n'Kate spotted action, but did get me accosted by The Others' frontman Dominic Masters. He hails from Wells, where the 6 Music armada (sorry, I've switched back now - I didn't feel the whole Private Detective thing was working) are staying. Keen to impart his local knowledge, he advised me to stay away from one of the town's takeaway joints in particular.

No doubt a collaboration with The Thrills on that new tune of theirs looms.

Right, I'm off to walk the plank (and no, I don't mean the bloke out of Keane)

Not so much en vogue as in Vogue

Steve Lamacq, 1430, Friday

Just to pre-empt your shock, or indeed horror, I’m warning you now I may be in a future issue of Vogue magazine, dressed as the World’s First Mod Squire.

There I was, sludging around the festival site in my newly acquired – and not quite waterproof – parka, when I chanced upon the Kaiser Chiefs (in their own freshly bought cagoules).

There I was, sludging around the festival site in my newly acquired – and not quite waterproof – parka, when I chanced upon the Kaiser Chiefs

Stopping for a chat, I failed to notice a camera tripod set up to our left. “Excuse me, Steve,” said a woman behind me, "We’re just doing a photo shoot with the band." No problem. Off I go … but wait. "We’d like it if you could be in the picture as well."

OK. So far, not a problem. A couple of quick snapshots. This is when it occurs to me to ask who the photos are for.

"They’re for Vogue magazine."

Oh dear.

Waving, not drowning

Mark Sutherland, 1400, Friday

Yeah, cheers for that last post Joti "Prophet Of Doom" Brar. You have officially jinxed the entire festival.

Normally, I like to make the first "blog" of the festival season a cheery, upbeat affair. The mockers were rather put on that when I awoke at 6am this morning to discover that a) there was a thunderstorm of biblical proportions going on b) England had lost the cricket and c) I had food poisoning. Which means this is not so much a blog as a bog. In all too many senses of the word.

There's cheeriness in some of the sights to be seen around site, like Ricky from the Kaiser Chiefs doing a Vogue shoot in wellies and an anorak.

Still, there's always a bright side. Tim Henman losing the tennis, for example. And, er, um … there must be something … oh yes, the fact that at times like this the Glastonbury Spirit will always prevail. I'm not going to go quite as far as Michael Eavis (who claimed the weather was actually a good thing for the festival at this morning's press conference - yeah, right) but, away from the wild rumours about stages being hit by lightning and neck deep mud up by the railway line, there's a certain cheeriness to be had in some of the sights to be seen around site.

Ricky from the Kaiser Chiefs doing a Vogue shoot in wellies and an anorak (with our very own Steve Lamacq), for example. Indie vixtress Charlotte from The Subways vowing to play "twice as hard" when they appear on the John Peel Stage after their main stage slot was one of those scuppered by the elements.

And, of course, the camaraderie of the 6 Music team, who are currently lending each other wellies for particularly perilous journeys (ie, anything longer than five yards).

And anyway, the sun's shining now, it's not as bad as 1997 or 1998 (yet) and Be Your Own Pet are on later. Why wait for that Killers set, when I'm Mr Brightside?

Too good to be true?

Joti B, 2000, Thursday

Ever get the feeling things are going just a bit too smoothly?

Left London this morning with the other interactive monkeys and got out onto the M4 in record time. There was a massive snarl-up where the M25 had been closed down - on the other side. Our side was empty. As was the M4 and every other road between Swindon and Pilton. Spooky.

The sun is shining and Worthy Farm looks like a picture postcard for some kind of festival utopia.

Got onto site ok. The marshals all smiled at us. Nobody tried to send us round to a different entrance. The usual dithering students on the press gate had been replaced by a nice lady who gave us wristbands without making us wait for three hours.

We have a lovely little portacabin. Our computers all work and so does the internet. Even though we're in a field.

The sun is shining and Worthy Farm looks like a picture postcard for some kind of festival utopia.

This never happens. It can't last.

Don't say I didn't warn you …