Confession

I totally cheated at the festival. I didn't camp. Instead I stayed at my parents' weekend place which turned out to be a convenient 20 minute drive from the festival site, and which also, even more conveniently, had beds and proper loos and showers and everything. Being a performer meant that I could drive in and out of the festival site every day without queueing and park backstage, avail myself of the free tea, coffee and bottled water, and have famous people walk past me from time to time (Billy Bragg! Suzanne Vega's bass player, who looked like a short fat Ben Stiller! One of the Flaming Lips' Roadies! Etc!) Aside from that it wasn't very rock and roll. No crack. There was a small bowl of fun-sized chocolate bars though. I had two miniature Milky Ways and a tiny bag of Skittles. (Note to our American Readers: what we call Milky Way is what you call Three Musketeers. What you call Milky Way is our Mars Bar. If you have Mars Bars I don't know what they are.)

Despite the bed and the good hygiene, I still seem to be ridiculously tired, although that might have more to do with all the additional work travel I'm doing at the moment (today: research trip to Cheltenham; next up: reading at Blackwells Oxford, Thursday 6.30pm) because if I stay in London for more than 48 hours in a row the wind might change and I'll be stuck this way. So I was going to tell you all about everything, but I'm too tired, and I want to go to bed, and tomorrow I'm at yoga in the morning and then I have to catch up on all the work I'm missing because I keep going out of London for all of these events and -

You know what? Here's the Flaming Lips.