Taking your clothes off is a very good way to jump queues

Gorgol Bordello own the Radio 1 / NME tent. Their live show is just phenomenal, even if punk (and gypsy punk at that) isn't your thing. Energywise, it's as though someone spiked a can of Red Bull with some cheap speed and attached it to the Yankees cheerleading squad. The crowd are going utterly bonkers, none more so than when the percussionist balances the bass drum on top of the crowd, stands on top of it for a few minutes, then falls off and crowd surfs their way out.

"They're like The Pogues, only with better teeth," muses one fan afterwards.

Thank the good lords of line-ups that we don't have The Kooks or something similarly bland afterwards. The only way to follow a group of mentals is with another group of mentals, and the electro-powered giggle smut of Peaches nails it. She even brings a giant inflatable cock onstage, bless her.

She and the band are in full Ziggy mode with far-out make-up, white outfits (Peaches rips hers off to reveal something pink, sparkly and almost impossible to see without microscopic aid) and enough dirty beats to make Avenue D blush.

"I'm not really sure what to do with the injured penis," she sighs as the inflatable meets its doom. "Is there a penis doctor in the house?" Yes there is sweety, and she's holding the microphone.