Bat For Lashes, Sunday evening, Rock 'N' Roll tent
I'm pretty speechless right now. Bat For Lashes is absolutely astonishing, taking the freewheeling high drama of Kate Bush and twisting it into hypnotic, Cat Power-esque shapes with wholly bewitching vocal flourishes and a neat line in mysterious melodic zing. We're absolutely smitten.
Here, as promised earlier, is that picture of Metronomy's occasional singer and full-time crackpot Joseph Mount. What you sadly can't see in full is Joe's two identically-dressed bandmates on either side of him, executing perfectly choreographed jerks, swooshes and zings with their guitars and arms.
And y'see that white circle on his chest? That's one of those battery-operated lights people often use to illuminate the cupboard under the stairs. Metronomy, though, build the push-on, push-off lights into their stage show by using them as a kind of visual percussion. In fact, Joe throws a few into the crowd before Metronomy's final tune, imploring people to "find four double-A batteries in the next three-and-a-half minutes" so they can join in - and remarkably, somebody does just that.
And here they are, Hot Chip in full robot funk flow. I know they look meek, but crikey they know how to elicit a frenzy of rug-cutting. And in a theme emerging throughout Bestival, they're all lined up like cans on a fairground stall, waiting to be pole-axed by a flying boot - although everyone's far too nice to do that of course...
Sunday afternoon, and we're just about to see Hot Chip turn in a furiously danceable set on the main stage. But wait - what's this we find, hiding in the corner of the Rainbow Bar? It would appear to be the back end of a caravan, fashioned into, yes, a giant jukebox. And inside sit three oddly-clad gentlemen who should definitely know better, churning out oddly chintzy but really rather charming renditions of whatever tune the pound-paying punters want (from a list of about 30 -they're not completely insane).
So rather than wait for Hot Chip to blow our socks off with a blistering, hugely funked-up rendition of 'Over And Over' - which, naturally, is precisely what they do, providing Bestival's unofficial theme tune in the process - we stick our money in and let these chaps have a go instead.
Their cover version sounds like, well, Isle of Wight residents The Bess in fact. Which, considering where we are, might not be surprising. Must be something in the water.
Ok, it's not the most wildly exciting picture, but lovely northern lads Hot Club de Paris warrant a mention for brightening up everyone's day with spiky guitars and incongruous but assuredly welcome three-part harmonies. They're like The Futureheads only actually, y'know, fun an' that.
While Lily Allen was performing on the main stage yesterday afternoon - in full fancy dress, it's worth mentioning - we chanced upon this chap - Mark Ronson, Ms Allen's producer and eminently danceworthy deejay. He's the one in the hat, by the way.
Major communication problems precluded any posting yesterday afternoon, so sorry about that folks. Suffice to say, immense fun was had, as will become clear as we run through a swift retrospective. Oh yes, and people climbed trees. No idea why - "Because they're there", I'd wager.
This, resplendent in full Ron Burgundy attire, is Sam aka Get Cape, Wear Cape, Fly - the only band in the world with two commas in its name, punctuation fans - and he's just rather foolishly given us some poppers, hence our ruddy complexion.
It's marvellous to see bands as well as punters getting into the Bestival spirit and donning daft fancy dress outfits - Lily Allen performed her entire set in a fluorescent wig, oversized bunny ears and a voluminous prom dress. Mercifully, there is no photographic evidence of us in our Thunderbirds gear, but suffice to say we "rocked" the "joint".
Though it's hard to discern, this is the back of a teenage boy called Simon, who decided to show his dedication to the festival by having its logo tattooed onto his body.
Others have had similar designs shaved into their hair, and still more have invested in fetching t-shirts and, um, tea towels. Never let it be said that this bunch aren't resourceful.
So, as the parade approaches, it's worth taking a quick look at who's come as what. I've spotted a fair few Steve Irwins, in affectionate tribute to the recently deceased Aussie conservationist - one, indeed, arrived with an entirely unprintable and definitively tasteless stingray accoutrement. There's an oddly orange Mr T, complelented nicely by a coterie of definitely orange enough Ooompa-Loompas (Charlie in tow, natch).
The Englishman's capacity to fall into cross-dressing knows no bounds, and all manner of shameful bulges and unnecessary hair are peeping through skinny and skimpy skirts, shift dresses, and bouffy prom attire. Despite the warning that clowns are banned - something to do with lots of people being terrified of them, apparently - there are a few in evidence, and we've spotted Ghostbusters, half the cast of The Wizard Of Oz and, in one deliciously surreal tableau, Obi-Wan Kenobi deep in conversation with Santa Claus as the 118 118 chaps and Satan look on.
The resourcefulness on display is really quite something: Bill & Ben the Flowerpot Men have clearly ram-raided their local Robert Dyas for appropriate props, and there's definitely been a lot of last-minute nocturnal stitching going on. Who needs bands when there's this much fun to be had?
