Now. I'm very cold. I'm lying in a field amongst 60,000 people I don't know. Tom Jones is fighting against Sixpence None The Richer for ownership of the airwaves, and I'm wondering if it will ever stop; if I'll ever get any sleep. Gemma has managed it. But her method involved drinking her weight in alcohol and then violently puking it back up in a multi-colour fountain against the side of a porta cabin. Hmmm, it's tempting... But I think I'll lie here instead... waiting to pass out.