THE TOR DISAPPEARS IN THE MIST

Maybe, to be fair to Tom, it was misty rain rather than sweat that was making him look so soggy - shots across the top of people's heads made it clear that Somerset was either suffering from horrific drizzle, or heavy mist, or perhaps just very, very low cloud. What can't be explained away through meterology, though, is drummer Richard Hughes' resemblance to a 1960s US midwestern college band drummer; all clean cut winking and over-elaborate, but very precise, shoulder movements.

Popping up for an interview on BBC THREE, George Galloway pretends that he's never heard of Chas and Dave and that he's the oldest person at the festival; he then mimics the Arctic Monkeys by launching into a minirant about British bands who sing in American accents. Naturally, he's looking forward to the Proclaimers later, who have never sung in anything other than their own accents. He seems happier being interviewed on Three than by Paxman.

Interpol just don't work properly - not their fault; but they need to be in a small, windowless room, with air conditioning broken and sweat dripping off everything. If they must be at a festival, they should be in a tent. If they can't be on in a tent, they shouldn't go on until the sun has gone down. Just as you can't have a picnic indoors, there are some bands who don't belong outside.

David Tennant suggests that after 24 hours of Glastonbury "I look like Stig of the Dump" - well, you might as well play him, too; you're working your way through all the other key roles in British popular culture. He's also looking forward to The Proclaimers. If we were working for OK, we'd be sending our photographers down to the Avalon tent.

Goldfrapp divided by Mari Wilson = Roisin Murphy. Roisin doesn't look like she got much sleep last night and also appears to be being attacked by invisible bees. For some reason she's got two microphones and, although she's gone solo her flightcases still have Moloko on the side of them. Suddenly she plonks a feather bedecked headdress on her head and everything perks up. She really does have an awful lot of songs about sex.

The thing about the umpteen screens and rumpty-tumpty channels of coverage being mounted by the BBC is how few cock-ups there are; there's the odd moment when things do go wrong - Colin Murray excitedly announces New Order just seconds before cutting to Barney counting from one to two several times with his finger in his ear; a glorious moment when the music to Keane is playing out over Echo and The Bunnymen , and vice versa, behind the red button. Actually, how come the Bunnymen are there? Didn't Mac leave under a cloud during a previous muddy festival, vowing never to return? Tonight, he sings like he's being throttled; sipping something from a glass which suggests his voice is fucked. Again.

If Kasabian are meant to be so cool, so how come they've taken to the stage dressed like junior stewards on a second-rate cruise line?

music glastonbury festivalsdavid tennant george galloway roisin murphy new order keane echo and the bunnymen kasabian