Tabloid round-up: Doherty in a dress

The Sun's coverage of Glastonbury is a little underpowered - Vicotria Newton's main contribution is that Pete Doherty put on a dress when he and Kate stopped at a petrol station on the way down. Yes! A Dress. A man in a dress! Truly, he is the lord of misrule.

He kept his trousers on though.

There's no credit on the Sun's review of Amy Winehouse. It observes that she's got two more gigs in the field this weekend (which throws the horrific possibility that by Sunday night, there could be Amy on all the press red channels on BBC TV).

[L]ater Amy was so smashed backstage she could barely speak.

Or maybe not, then.

The Mirror's coverage of the festival is more in-depth, sharing the news that the Kaiser Chiefs had their trailer stolen by the Arctic Monkeys:

"It was pouring with rain and for them to turn around and say there was nowhere for them to stay was a massive kick in the teeth.

"But the boys took it on the chin and set about trying to get their hands on a tent instead.

"Then they found out it was the Arctics who had claimed their trailer and it's fair to say they were not amused. Ricky had a face like thunder."

Hmm... a story which features the Kaiser Chiefs being upset. How on earth could you come up with a punchline for that one, eh, 3AM Girls?

We predict a riot...

Oh. Of course.
They also have news of Beth Ditto's rider ("20 bars of milk chocolate") and Peaches Geldof talking - talking - to Donny Tourette. Perhaps it wa Tourette's engrossing conversation which distracted Peaches from her Orange blog.

The Daily Mail's Jane Fryer isn't having a good time:

This is my first Glastonbury and, so far, it hasn't been much fun. Before me is a sea of steaming mud, teeming with tens of thousands of soaking wet festival-goers milling about and trying to remember where they pitched their tent.

But it gets worse. Of course, she's upset by the toilets, too:

It's also pretty smelly. The Eau-de-Glasto is a not very subtle blend of beer, body odour, fried food, smelly hair, and toilets.

The loos are something else. Already flowing with excrement and despite a plea on the official website not to bring loo roll, no loo roll.

Can anything cheer her up?

So we set off again. Finally, after another 40 minutes' tramping, we arrive soaking and caked in mud, just as Chas and Dave start up on the stage nearby.

Oh dear.

Finally, nature relents a little:

Suddenly, the rain stops and, for a very fleeting moment, the sun comes out. A huge cheer goes up and there's nothing for it but to dump our stuff and head for the cider tent and to find some decent music.

Considering Jane starts her piece crowing:

I am one of the lucky 177,500 people who managed to get tickets for the mother of British music festivals

... you have to wonder what she'd consider rotten luck.