Well, apparently it's left to me to end things with the final dregs of battery. So we sat and watched The Breeders, who were relaxed to the extreme. To say the least. And we saw George Pringle. Who was good.
Now we're in the midst of facial hair central with Grinderman and we've got New York's finest, Interpol, to come. It should be epic.
This will probably be my last post as my phone is out of juice, I'm currently hogging a spare laptop in the press tent and I will be in no condition to walk back up here and type anything coherently after I polish off a bottle of red for Grinderman and Interpol and engage in nocturnal activity our esteemed senior editors would otherwise be encouraging had they been here.
So Latitude 2008 is in its final hours musicwise. I've still got Midnight Juggernauts' synth heavy melodies pouring out of my ears, though its being disrupted by The Breeders, who I can hear.
All in all this is the environment I had hoped to find myself in. My last major festivals were Gatecrasher, Benicassim and Glastonbury and I needed something different, which I've found: setting, size, atmosphere, audience, the music, the poetry, the human zombies being chased by torch wielding staff, the cabaret raves... it goes on.
Over to Tim...
Shit, just realised I have to meet him in seven minutes - until next time folks!
J x
So there I was standing patiently in the potato wedges queue when I felt a tap on my shoulder.
"Excuse me sir, are you the singer from The Mars Volta?"
I looked at my reflection in the window: 'fro, tight black top, tight skinny fit jeans and black pointy boots. I smiled sheepishly. I was starved and hungover, and replied no to the old man. His daughter had dragged him to TMV's progathon last night.
We discussed prog for a while and what a great festival Latitude was turning out to be. I was tempted to bring up King Creosote, but I really needed to eat.
An hour later I caught Alex Turner, Matt Helders and the Arctic Monkeys bassist eyeing the pie stall feverishly. Slebs: common as muck.
