Very late Glastonbury sofa update

So, after a 13-hour shift on Thursday, I went out for a quick drink -- and was almost instantly called back into work to co-ordinate the BBC's Michael Jackson coverage. This included, frighteningly, having to decide at what point the Beeb would declare the King Of Pop dead (11:52pm, if you're interested - not until we'd received verification from three separate, reliable sources).

I also had to write an appreciatiion of his music at four in the morning. It may be the most pretentious, least lucid thing I've ever committed to print. And, thankfully, a sentence about a snare drum "cracking like the whip that Michael was, presumably, flagellating himself with" was removed by the sub-editors.

After that all-night extravaganza, I had to go to Wimbledon, where I promptly fell asleep during an otherwise thrilling Hass / Cilic five-set epic. And then I spent the weekend recovering on the sofa, to the soundtrack of the BBC's Glastonbury coverage.

Highlights included:

Karen O's headdress (pictured)

Little Boots and her quite posh teeth

The crowd deserting the Pyramid Stage when Dizzee Rascal finished, leaving Crosby, Stills and Nash playing to precisely nine people

Blur being ever-so-slightly giddy with emotion

Also, Blur's general amazingness - in complete contradiction to my memory of them live

Although Tender was a bit ropey until they brought the choir out

Friendly Fires bringing a Brazilian carnival atmosphere to Somerset

Lisa Hanningan looking coy and beautiful

The audience not knowing any words to Born To Run except the "woah" bit

Bruce Springsteen actually emitting steam (pictured). If only he'd been singing I'm On Fire.

Jason Mraz being such a perfect fit for a sunny Glastonbury that his limp, anaemic music miraculously sounded warm and joyous.

I heart Sausages

Jack White playing the drums

The Specials being... well, Special

There's no point in going into the bad bits because (a) the whole point of Glastonbury is that it caters to thousands of different, diverging tastes, and (b)
something that works brilliantly live can come across completely flat on TV. I suspect Florence and the Machine's set fell into this category.

But, my overall highlight was little Emiliana Torrini playing an acoustic set in the BBC encampment. I could watch this again, and again, and again, and again. And you should, too.

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