Cradle of Filth offer up the first half-decent performance of the day despite a torrential downpour and pelting hailstones the size of marbles. Danny Filth emerges flanked by two scantily clad stilt walkers and begins by screeching in his very best pantomime voice that today's events are going out live on radio, then much to the amusement of the punters he gleefully dedicates the first song to every swear word under the sun. It must be a long languishing silence on the radio, but it provides a cheerful start to the otherwise nihilistic offering ending with a triumphant rendition of 'Her Ghost In The Fog'.
Slayer take to the stage launching immediately into a frenzied onslaught. They chug and grimace their way through a string of old faves. Kerry King's stubby fingers burning up the fret board never fails to impress, although the smooth confidence with which they execute each song seems to lack that raw primal aggression which once gave them such intensity. By the end of the set, the mundane fist thrusting choreography and lack of interaction with the overly keen crowd make for a slightly disappointing show.
Of the new breed, today one band outshines almost all others - System Of A Down. Passionate and driven with inspiring intensity, frontman Serj Tankian wails melodically as a thousand voices answer in unison. Storming though 'Toxicity' and 'Chop Suey' their abrupt finish to such an energising set leaves fans begging for more.
A short interval of showers and sunshine and yet more showers, gives way to Tool, a truly hypnotic band. Everything about them pulls you into a mesmerising whirlpool of rhythmic beats. As 'Schism' metamorphoses into 'Aenima' and again into 'Parabola', Maynard is barley noticeable, cowering at the very edges of the stage. Shrouded in a shadow of black leather and disfiguring face paint, he sways like a fragile plant in the frosty breeze. A faultless reproduction of their recorded material that makes the experience even eerier.
Just as stamina levels start to reach a low, something great happens. That something is Ozzy. Opening to a barrage of video clips, Mr Osbourne reminds everyone what it's like to have real rock n'roll fun. A true entertainer, he struggles against the bitter evening wind to revive some of the most greatest rock anthems created.
The sound suffers slightly due to a combination of bad weather and Ozzy's clogged nasal passages - he appears to be suffering from the distinctly un-rawk sniffles - but he still manages to make soggy chips and watery beer into the biggest party of all time.
Zakk Wylde is the perfect sidekick with one screaming guitar solo after another. If any of the weary masses began to ask why they'd bothered to travel miles to stand freezing in a field in the pouring rain, it was Ozzy that reminded them. The grand finale is an apocalyptic display of ear shattering fireworks that must have woken up half the country. A real send off as the punters start to trail away wide-eyed and with a strange combination of exhaustion, malnutrition, and utter bliss.
