Previously on dotmusic: Apart from eight snatched hours, I've now been awake for 24 hours straight. My girlfriend is missing. I vaguely remember her saying "If you think I'm coming to see that load of crap, you're sorely mistaken". Think the prospect of Stereophonics was the final straw. She's going to watch '24' instead.
15.30: "For those of you who've just got up, we're The Donnas," declares singing Donna. Basic old school rock in the vein of The Runaways. Band look like they should really be called The Janines, in tribute to the 'EastEnders' siren. They share her air of street glamour.
15.56: Decide that as groups are so appalling will review shops, stalls and dance tents instead.
15.57: The Bacardi Bar. Full of Sophie from 'Big Brother' lookalikes and their thuggish escorts. Twats' enclosure, essentially.
16.02: Agent Batey and I visit the God tent. Inside are two people playing Jenga. We can get free temporary tattoos. Very spiritual.
16.04: Action Aid stall has a foam loaf of bread. "We're asking people to fill out our forms and put them inside," explains man. Bread is empty. Cardboard cut out of Nelson Mandela lies on the grass.
16.07: People on the anti Esso stall also want to give us temporary tattoos. Are they in league with the God tent? Start to feel the old paranoia flooding back.
16.15: Becomes clear that people no longer come to V for the music. It's a nice day out, with bands as an optional extra. In that respect, then, it's a twisted mirror image of Glastonbury. Feel dizzy.
16.21: The Coral have borrowed The Zutons drummer. Hold the front page. Band are typically hyperactive, mad cartoonish chipmunks with their heads full of teenage confidence and boundless creativity. Imagine them to be the love children of Julian Cope. Not metaphorically. Literally. Surprisingly easy to do.
16.33: The Coral's genius is their ability to pull a heartstopping melody out of thin air. Each time they threaten to become too much of a novelty act, they suddenly turn heartfelt, inspiring.
16.47: Red Light Club. Needs air con but otherwise fine. James Lavelle spins version of 'Billie Jean' stripped back to the music and not much else.
16.52: Michael Jackson's vocals come in. Realise I forgot to go to the cashpoint so have £13.23 to last for the rest of the day. F**k.
16.53: Buy pint.
17.01: Wander past fenced off inflatables and bouncy castles. Sammy The Snake not in evidence. Girls wearing blow up Sumo outfits tussle in the sun.
17.04: Someone squirts me with a water pistol.
17.33: Expected Royksopp to be slow and glacial, like Sigur Ros with beats. Instead the duo travel from slick cinematronica to gliding disco house. Excellent.
17.45: They suddenly lose it completely. Vocada voice cliches, aimless instrumentation.
17.54: Discover The Grassman, an unconscious guy who's been covered in grass by his "mates". A golf ball sits on his crotch.
17.56: Much like the Eskimos have 68 words for snow, Elbow find 68 ways to be boring. Drab coma rock.
18.08: Join cashpoint queue. There are 87 people in front of me.
18.10: Think "f**k it, I'll tap Angus for some cash later" and give up.
18.31: Angus is late for our prearranged meet. Tsk. He knows I abhor tardiness.
18.35: Remember that Angus has no watch, hence no concept of time.
18.46: Nip in to see if girl from Lamb is wearing a red ballgown like at Glastonbury. No. A white billowing skirt this time. Sings like she's a million years old in the depths of space.
18.52: Go the House Party tent opposite. In one corner, there's a kitchen, in another, the bathroom. It is quite literally a house. Do you see? Mercifully air-conditioned.
18.53: Angus passes over ten quid. Excellent. Soulwax DJs merge Pink with ELO.
19.17: Idlewild play 'American English'. Sounds great. Someone throws multi-coloured glitter in the air. Seems appropriate.
19.57: Have a sit down before Soft Cell. Girl tells me I look "well comfy". This is true.
20.22: Soft Cell surprisingly rubbish. No hits in the first half hour, just lots of Brechtain house laments about how depressing Marc Almond's life is. Lyrical watchwords include: suicide, doom, gloom, boring, mediocre, and so on.
20.37: Doves playing 'The Cedar Room' as dusk draws in and the clouds fade from white to grey is gorgeously appropriate. They seem entirely in their element, big dramatic songs in the open air.
20.43: Play 'Space Race', an indie dance throwback. Oh dear.
20.53: Middle bar runs out of beer. Punters furious.
21.04: Andrew Weatherall spins New York electro in the Red Light Bar. Find a comfy armchair.
21.22: Space cadet spies chair. "Where did you get that from mate?" "It was just here," I inform him. "Wow. Got any others?"
21.44: Basement Jazz play 'Red Alert'. Absolutely fantastic. Again, a dance band are the perfect headliner. Atmosphere amazing, energetic, up for it, thousands of waving hands and dancing bodies.
21.59: 'Where's Your Head At?' Immense. Realise that I've had a brilliant time, despite the bands on offer. Approach V as you would Glastonbury and a good time is guaranteed.
01.45: Jack shoots Victor Drazen. This is turning out to be an excellent day.
