Romance is over. Shocks are apparently still on. Will their paths *ever* cross again, anywhere in the *world*? Slot Jockey retain title by default as reported earlier. Other results now in. In a secret ballot in London's important London Bridge area, some geezer from Chelmsford was voted 'Hero of the Festival'. It was secret because most of the people at the festival didn't participate, because it was a secret. So I wouldn't set too much store by the result. In a pub in sleepy Rye it was revealed that Heart's 'Magic Man' was the original inspiration for chickfactor. No, not the song, dummy - what do you think this is, The Belle and Sebastian Mailing List? Some BOYS (yawn) watched some FOOTBALL GAMES or something (zzz). Bo-ring! Ross MacManus Aware for Secret Drinker of the Festival went to longtime Jim Taylor for smuggling in a different drink each set, hidden in his comedy David James Gloves (TM). One night it was Jack Daniels, then on came the red wine, then orange juice, then Aztec Camera. Camera of the weekend was the pinefox's for double-exposing 20 shots and hence putting Alasdair Cook on top of the top of the bar or something, probably, whatever, who knows, when they come out, whenever that is. Ruralism of the weekend was Hopkins' 'There've been an accident *up countree*'. It reminded me that his definition of rural is short and sweet, as he has virtually announced somewhere or other. Joke of the weekend was a late entrant, and involved Jim('my') White saying that pool was not really his game. It's a good 'un, innit? You have to admit it. Meanwhile, thrills on the various stages were at fever pitch. Things got off to a flyer with I Can't Believe It's Not Sun Ra, La, and moved on to Porpoise's five-hour set of oceanic flipper noises. Only DaMo was unimpressed. On the second stage Mike Ladd performed a moving reminiscence of his childhood in Wales, to the sound of a lonely pendulum. The pace picked up as the reformed Run-DMC took the stage. Can I just say at this point: Run-DMC, you rock 'da' house!! On Saturday Tony Hares' disappointing set was ended abruptly by an incident involving a television aerial and half a bottle of Blue Nun. Nabisco showed us that the trumpet was the future of disco biscuits. (When I was growing up, 'biscuit' meant a gothic girl. Whatever happened to that usage?) Porkbarrel bid for the Guinness Book of Records by playing one song for the longest extended period of time, roughly 90 minutes, with occasional dramatic pauses, without removing headwear. Drama. The Eternals were fined for playing a mere hour. Derek Bentley appeared in the form of a cardboard cut-out, demanding justice for victims of Elvis Costello lyrics. The MacManus winner (as mentioned above) intervened forcefully, true to a recent history of activism, and got the bar closed early. TCP was cancelled. Infections spread, infectiously. Back in the Queen the question must be asked: Is Vic There? Tim Hopkins was at it again, bidding for a place in the Guinness Book of Guinness, and listening to Records. Bored Of Woking rounded off the night by playing Style Council records backwards. It's not easily done. CAMpbell, for one, was impressed, and soon took a knock. She may be out for the rest of the festival season. On Sunday the bells had barely ceased, and romance had only just been declared dead, when Testcard entered the fray. Stobes strobed the room. People were so affected by the strobe lighting they couldn't find the signs telling them that they should be careful of the strobe lighting. It didn't matter too much, though, as its effects were dissipated by a numbing, unlistenable sonic dirge. Phew! Ko-E Akiburo plugged in for the first time in this listener's experience since that rehearsal in The Gadget Rooms in Plymouth, when they played that 15-minute version of 'She's In Clouds'. Listening to the three chords pummelling away for hour after hour was like coming home. Ivan Salcedo was spotted smiling with fond memories of Endless Drone. When Ko-E sang 'Rocket #149 has just taken off for Venus', one could almost see the rocket taking off for Venus. It was as though that 'Venus-Rocket' had been conjured up in our imaginations with the sheer power of words - and music! For an encore Ko-E were replaced by Dave and the Moonbeams, rushed in from the Good Companions (Old Costessey), with covers of old Ramones and Blondie numbers. Nice one, Dave! And Sheila's still looking good on keyboards! Hey, mate - if you're reading this - you owe me a pint!! The weekend's major disappointment came from Lloyd and the Verlaines, who made sure their instruments were in tune and kept playing notes in the 'relevant' 'scales' on their guitars. In many ways they totally misjudged the whole ethos of the event. They had reportedly reformed ten years previously in order to start practising for this show, and it showed. At one point Lloyd declared 'We like to play cool virtuoso intertwining lead guitar parts that seem to leave the air smouldering so much more than we like to make a barrage of tedious, uninspired, witless and irritating Emperor's-New-Clothes noise'. That did it for me. The irony was lost on me, and I left. In many ways football was the loser. Ron? __________________________________________________ Do You Yahoo!? Get email at your own domain with Yahoo! 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