Latitude 2009

There’s something vaguely ironic about a group from a predominantly arid country like Mali attracting a massive crowd because it starts raining. But Amadou & Mariam deserve nothing less. Over on the main stage, Franz Ferdinand are battling on as the rain gets steadily heavier.

I must admit, I find it hard to throw myself willingly into the arms of Martha Wainwright. This isn't necessarily anything to do with her song craft -- which is sleek, consummate, and delivered with commendable laser precision. She is, I guess, part of a lineage of perfectly respectable quality singer-songwriters who can find an equilibrium between a more benign, FM Radio 2 friendly audiences and those searching, perhaps, for something that's clearly in tune to profound emotional feelings.

Who’s that playing,” said one male member of the packed crowd at one point. “Crystal Castles,” said his friend. “But there’s nobody on the stage,” the first objected.

Let’s start at the end. Julian Cope is standing onstage in the Uncut Arena. The power has just been pulled on him for over-running. He has started half an hour late after a doomed attempt at soundchecking, played two newish songs and a bizarre medley of some old songs, sacrificed a guitar to the goddess, challenged God, Jehovah and Allah to a fight, and ended by announcing, “Children, tell your grandchildren that people like me once walked the earth.” No wonder, I suppose, that he hasn’t played a festival in years.

Mildly strange afternoon here at Latitude, which culminated in what a few of us are optimistically calling the Ross Noble Riot.

Excuse us while we go a bit "duuude," on your asses. "This is awesome, the sheep are painted fucking pink. It's so psychedelic, and I haven't even taken a thing," says Reggie Youngblood, singer of Florida's Black Kids, who take the stage in the UNCUT Arena as a spear of late afternoon sunshine pierces the cloud.

So, I'm happy now! I got my first taste of the music at Latitude and I like it. For a gentle start to the day I decided to lurk around the smaller arenas, blinking in the sunlight like a frightened nocturnal animal. Luckily there was plenty of shade in the woodland setting of the Sunrise Arena and I was happy to see Edinburgh band Broken Records and north England's version of The White Stripes (or so my programme informs me), Slow Club.

So, there's Paul Merton -- no less -- smoking a cigarette and eating a baked potato. This, gentle reader, is the first thing I see at this year's Latitude -- and, surely, as celeb/food/fag interfaces go this might well take some beating.

Afternoon all. You join us at Latitude in the company of the entire Alternative Cabaret scene, a giant. flying chunk of the Edinburgh Fringe, some frighteningly coloured sheep and, lest we forget, some excellent bands. Three exciting bits of news: it's not quite raining; I'm clear this year that we're in Suffolk, not Norfolk: and Michael Nyman is playing while I write at the back of the Music And Film Arena.

The reconnaissance branch of the Uncut team arrived at Latitude Festival yesterday and realised almost immediately that we were not alone in wanting to hit Henham Park Estate early this year. Thousands of music fans poured into the site a day early to set up camp and drink in the atmosphere before the serious business of deciding what to see on the packed line-up!