More S*gar Hill pix...

Every single punter voted it a success, said they would come back next year and bring all their friends. I know this as I was stood at the gate with a table of T shirts to sell to peeps as they left, and i spoke to very single person, all of whom were very drunk but happy...Dreadzone went down a storm..as did Neville Staples, and The Beat. I spent Day 2 being a compere, which goes ok until I am onstage in front of a large Big Top audience for the seventh time that day, having run from the Box Office, or the Other Stage..and I have that 'I have forgotten the name of the band I am introducing' moments. I keep talking in the hope that the name will come to me. It doesn't. They are black rap artists, and as I turn in panic, I see a tense large black guy behind me waiting for me to introduce them so he can start spinning the records on his turntable..he is getting impatient..'Introduce us!' he hisses, hand at the ready to spin..'What's your name?' I hiss back. 'What?' 'What's you name?' I hiss urgently. He look astounded. 'Jo. Just f*cking introduce us!' I don't believe this. Audience behind me getting restless. Rising panic. 'Nooooooooooooo! Not your name, the band's name!' I practically scream. 'M*d Professor'. I turn and shout the band's name, the audience cheers, he plays his record, the rappers come on, I run off. Bloody hell, I may be a crap compere, but I'm cheap.

Later on I am called again on the radio to introduce another act. I run down to the main stage and in the back of the venue, puffing slightly..Hi I say to two startled young men from Sheffield, waiting to go on stage. Hi, I'm your compere. They look at me, old enough to be their older sister...or mother..or...(stop right there...) and one says, No, you're alright, we'll introduce ourselves, thanks.' I leave and go to the medical tent to see Simon for a hug and a pill for the hurt caused by rejection.