Latitude Diary, Day 3

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On Latitude Saturday (otherwise known as 19th July), Sigur Rós were the headlines. They were good, but I don’t like them as much as I feel I ought too. There’s something about that finely-crafted, Icelandic, plinky–plonky minimalism that makes me feel as though I’ve stepped into a mobile phone commercial. I guess I can only take minimalism in small doses.

It was just after the Sigur Rós set that we encountered the Parachute Man. We were sitting on the field when some guy tripped over my foot, flew through the air and landed on a patch of grass nearby, face first. He remained motionless for quite some time and I was torn between genuine concern for his well-being and genuine concern for mine. He was wearing a rucksack, which led my brother to blurt out the line: “Maybe his parachute didn’t open.”

Eventually, he got up and stumbled off. He seemed confused; I felt relieved.

Other stuff I saw (or partially saw) that day included:

11.00 Marcus Brigstock’s Early Edition. Now Show regular Brigstock was on fine form. Like Newsnight’s review of the papers, but with dick jokes.
15.00 Bill Bailey. A similar set to lat year’s. Just as funny.
15.40 Captain. Breezy.
17.00 Jeremy Hardy. Reassuring.
18.15 Rich Hall. Genius. His Buckingham Palace anecdote and musings on the phrase “At the end of the day” made me laugh so hard I nearly burst my appendix.
19.30 Guillemots. I’m not convinced. Neither is Clare. We’ll leave it at that.
20.45 Mars Volta. Fucking awesome. They rock.
(?) Club de Fromage DJs. More late-night cheese.
02.05 Buzzcocks. A highlight of the weekend.