(Holy F**k on The John Peel Stage)

Where better to hide from national ignominy? If England’s football prowess has been – to put it politely – uneven over the decades, there are two cultural forms in which we lead the world: legend and pop music. Happily, they converge in Glastonbury. Here, the talk is less of scorelines than of the festival’s 40th anniversary. Even in early middle age, it shows no sign of slowing down, thanks to the prodigious energy of Michael Eavis – surely one of the greatest living Englishmen and a shoo-in for a knighthood if the Coalition means what it says about encouraging creative entrepeneurship.

At the John Peel stage, I saw Holy F**k and the Gang of Four, and, as the bad news from South Africa grew worse, took heart in the seemingly limitles capacity of these islands to produce epic pop. In between, I managed to catch some of Ray Davies and now I am waiting at the Other Stage for the mighty LCD Soundsystem.

After which I shall scurry as fast as my high-tops can carry me to the Pyramid Stage to hear Stevie Wonder play out this glorious festival: a defiant little republic of canvas, face paint and extraordinary shorts that will leave little trace in a few days’ time – other than a hundred thousand memories and the certainty that, like the mythic King who may lie buried within walking distance from here, it will all rise again.

(The Other Stage between bands)

(LCD Soundsystem on The Other Stage)