I'm awake. Mexican food has given me roaring indigestion. There is more moisture in talcum powder than my mouth and it is 4.35am. Oh, and my bladder is as full as David Crosby's waistband and I'm in a tiny tent.
SATURDAY
Joshua Radin - main stage
We have to confess, our music collection isn't exactly bulging with with Mr. Radin's output - but we were more than happy to be impressed. And we were, Joshua is a very good looking young man. His music is less stimulating. By his own description his songs tend to be about friends, girlfriends and travel. Well trodden ground and there was little in the way of new angles here. There was, however, a plethora of therapy pop (a number called 'No Envy, No Fear', for instance) and a beyond glib comment on Hurricane Katrina titled 'It's Going to Be Alright'. Joshua Radin? He's rather like James Taylor for the Twlight generation.
Eyes For Gertrude - Riverside stage
The Riverside stage is the centre of a small folk festival within the main Cornbury bash and despite its modest facilities (we sat on hay bails), the acts were of a satisfying standard. We've selected Eyes For Gertrude for a special mention for a couple of reasons. 1) They seemed to name themselves as they came on stage, which is brave and 2) they did a song about Pat Butcher, which is braver still. Powerful vocals and unusual lyrics, we liked them a great deal. If you happen to catch them, please be advised they may well rename the band at any moment.
http://www.myspace.com/eyesforgertrude
The Independent stall - main arena
No sign of a Weekend Guardian on site, so we plumped for a copy of the Indie with 60p off. The paper had hit on the splendid marketing ploy of putting out branded deck chairs on which to place one's bum while reading. Unfortunately, as we bowled up, they put them all away. This says something important about the ailing title.
Stax featuring Kiki Dee - second stage
A band performing old soul covers is never going to change the world. But this huge outfit were more than proficient and certainly lifted their whole show above any lame 'tribute' accusations. Particularly when they brought on the veteran Kiki Dee, who normally performs acoustic sets these days but sounded in tremendous voice with a full horn section and three backing vocalists. She gave us 'Just Another Day' and 'I Got The Music' before helping out Stax with a genuinely uplifting 'Proud Mary'. Perfect lunchtime material - not too innovative, but very cheery and not too taxing.
Buddy Guy - main stage
Who doesn't love an old bluesman? They always deliver on the brief. Smashing hat, wrapround shades, throaty delivery
And Buddy Guy ticks all these important boxes. But to stereotype him is to underestimate his power. At 74, here is a performer whose gift has not only failed to desert him but appears to be in full bloom. Over 60 minutes, Buddy tore the roof off the mainstage with a stream of earthy blues and a barrage of quite breath-taking guitar breaks. Between songs his banter was as witty and charming as it was wise and fruity. A master of his art with enough verve to deliver searing shows when he's 104, an elder statesman playing like a youthful rogue, it's not hard to see why Buddy Guy is Clapton's idol.
Candi Staton - second stage
We were a bit nervous waiting for Candi Staton. After Buddy Guy, we were concerned karma may seek balance and roll out an artiste past her prime and phoning in some old hits for posterity. Nope. She was splendid - and so were her band. We have no way of knowing whether they were recruited by Candi herself, but she got the top team. Two co-vocalists up front (one crazy dread, one 'star in her own right' soul girl), snappy horns, tight drummer and, get this, Mick Talbot on keys. As well as the expected 'You Got The Love' (now boosted by Florence) and 'Young Hearts Run Free', Ms. Staton treated us to 'Stand By Your Man' - a feminist anthem by her account - and lots of advice on affairs of the heart. A cracking set from a genuine star with deserved longevity and a superb young band.
Noisettes - main stage
Rapidly becoming one of the bands of the moment, The Noisettes can certainly claim a big sound. 'Go Baby Go' propelled itself across the site like a bottle of wee at other less refined festivals. If it's possible, the band fill the long vacant punk/pop/soul niche - not always successfully, it has to be said. They are definitely better when cooking up great commercial bouncers like 'Never Forget You' than when serving up sound experiments, but the Cornbury masses liked them well enough. The Observer has called them the best live act in the UK. They're not, but they're having a damn good time trying.
Squeeze - main stage
When you're Glen Tilbrook and Chris Difford, it must be hard not to be complacent. A portfolio of songs rightly compared with Lennon and McCartney and lyrics as dear to a certain generation as Morcambe and Wise sketches - how do you raise your game when performing? Well, with a little difficulty. To be fair, the band seemed to have technical issues through the first two numbers and by the time they got to 'Hourglass' they were hitting their stride. Song choice was an issue though - and a couple of album tracks and the sleepy 'When The Hangover Strikes' made for a saggy middle section. When you only have an hour, much as you don't fancy it, a greatest hits set is really what's called for. That said, the closing 20 minutes were sublime: 'Tempted', 'Annie Get Your Gun', 'Goodbye Girl' and 'Pulling Mussels From A Shell' were fine enough to send a collective shiver of joy through the crowd and we can't have been the only ones to make a note to see the full Squeeze set soon. Who knows? Chris Difford may even smile.
It's raining. Not on the festival, where it's lovely, but on me in my tent. The condensation from the breath of two sleeping people has caused fat droplets to form on the ceiling and, reaching a certain weight, fall on my slumbering face.
SUNDAY
The Blockheads - main stage
Sunday lunchtime and there's a big hole in the arena. It's the shape of Ian Dury and it's right up there on stage. We're delighted the Blockheads are still working together and on the Cornbury bill, but it's so hard to overcome their late leader's absence and we feel a bit awkward. Dury's place is often taken by Phill Jupitus, but today it's one Derek The Draw and he's simply giving us a rather unconvincing impersonation. No matter. We're concentrating on the sinewy, gurning and impeccable work of Norman Watt Roy on the bass. Through 'Reasons To Be Cheerful', 'What A Waste' and 'Clever Trevor' he works like a trooper, his uniquely twisting features unable to hide the glee he still has for his job. It would be churlish indeed not to share this man's skillful enthusiasm, so we jig and shout along and leave feeling just swell.
Fisherman's Friends - second stage
To be honest, the Vicar's photographer had to drag this writer to watch these guys. I'm slightly dubious about the whole populist folk thing sweeping the nation and I'm expecting something very serious and 'olde worldly'. Instead, I find a line of splendid fellows with voices as rich as sauce and songs which make me feel I must have been a 19th century trawler skipper at some point. And they're led by a shaven headed, handle-bar whiskered cove so witty, chaming, wry and warm he should genuinely have his own primetime TV show. We thought about eating, but couldn't possibly leave until the final note of the final shanty rang out across the sun bathed site. Even if you have no time for acapella seamen's songs hundreds of years old, you really should take time to enjoy these old boys, because you'll love them.
Reef - main stage
Reef? They're not still together are they? Well, it seems they weren't for a while, but now they are again. And sometimes there is room in one's life for a muscular, well-drilled, long haired rock band. Reef are that band. Note perfect, tight as two coats of paint and making a big old noise, there's very little of which to be critical - but not much to genuinely like either. There seems to be a hardcore Reef following (and a good few of them down the front) and they must be delighted the group are working again. However, we really aren't sure what Reef are for.
The Feeling - main stage
When The Feeling released their debut '12 Stops And Home', I was somewhat sneery. Indie pop by sharp, skinny young men? Tsk, who needs it? Then I caught their set in this very field three years ago and all was revealed. Live, The Feeling have everything in place. They spent their formative years as a show band at ski resorts and you can tell. For this band, the show is everything. They cast aside obscure album tracks in favour of 'guilty pleasure' covers - 'Video Killed The Radio Star' and 'Take On Me'. It's cheese, there's no doubt. But well made, well presented and very tasty cheese is there to be enjoyed - and we did. What's more, just as I was thinking this lot may well be the latter day Squeeze, they played their ace and brought Glen Tilbrook on for a run through 'Up The Junction' which managed to exceed Squeeze's own version from Saturday. At a festival, making best use of the available time is everything and somehow, The Feeling managed to make 60 minutes feel like their full set. I'm still not sure I'll be playing that album on a daily basis, but I'd go to see this band any time you like.
Jackson Browne - main stage
Certain members of rock aristocracy, while hugely succesful and influential, aren't really household names. Jackson Browne may well be the king of this tribe. From the instant he arrived it was clear we were in the presence of a seasoned performer. He has that laid-back delivery and twinkly confidence that says 'I'm the professional here, nothing I don't know about gigging'. And that's fair enough. A career that's almost four decades old and a face that has forgotten to age, are more than sufficient to earn my respect for an artist's quality.
Nevertheless, this is not necessarily enough to make you the perfect closing act of a two day festival. In fact, it may be the reason they shouldn't stick you on last, because this level of proficiency isn't particularly rousing. Okay, there is an argument that a crowd should be lowered gently down on a cushion of polished West Coast folk rock, but it's not a logic I subscribe to. So we both agreed, if Jackson had swapped places with The Feeling, Cornbury would have had a cracking finale. Though I suspect Jackson's management would have disagreed.
I'm sitting outside a boutique bar and hotel in the Oxfordshire countryside about twenty miles from the Cornbury site. In front of me is a large, frothy coffee which I have not been forced to prepare on a Calor gas stove. Ahead of me waits a deep and bubbly bath and a soft, soft bed. Above that bed there will be a ceiling made from solid materials and in the next room, a lavatory with a proper seat.
Until next summer.
