Witnnessing 'em all (well nearly)

Morning all...hangovers poking at your temples? That fairground ride after your noodle breakfast seem like a bad idea now? Fret not, because there is a host of delectable acts ready to soothe your numerous festival ailments. Nina Hynes takes to the Upstage, having stolen members of the Jimmy Cake for her band. Decked in funky mirror outfits, Hynes' uplifting, deliciously sweet indie rock is the perfect way to kick off Sunday morning's proceedings.

Meanwhile, incoming Onstage crowds are perplexed to find what looks like a wayward, trucker-capped, Kings Of Leon roadie, brandishing a ghetto-blaster pumping idiosyncratic, Beck-like sounds. In fact, this lone ranger is making a bigger racket with his beatbox than most bigger bands have done all weekend. Once the rest of his band take to the stage, Simple Kid and his cohorts are more uplifting than a truckload of Alka Seltzer. Between their snappy dressing and their sonic musical mayhem, this is an uncut diamond of a band, and in a festival atmosphere, that's the best type of band there is.

Speaking of sartorial elegance, Jerry Fish is bringing a more 'grown-up' yet still vivacious vibe to proceedings. Jerry, ever the consummate gentleman, and looking even more so in the company of the great unwashed, looks as though he is having a ball, and his jazz/latino/lounge flavoured repertoire is breaking the morning clouds. In true festival spirit, Jerry implores the band to 'turn to someone you've never met and give them a great big kiss', before breaking into a delightful version of 'True Friends'. The music feels best suited to a smoky, after-hours jazz bar, but happily it's working well on this racecourse too...until Jerry decides to sing a tongue-in-cheek version of 'Hotel Yorba' (oops, in goes the sun again...).

On the other hand, Cane 141 are catering for those who like their hangover cures a little less effervescent and a little more experimental. Cane 141 are a subdued, trance-like outfit, imbued with the Gallic-cool spirit of Stereolab, and brimming with melody and positivity. At times, their set sounds like the soundtrack to 'Amelie' playing somewhere in space, and not even the guy eating rancid-smelling Japanese noodles to my left can negate their summery vibes.

Hangover sorted? Good. Amazingly, people are still trying their luck (and their stomachs) on the fairground rides, yet the wise are watching the Walls on the main stage. The Walls have garnered an impressive crowd, and their wearing of ironic country shirts and their penchant for pulsating, upbeat indie rock makes for mandatory festival protocol. Just as the festival is in full swing, the brothers Wall morph into the Stunning, and those members of the crowd old enough to remember the Walls' previous incarnation look as though their birthdays have come at once.

Twinkly-sounding rumblings from the Onstage, as well as the need for shelter from the sun, lure a sizable crowd in to Autamata. Having already earned his stripes as a production wizard, Ken McHugh proves himself a deft songwriter. While his songs display Pixies and David Kitt influences, his songstresses of choice, Cathy Davey and Carol Keogh, are whetting the crowd's appetite for their imminent world domination. Talk about calamine lotion for the soul...