The great promoter in the sky has really been getting it together this month. Patterns everywhere. Last week the Great Western Festival bored me silly, this week I came out of David Bowies show so happy that I can’t remember how I got home. Yesterday I finally saw Gimme Shelter; today they’re playing the new Who single, Pete Townshend’s message that rock has no message. “Metal Guru” is number 1 and it still hasn’t stopped raining. it still hasn't stopped raining.

It started for the festival. English rock festivals have always had the status of battles. People wear the ribbons in their hair -"Isle of Wight 1970, Weeley 1971, Bickershaw 1972. They’re all dire, windswept occasions, when pleasure has to be fought for and is. Maybe we need to out-Blitz our parents. After the fun is over we remember not how wonderful the music was but how Wonderful we were, sitting grinning in the mud. Woodstock might seem a long time ago to you, but England still needs its festivals. Rituals of recharging. The hairies gather from every small town in the land, show themselves off and check that the others are still there. Hey man, we’re real.