WELL Underage was amazing. Seriously. So prepare yourself for a long entry, darlings. Because I am now officially special...

We got there just after twelve, only to be confronted with a queue of skinny indie kids stretching halfway round the park. Brillliant start. So we waited, and waited, and waited...at least there were some interesting outfits to look at. A lot of distressingly coloured neon tights under high waisted shorts (why?), and lilly allen-style dresses. Topshop-a-go-go.

Having finally got in after being searched, i-d'd and our passport photos laughed at by security (thanks guys...really comforting!), we went on the toilet mission. Oh god. Festival toilets. They were...ripe.

Then food, dodgy noodles from a van. Yum, lukewarm technicolour worms! I wish I'd stayed away, like Lojja. We wandered round for a bit, then flaked under a tree, indy kid watching. They are a different species, they of the neon tights.

Then (and I know I'm using then too much, but I have to get all of this down before I forget) it was time for the first band we wanted to see: Blood Red Shoes, straight from Brighton. It was only me who liked them with insane fan love, but Lojja and Alicia were soon converted. I bounced and screamed with the best of them. We avoided the mosh pit with all of six people in, and the beat thudded through me like a pile driver. Whenever anyone crowd surfed, they got pulled down by security, and marched of to be yelled at. How gutting to get all the way round only to by violently hugged by a six foot ginger bloke.

On the way back from Blood Red Shoes, we were officially special. A girl with a proper camera (you know what I mean, one of those zoomy black efforts) came bounding up to us and asked if she could photograph us for MTV New Trends Newsletter. Who would refuse?! She said she picked us out cos we looked different from everyone else, so we stood there while she snapped us and chatted for a bit ("Where are you from?" us: "Northampton - it's a place you don't want to go to, just away from!"), before wandering off again. Wowsa.

I didn't really think we stuck out that much - I mean, we all just dress how we fancy. I suppose I have a bit of a fuckfashion metality. Alicia had leggings on under denim shorts, white slip ons and a grey tee with red beads ( I want them, mine broke ), Lojja was wearing black skinnies, über cool checked vans slip ons and a grey 'Break Dance, Not hearts' tee, which was admiered by another girl; whilst we were wandering. I had on my New Rocks (okay, they do stick out a bit in a crowd of dolly shoes!), fishnets, which were by that time very ripped because I kept getting my boots caught in them, a floaty stripy skirt with my tutu underneath to make it über sticky-out and a grey tank top with lace round the neck. And my hat of joy, which I put on at the start of the day and didn't dare remove till I was back home. Mmmm, sweaty short hair half static and half plastered to my head. I looked like Columbine (Rocky Horror tap dancer) on a bad day.

So, that was our fifteen minutes of fame. We lazed around and signed a petition againt the BNP before going to watch the Pigeon detectives on the Radio 1 Stage. We were kind of in the middle on the edge, and I was directly behind a couple making out. Slightly distracting, but they played an amazing set nonetheless. We all yelled the call backs on the stonking 'I found out', and I sang along to most of the others. People chucked loadsa stuffs on stage, including a make up bag, which was promptly dispereesed back to the audience ("who wants eye shadow...lip balm...*holds up tampons*dunno what these are...") They said 'hello london' at the beginning. That's one thing off the 'things to do before you die' list: go to a gig where they yell 'hello London'.

After that, knackeration was setting in, so we plonked down under a tree to listen to Cajun Dance Party and the Mystery Jets. I had a very tasty smoothie and cuppa and banana for dinner - far superior to the hnasty noodles.

We stood up again for Jack Penate, who isn't really my cup of tea but put on a good show. Everyone joined in to 'Torn on the Platform', whichj was his last song. He was alright live, but I won't rush and buy the albulm. We were at the back to start with, then loads more people came to watch, so we were kind of surrounded. This made me go all claustrophobic and panicky, despite the fact we were outside. I hate only being able to see people when you turn round, I have to be able to see gaps.

Finally, we saw the man who is the sheer embodiment of sex in dungarees: Patrick Wolf.
He was playing the Converse Tent, so I was kinda nervous as to how being in a crowd in a tent would make me feel, but oit was alright in the end. He came on wearing a foil thing over his head, then stripped off slightly. I bounced like a crzy thing to the songs he played that I knew, The Magic Position and Accident and Emerency, and danced to all the rest. He had a fantastic stage presence. Witty too - "This is a bit of a weird show for me - not because it's in Hackney, but because your all underage so the organisers have told me if I strip, they'll pull the sound. If I swear, they'll pull the sound. If anyone comes onto the front of the stage, they'll pull the sound. It's a bit like playing in a concentration camp (harsh, slightly over the line there methinks), so I'll have to communicate with music instead."
He then launched into a cover of Rhianna's Umbrella, (chart topping here, for some ungodly reason, for ten weeks), which I didn't realise until the end, because unlike the original he made it sound good. Finishing with "you lot can come under my umbrella anythime" (yes please!), he did a couple of older songs, before Accident and Emergancy (I was almost word perfect!), Then a couple more, then he finished with the magic position, dedicating it to someone who he only initialled. He stood on the barrier, supported by the security man's hand on his braces. Someone offered to show him her (I presume) underwear, and he just yelled "I see we have a sexual pervert in our midst". Fair do's. Watching him was odd, becuase he reminds me on stage a bit of Freddie Mercury - the smae sort of antics, with a violin rather than a mic stand. Also he looks very like David Bowie, circa Ziggy w/out make up. But a lot of glitter.

So, he's mine. But I'll lend him to you on the w/kends.

We walked back to the Radio 1 stage, hoarse, and caught the last thirty seconds of The Young Knives, before one of the organisers came on and said one of the best stage repartee I have heard in a long time, the immortal words: please leave through the exit.

Not one to waste words, I feel. On the way back to the station, people were standing on balconies watch us all troup back. Neon indy kids glowing in the half light, pale skinny jeans wandering back to boredom.

So, that was our day out. Back to the totem pole now.

You should all come next year. It will be the awesome.