OK so I made up the last bit. Wednesday and Thursday was all about bedding down and largely unprintable. Friday morning and the mood is bullish. 60,000 people watched another woeful England cup exit on the Pyramid Stage last night - the largest single gathering for a televised game in the world. The rain was just as demoralising, ensuring mud and the perilous walks. Ralph Myers And The Jack Herren Band open on the Pyramid Stage, with two drummers, their jazzy percussion laden set was warmly received. As were Kasabian on The Other Stage, who also had an alarming army of flag waving indie kids in tow.

OMH starts panicking when we realise three crates of lager have been drained already. Much of a blissfully warm Friday afternoon is spent trekking to retrieve a sacred crate from the east car park. With glass bottles a no-no, and Nazi security, the final solution is to cane the Bud to Wilco and Nelly Furtado, thanks to a very, very loud Pyramid Stage PA.

Several sozzled hours later and Badly Drawn Boy are filling in for Jet on the Other Stage. As they meander through a very uninspiring hour, Damon Gough has the cheek to say we got a better deal with Jet not playing! The masses heckled and cheered like a throng of merry Romans. With the stench of Snow Patrol filling up worse than the portaloos, OMH wisely plods off to the Pyramid Stage where we join thousands as Groove Armada rumble the field for a rollicking hour and a quarter. Of course everyone's waiting for Superstylin and they gladly oblige without a care in the world.

By PJ Harvey the crowd has started to dissolve, Franz Ferdinand stealing the thousands to hear Take Me Out before fucking off to more-ish donut stalls. musicOMH sticks to its guns and with Polly Jean, who is nothing short of scintillating. Sporting a dress made from a Spice Girls T-shirt, the Peej is all gurl power as she grinds out Big Exit. The new material gets a lukewarm response: The Letter wooed and cheered, a grungy Who The Fuck left many scratching heads and thinking What The Fuck? while Shame was spellbinding. Unsurprisingly the loudest cheers came as Good Fortune and A Place Called Home mesmerised, as well as an awesome rendition of Down By The River. After her departure Love are on, but OMH is too bloody tired to cross-country it to the Acoustic Stage. Sorry Arthur...

...Half an hour and one slipped disc later, Kings Of Leon lumber onstage. Caleb Followill takes one look at 60,000 people and you can see him squirm as the shit enters his size 28 Levi's. Recomposed, the band plunder into Red Morning Light and wheel out a so-so set of material from Youth and Young Manhood plus some promising newbies, notably the show stopping Milk. Glancing around, the Kings were (at Noel Gallagher's request) clearly starters for the main course. Mid way through, musicOMH looks at its watch and has a heart attack as we realise The Bees are on in the New Tent. Rubbing our back and feeling like a 21-year-old war veteran, we hang our head in shame. But you would too with a four-mile round trip and Oasis on next.

This time nine years ago, Noel Gallagher played Don't Look Back In Anger over at the Other Stage. The reaction, says Noel, was virtually silent. Not tonight. Taking the dog by the bollocks, Liam, sporting a trim white parka shuffles to the mic and guffs "Rock N' Roll Star." The rest of the band, with Beatles blood on skins (Zak Starkey), obliges. Fuck Me?! Is that Bring It On Down I hear?! Before you know it, the drums for Supersonic are upon you, and your voice is gone. And then they decide to hit ya with Morning Glory.

Sounds amazing doesn't it? So why doesn't it feel right? For starters, the PA is pants and you could make out the Chemical Brothers on the Other Stage if you concentrated hard enough. Everyone around the front seems quite conservative and are content to watch. I'm tempted to crack out PG Tips and crumpets. Noel looks ready to retire and only stops to dedicate Stop Crying Your Heart Out to England and crack a bad one liner here and there. Liam meanwhile is indifferent, snarling on song, muttering Manc gibberish off mic, pausing to glaze his John Lennon picture pose, but generally puffs boredom.

Things pick up with Cigarettes and Alcohol and Live Forever, which was followed by one of two new songs, The Meaning of Soul. A short bluesy romp written by Liam. The other, A Bell Will Ring was decent, but unremarkable. And that was the story of Oasis tonight. It had been overcooked by the media and by much lager lamenting in the glorious afternoon sun . Just before all hope was lost, the PA returned and a magical encore of Songbird saved the day. Closely followed by Wonderwall, Don't Look Back in Anger and a storming cover of My Generation, those last ten minutes were belated, but well worth the wait.

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