Once again, we've been ear-wigging for words of wisdom from Latitude's great unwashed...
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"I had a dog. He died about a year ago. His name was Boss. This is for my dog. I miss my dog."
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While John seems to have found his Latitude highlight, I've got to say I've found mine, too. Nicholas Parsons, come on down. Oh, and Sheffield's finest enjoy a Man Balancing Ball On His Head race down at the lake.
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Guest blogger Terry Staunton has been eavesdropping on the conversations of others to discover just what Latitude punters are talking about...
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So, as ever with Latitude, there's as much fun to be had after the official events of the day have wound down...
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I must admit, I find it hard to throw myself willingly into the arms of Martha Wainwright. This isn't necessarily anything to do with her song craft -- which is sleek, consummate, and delivered with commendable laser precision. She is, I guess, part of a lineage of perfectly respectable quality singer-songwriters who can find an equilibrium between a more benign, FM Radio 2 friendly audiences and those searching, perhaps, for something that's clearly in tune to profound emotional feelings.
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Excuse us while we go a bit "duuude," on your asses. "This is awesome, the sheep are painted fucking pink. It's so psychedelic, and I haven't even taken a thing," says Reggie Youngblood, singer of Florida's Black Kids, who take the stage in the UNCUT Arena as a spear of late afternoon sunshine pierces the cloud.
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So, there's Paul Merton -- no less -- smoking a cigarette and eating a baked potato. This, gentle reader, is the first thing I see at this year's Latitude -- and, surely, as celeb/food/fag interfaces go this might well take some beating.
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You might wonder what connects the bucolic charm of Latitude, snuggled there in the Suffolk countryside, to Springfield, Matt Goening’s fictional burb in The Simpsons.
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At first glance, it might seem strange to find Shane Meadows shooting a “legacy project” recording Eurostar’s move from Waterloo to St Pancras. Meadows, after all, is best known for a raft of movies that’ve chronicled suburban working class life in and around his native Nottingham. He’s hardly, you’d think, the obvious candidate to shoot a promo film intended to, ah, push the boundaries of brand communications. And for a company whose most memorable contribution to advertising featured Kylie skipping gaily round Paris.
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