With Glastonbury building up to its grand blow-out finale, now is the time to tick off the traditional Sunday evening checklist.

Mid afternoon at Glastonbury, and anticipation for the traditional Sunday singalong slot is tangible.

So it turns out John Lennon was right after all. You really can get a tan from standing in the English rain.

Scowling down from the Other Stage, the Pixies are not looking for our love.

Jack White did not come to Glastonbury for the magical healing vibes. Good.

Glastonbury can be a cruel mistress, punishing us with her ever changing moods. This morning brought thunderbolts and lightning, very very frightening. Now the sun is ablaze across the festival, and the pre-Metallica mood is incongruously mellow to the max.

Who's got the cleanest boots in the rain-sodden, mud-slicked Vale of Avalon this weekend? Kelis, that's who.

I love the smell of Glastonbury in the morning. It smells like... OK, not quite victory. But not quite defeat either. More like bacon, coffee, marijuana, mud, sweat and beers. And, there is no getting away from it, cow shit...

Most Glastonbury headliners save their triumphant fireworks for the encore, but Arcade Fire make their own rules.

“Glastonbury! Are you seeing clearly now the rain has gone?” Guy Garvey bounds onto the Pyramid Stage, flooding the festival with avuncular game-show cheer, like that favourite teacher who always managed to get the kids on his side at school.