With the changeable weather again pulling no punches - drenching us in sun and rain, often simultaneously - a decent mob of Sunday hangover victims crawl into the tent to be nursed back to health by coarse Canadian rockers Mobile.
Borrowing ideas from The Cure, Pink Floyd and tonight's bill-toppers Primal Scream, their's is a sound that takes old influences and carves up something excitingly fresh – in their own words, "We're a little more rock, a little more pop, a little more modern." Fair assessment, and the sparse crowd seem pleased.
Noise complaints from locals can skew a festival's reputation, so Geoff Ellis might want to have a word with Lorraine's drummer- his pounding drums are enough to sober up any morning after. And that's the story of Lorraine's set – everything big. Big pounding beats, big powerful vocals, big glittery keyboards, and lush atmospheres the size of mountains. As Norway's electropop answer to the Pet Shop Boys hammer on, street teamers hand out flyers and free CDs to point the impressed crowd in the right direction.
A decent mob has gathered for Kubb, considering the lure of Scotland's other national anthem – '500 Miles'. Majestic and melancholic rock, but you don't come to T to chill out – the real fun is to be had with The Proclaimers.
So as two twin brothers leave the main stage, King Tut's suddenly has the pleasure of the beautiful Watson twin sisters' company, as they join flame-haired songstress Jenny Lewis for some old school country. Lewis, frontwoman of LA's Rilo Kiley, is touring in support of album 'Rabbit Fur Coat', which she's described as a "sort of soul record". Heartbreaking and sensitive, but by this point it's pitched just a little over the head of people wanting straight rock n roll.
Bring on Gomez. In a single guitar lick they change tack from hard rock to blues-funk and ballads, and Gomez need not convince anyone of their right to be here – it's a Tut's tent packed with hardened fans wanting to hear cuts from classic album 'Bring It On'. 'Whippin' Piccaddilly' does the job nicely, sending everyone into a frenzy. Totally cool.
Are we on drugs? Ahh, no. The Futureheads played an almost identical timeslot at Tut's last year, so forgive us the trippy double-take. Last time they were riding high on the back of their 'Hounds Of Love' cover – heroin in the form of pop music – which they duly air again to frantic audience participation. But for a crowd who've seen it all before, it's new tracks like 'Area' and single 'Skip To The End' that really leave a lasting impression. Good fun.
Spare a column inch for Paulo Nutini. He's not on the Tut's stage, but you can't very well write a review of this year's T without throwing in a mention – the sensitive Scotsman has left Balado's tiny "homegrown talent" T-Break stage with the sort of buzz that'll almost certainly propel him to a future main stage slot (forget the fact that he did also play a 10-minute main stage set today, the sentiment stands).
"Who's from Paisley?" shouts the singer, to massive cheers from the Renfrewshire contingent. Indeed, it's a song he penned about the heartbreak of leaving his hometown that's gained him such an exciting reputation – 'These Streets' is arguably the most beautiful tune you'll hear all year. Eyes and ears will pop when the nation learns that this voice so rich with life experience and soulful sensitivity is only 19 years old. It's simply stunning.
But back over to a quiet Tut's. Maybe it's because they were a late minute addition to the bill, with even the official programmes carrying a "TBC" in their slot time – maybe it's because they peddle an unoriginal sound that's not terribly exciting. Whatever the reason, Larrikin Love don't seem to mind the fact that they're playing to such a small crowd, thumping out the tunes with professionalism and gusto – and all credit to them, the gathered fans clearly love their renditions of punky tracks such as 'Edwould', 'Six Queens' and 'Little Boy Lost'.
To anyone new to all things "GO!", the empty stage with a bizarre/elaborate setup of two green drums and a big screen of animations gives few clues as to what's to come. When The Go! Team arrive on stage, it's all crystal clear. They're an, umm, experimental guitar band who mix action theme songs, cheerleader chants, early hip-hop, and a hint of '70s funk. Still with me? There's six of them, three boys and three girls, and they switch instruments like they're trying to figure out what belongs to who. Dancing frontwoman Ninja earns more than just a little attention for her mini mini-skirt, but it's the music that really wows – sleigh bells and tambourines compliment thundering guitars and tin whistles, while the crowd are split into halves and each side given song lines to sing. Best band of the weekend? Possible. Most fun ever had, anywhere? Definite.
And then there was one. Where do you start with Primal fucking Scream? Is it the fact that, during The Who's set, legend Pete Townshend expresses his disappointment over clashing with his "favourite band"? Is it with album 'Screamadelica', a high-point of the 90s for Ibiza ravers as much as it was NME rockers, blending music scenes with gospel, dance, indie, rock and the story of a drug trip? Is it their re-emergence with 'Country Girl', is it the fact that they're Scottish, is it a tent that's literally bursting at the seams, is it…
It's bloody wonderful, is what it is. Chemically-induced dancing, people climbing the tent scaffolding for a better view, lung-bursting "COUNTRY GIRL! TAKE MY HAND!" chants, the concluding wonderful-as-always 'Rocks', and anti-everything legend Bobby Gillespie with swagger in tow. And like leaving an old friend at the airport, it's time to say a teary goodbye to Gillespie and the T In The Park experience, at least until next year. What a fitting way to close Scotland's celebration of rock n roll debauchery.