If Sunday woke with a scream instead of glaring headache in the pounding rain, it probably would have been that of those being bored to death by the desperate Witness, spluttering their once much-vaunted second-rate Verve tribute tripe into our ears.
Ed Harcourt was probably quite good also, but we were too busy blagging in two of my friends...
Idlewild successfully cheered everyone up, and for all the technical ineptness that they're normally labeled with, they really stood up tall as the epitome of a fantastic festival band. No new stuff, but when you have 'Little Discourage', 'Captain' and 'When I Argue I See Shapes' to bash around it doesn't matter too much. Shame though how Roskilde all the crowdsurfing fun that the kids used to have. Geddit? I know that's in bad taste, but I did warn you. Seriously though, I did get reprimanded for trying to incite a bit of flying fifteen-year-old action. It's dangerous, apparently.
Not quite as dangerous as allowing that comatosingly dull Kiwi, Neil Finn into the country. Yeah, we know you did Crowded House. They didn't care then and we certainly don't give a shit now. With little else to do, I had a bit of snap away near the beer tent in a half-arsed attempt to capture some of the prettier figures of V2001. Y'know, a girl gallery kinda thing. Pretty futile.
Still, the hour drinking time came in handy for surviving Placebo. Brian's funny new short hair detracting somewhat from the borathon intro of 'Taste In Men' and the stale and monotous air of much of their set. 'Special K' and 'You Don't Care About Us' penetrated hard, but you can't help but think they don't really care and that Molko is indeed a prize twat.