Before death from sheer joy, things were massively slowed down for The Spark That Bled, featuring fake blood on Wayne's head as he imagined himself being shot with the softest bullet ever. The yellow Mac served a practical purpose you see. The camera in the mic came into effect as we had a blood-covered Wayne on the video screen who looked as big as his music. The moment I'd already picked out as the probable highlight then arrived with A Spoonful Weighs A Ton. Wayne pointed and waved at the screen as up came the Teletubbies sun in time to the intro. I couldn't believe it - this was just too perfect! The bass rocked (although perhaps not quite as much as I'd hoped it would) but it was the images that stuck with me and I now can't think of that song without seeing Teletubbies running around and crashing into each other in time to the music! Then out came the loudspeaker, sirens, and strobe light vest (so unbelievable at the time I thought I'd imagined it) as we were treated to the impossibly mighty Lightning Strikes The Postman (which at the time I'd never heard). It was unbelievable! Then it could have been The Observer which was perhaps the most atmospheric thing ever as a theremin was dusted down to provide strange sound effects.

Next up was Feeling Yourself Disintegrate which was the most disturbing song of the lot - video screen featuring close-up shots of surgery and people being shot and all sorts of bizarre images but it was Wayne I was looking at and there he was dueting with a glove puppet who mouthed the chorus! Waiting For A Superman was awesome of course. It always is. She Don't Use Jelly (the one hit wonder apparently) was then performed with such astonishing energy that I really started to approach burnout. There was Wayne showering us with seemingly infinite supplies of confetti and bags full of balloons. I was in heaven and, in the only way I could think of at the time, decided to immortalise the moment by gathering as many balloons as I could! Bass was pumped up again for Slow Nerve Action, which was very long and very intense, and it struck me just what a tune it was. I think the set ended with their cover of Over The Rainbow, featuring Judy Garland on a loop moving forwards and backwards. It was a fitting climax to something so awesome I just couldn't believe it had happened.

I had thought of staying for Underworld in the hope they could keep excitement up but needed to visit the lavatory so urgently I took the cue to leave with my balloons in tow! Someone jokingly decided to pop one and received a death stare from me - that's just not funny! I left the JJB Arena (a tent I'll always have very fond memories of) to discover it was raining pretty heavily. I was pretty lost and just didn't know what to do at all - what the hell could I do? All my desire for excitement had been met and the only way was downwards. I staggered my way past a food stall where a girl who worked there said that she knew how I felt because she'd been there. Immediately I took that the wrong way and thought she meant she'd seen The Flaming Lips too so I gave a few hysterical sentences about balloons and Wayne which immediately ended the conversation!

I figured out later that she assumed I was enormously out of it and my balloon rant probably didn't change her opinion. People just didn't seem to understand that it was possible to be so happy just from having seen a band (and the fact my legs were barely working no doubt added to the whacked-out perception of me). That's the awesome thing - by the time The Lips came on I was sober (I hadn't drunk for six hours!) and the glorious experience was down to pure joy and not alcohol. I wanted to find someone else who understood but couldn't. Even now, the only people I've met who were there were arms-folded sceptics and of course you wouldn't love it with such a negative attitude! You needed to believe in The Lips and then they'd do the rest of the work.

I decided to wander over towards the main stage since I didn't feel quite like ending my night just then. Travis were on and they were OK. I stayed around for a while and saw a good proportion of their set and they did loads of nice songs (very similar to their Wolverhampton 1999 gig) but so what? It was a massive comedown and there was just nothing I wanted to do. The intensity of the cold and the rain was getting too much (I think I was only wearing a T-shirt) and I thought I'd just bug out and call it even since anything going on would just be a massive anti-climax and the weather was nasty anyway. So it was goodbye to the prospect of seeing Supergrass and back towards the tent when Travis launched into a particularly average cover version. Err... apparently around this point I've been asked to tell y'all that Slos was dancing in the rain to Travis... ANYWAY, I was incredibly tired and it really was a physical challenge to walk by this time. So much in fact that I decided to take a shortcut so I wouldn't have to walk so far and ended up completely lost and even more confused!

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I found my way to a camp site and asked the steward where the fuck my tent was, hoping perhaps that he'd be able to just lead me there. Having me marked down as an incredibly drunk (false) and lost (true) person he just pointed towards another camp site, no doubt baffled by why I had five or six balloons cradled about my person. At least he let me on my way though, although that might have been a bad thing? Somehow though I did find my tent and, very desperate to get in, I just lifted it up and crawled inside, carefully putting the balloons in my bag for safekeeping. They were my number one priority now, them and the confetti showered in my hair were the only concrete evidence I had for what I'd just experienced... Although how I planned to get several balloons home from a music festival and keep them for the rest of my life was a challenge I'd yet to grasp the difficulty of doing! Before lying down and trying to get to sleep, I decided to further safeguard my balloons by going outside the tent again and, since it was the only thing handy, took a piece of tissue paper and wrote on it in biro - "WARNING! DO NOT POP BALLOONS!" I then tried to use chewing gum to stick this very important message to the front of the tent but it failed (I guess I can see why now, especially considering the rain) so I just sat around, trying to stay awake so I could deliver my warning not to pop the balloons.

After God knows how long, Nick and Sam returned from their infinitely less memorable day (I mean, they're not still talking about it many years on like me are they??) to surprise that I was in the tent, asking me why I wasn't out seeing Supergrass. A very silly question I thought, and totally redundant if they'd had known just what a time I'd had! I did try to explain just how astonishing what I'd seen was but was just met with predictable scepticism. How frustrating it was to not have another person there who could back me up and tell them just what they'd missed, and to share the experience with them, even by just a knowing glance, as I was too tired to be bogged down into an argument about just what the fools had missed. And I was too excited to try and articulate what I'd witnessed. This perhaps this was the point where the night had reached its natural conclusion and I was still very gashed, very tired and very sunburnt and just wanted to go to sleep. Nick and Sam also seemed quite tired I thought and I'm fairly sure I did remind them repeatedly to leave my goddam balloons alone! But I had to endure a very dull bit of chitchat about all the unspectacular and shallow things that The Bloodhound Gang had done. Loud shouting was going on outside and somehow Sam got drawn into it by responding to the heckles. By some bizarre turn, this eventually turned into the singing of Bloodhound Gang lyrics which apparently went down so well we were eventually invited to come outside the tent to meet the people we (not me - I'd practically lost my voice from screaming so much during Race For The Prize) were heckling. The heckle itself had also turned into anti-me propaganda as I wasn't joining in and they were taking the piss for it.

The invitation to go out went mainly to Nick and Sam but I was asked, sighed, and said why not. I mean... WHAT'S THE WORST THING THAT COULD HAPPEN?! Also, after spending the whole weekend trying to get very sleepy people to rock, I felt I needed to set an example by coming out myself and showing everyone how it's done. Err... and that's what I did! After sitting around for a little while with these foolish Bloodhound Gang obsessives who had no idea what they'd missed, I quickly determined that no-one else had seen The Lips and the closest I got was someone who'd witnessed (and enjoyed) Moloko. What could I possibly say or do? What was the point even trying to talk to these people when there was only one thing on my mind and all I got was scepticism and disbelief? And also I'd lost my voice so couldn't had spoke even if I had a chance!

READER WARNING: THIS IS THE POINT WHERE ACCOUNTS OF WHAT HAPPENED BECOME BLURRED AND INCONSISTENT!

I do remember at some point that had to be Sunday night I went off again towards the arena and bought some more Carling. I think this was just after I'd been dragged out of my tent and I felt myself desiring alcohol again and was too polite at this point to scrounge (maybe) so it was another solo wander into the unknown. It was a new lorry I'd never spotted and I had the exact change in my hand and was happily prepared to hand it over in return for my violently overpriced £2.50 Carling. But my heart sank! The guy at the store said it only cost £2, and they'd been charging that price all weekend. They also were allowing us to drink out of the can rather than a nasty paper cup! And there I'd been paying extra - I was just taken aback! Ummm... Yeah. So it was back to by the tent and the non-conversation where I found myself sitting down with Nick on one side and a stranger on the other. I have no memory of drinking this Carling but I must have done since I bought it. But what I do remember is that a two-litre bottle was produced and this contained (*shudders*) vodka with lemonade. I was told afterwards that it was fairly weak and can't really dispute it. But, hell, nothing's weak if you drink it in large enough quantities!

So this bottle of pure and concentrated evil was being passed round in a circle and everyone who wanted some took a glug. It was Nick however who decided he wasn't thirsty anymore and, rather than passing it round the circle (perhaps there was a gap in it and he couldn't be bothered to pass it on, I wasn't wearing my glasses so couldn't see much anyway), the direction was reversed and I found myself with the bottle again! "Nice!" was my reaction at the time, since drinking was just about the only thing I was up for. And so this went on until the bottle emptied, no-one noticing I was the one who'd drunk the vast majority of it (possibly as much as everyone else combined - I just don't know!). Perhaps the reason this had happened was because we were all (except Nick) sniffing some stuff I believe they call Poppers which I thought was having little effect but maybe it did. So many contributing factors I've covered it's impossible to say! It could all have ended there but some guy produced another bottle - this time cider! The opening of the cider and my first few glugs were just about the last thing I remember as I then experienced a near total black-out!

READER WARNING: THIS IS THE POINT WHERE ACCOUNTS OF WHAT HAPPENED BECOME TOTALLY AND UTTERLY UNRELIABLE SINCE I WAS OUT OF IT AND CAN'T VOUCH FOR ANYTHING!

Ummm... Yeah... Err... Apparently around this point I'd now retreated into my own little world and was sitting down, waving my hands about, saying how much SFA rock and singing songs like Northern Lites, and reciting SFA setlists and all sorts of strange things I have no memory of, in some astonishing trance. And then, I "may" had keeled over backwards and didn't get up again for a while. I imagine it was a classic moment, akin to Del Boy falling through the bar in Only Fools And Horses, and it was also pretty unexpected too for everyone there. But no-one else can remember this now although I'm sure I was told it happened! So I can't confirm passing out but who knows? I could have been tripping?? After noticing I was in a pretty intense alcohol trance and was practically unresponsive to everything, and after extensive prodding and pulse checking, my (ahem) friends deduced that I was dead and the thought probably turned onto disposing of the body. Or that's what I thought but in reality I think it was all a joke to see how out of it I was. I may have had very cold water tipped over me which I think led to the first definitive signs that in fact I hadn't expired. I could actually had regained memory around this point (very briefly) as I do remember lying down, looking up, being outside and seeing people who seemed surprised to see me looking back at them.

Further possible incidents include being slapped about the face some times over by some guy I'd never met (pleased to meet you too!) which perhaps wasn't the "thoughtful gesture" it could had been. Also I've received reports that I had some whisky poured down my throat in an attempt to get me out of it. Then I guess I fell asleep from regular exhaustion (as opposed to clinical death exhaustion) and was dragged into a tent belonging to two guys where I was left for a while before I finally regained consciousness (or was forcibly woke up to get me out of there - who knows anymore?). I was now back into the land of the living although couldn't stand up. One or two guys (Nick and Sam had decided to go to sleep rather than keep watch over my deathbed) were helping me out and seemed pretty worried that I wouldn't make it through the night anyway. An attempt to get me to stand up failed miserably so I just crawled the small distance back to the tent, opened up the zip and crawled into the porch. I was now at the mercy of Sam The Evil Gatekeeper and whether or not he'd let me in.

With total disregard for the unbearably freezing temperatures outside, Sam's main concern was that I didn't "decorate" the tent and he wasn't going to let me in without a fight. Or perhaps he was taking the piss. First thing I was asked was the time. I glanced at my watch for what seemed like forever, turning the back-light on but the fact is I just couldn't see it so that's what I said. Probably didn't help my case much... I think in the end it was near hysterical pleading and the realisation he'd never get any sleep until I was let in (rather than the thought of stopping me freezing to death?) which got me back into the tent, but only if I promised that I'd sleep the other way round. So I was let into the tent and, as far as I'm aware, just passed out immediately into a particularly deep sleep.

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I woke up the next day not so much hung-over as practically paralysed at first. I think it was surprisingly early considering (but how can anyone sleep at music festivals anyway?). First thought was finding my shoes that seemed to have been mislaid the previous night. I found them in separate tents an absurdly long distance from where I'd been. I don't know what's more incredible - that I'd lost them like that or that I found them! I also realised the catastrophic fact that my "mates" had took my state as their cue to burst every single one of my balloons. But I was too tired to take it in and thoughts were focused on returning home. The guy informing me of how out of it I'd been last night was only stating what I already knew! The tent was packed away hurriedly and Nick and Sam had clearly had more than enough and were really rushing me on, very keen to get away, not doing a standard check of around the tent for things we'd dropped. Now who was behaving irrationally? They just about resisted skanking me and we found our way to the shuttle bus, where the driver just about managed to avoid laughing out loud at just how sunburnt and generally out of it I looked.

All thoughts were now on getting home but I had to endure the hanging around Stafford for a bit, which was just unreal - adapting to a town after a festival is just the freakiest thing ever! Perhaps this is a reason why Stafford now makes me feel ill! I managed to cough up the blockage in my throat that had been bugging me all morning then it was off on the bus back home. Nothing else interesting happened I think, just many hours in the bathroom trying to clean up, listening to The Flaming Lips and being attended to over my horrific sunburn (how was I supposed to know the cream didn't work?!). It took a full day of lying down and total inactivity before I even though of getting my stuff unpacked, but this was one music festival that I wouldn't forget. Even though that's probably an understatement in this case!

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So there you go. You can go on all you like about hardcore things to do but to actually be so much out of it when surrounded by relatively sober people and managing to wake up the next day in a quasi-normal state takes some beating! V2000 still pretty much dictates everything I do now - musical loves (The Lips), hates (Toploader), drinking habits (I always take a step away from cider drinkers now), general attitude to going out (trying to create a little bit of the V2000 good feeling each time I go anywhere) and totally weak legs which won't carry me through anything more intense than walking for long! It's also a relief to know that, despite my totally inconsiderate attitude due to the intensity of my desire to rock, no-one was hurt (except me) and that my astonishing behaviour is the one thing no-one who was there could forget. I mean Sam invited me out again just two days later on the Wednesday after I'd thought for a while I might had pissed him off for life. Which was a relief. Although, as everyone else had been astonishingly negative and cynical throughout the event, I think they should take more blame than me. I'd blame The Bloodhound Gang since, if it weren't for their temporary popularity none of it would had happened. But it was probably worth it just so I can say I'd been there (I've been there since I think but never as intensely and so publicly). Also still can't quite believe the buggers popped my balloons - that really was just cruel...

People may look at the line-up for V2000 and may laugh but I say it was PERFECT - just enough to keep me amazed but also leaving plenty of room for rocking in other ways. If the game here was having fun then I damn well won it and this was one time everyone accepts it! So why was it so ace? I guess I was totally up for it, was searching continuously for things to happen, things went against me, but I fought on until actually achieving every bit of excitement I was looking for through a few bands (thank God The Lips were there!). Then it was a big comedown, which perhaps wasn't good for me but certainly entertained everyone else. And it was funny. And I survived! Well I don't want another V2000, partly because I wouldn't live through it. It's now reached legendary status and, because I never got round to writing about it for so long, events have become debatable. Like The Bible in some ways perhaps - no-one's quite sure what happened or can prove it. And there was a resurrection in it as well! Now you guys can go off and write about your own V2000 and use it to inspire yourself to rock at any time but also to realise what happens if you rock too hard...

SONG OF THE DAY: The Flaming Lips - Soundcheck