Sunday 8th August

I wake up after a very short period of relieved unconsciousness and something doesn't feel right. Something, in particular, down my right side - the limb I've been lying on and crushing into the hard ground. I roll onto my back and hold my arm up, only to see my wrist hanging completely limp in front of me. It doesn't hurt, but I can't move my fingers or hold my wrist up at all. I amuse myself for a few seconds by waggling my seemingly dead right hand around with my left, letting it drop back down like the useless claw it's become. I'm only mildly worried that it's dislocated - mainly because it doesn't hurt but also because I've never had an injury remotely like that before and so have no idea what it would actually feel like. I've also never had my arm go quite this numb before either, it must be said, so I'm pleased - in my half-awake state - when the feeling slowly begins to return and I can grip things once more. Later, Big Nick will suggest that I missed a fantastic masturbation opportunity - but I don't think K would have been particularly impressed had I given it a go.

We get up and hang around for a bit, wandering into the arena to get bacon sandwiches and diseccting the previous night - it turns out that while K and I had been the worst in going to bed at 8.30, no one else had lasted much longer. Maybe we're all a bit too old for this shit. Maybe we just cracked on the strong cider too early. Either way, as part of our group recuperation we head back across the zoo to take on the African Experience safari. Once again, K and I really shouldn't be able to get in for free - and while I feel bad about taking money from the zoo and possibly depriving the gorillas of celery and whatnot, by the end of the weekend I will have spent almost £20 on two cornish pasties in their restaurant. Oh and some baked beans.

We're early to the ex-military truck that will be taking us on the safari drive and are met by the friendly old Kentish driver who is rapidly losing his voice - to the extent that he sounds exactly like the green witch character from The Mighty Boosh. We head out into the huge open part of the park past cheetahs, zebras and giraffes, winding slowly up and down the hillside. The weather is beautiful and the animals make a surreal and very pretty juxtaposition against the wide, flattening landscape of southern Kent, and looking towards the sea I get a strange pang of homesickness for Folkestone and summery Kentish life.

We get back from the zoo after a bit of lunch and K and I begin to pack up our tent. There are more bands on today, but we both need to work tomorrow and there seems little point in hanging around much longer when we won't be around for the headliners. The tent is quickly folded away and we wander away from the site in search of the worryingly sporadic bus to Ashford. Arriving at the first country lane we see, it becomes quickly obvious that getting the bus is going to be a nightmare - so instead K haggles with a nearby cab driver and gets us a reasonably priced ride to the station. Here we part with a little more of the cash we saved by blagging our way into zoos and the like to get the new high speed train back to Kings Cross which takes a ridiculously quick 35 minutes in lovely air-conditioned comfort. Somehow we find ourselves at home in London less than 2 hours after we packed up our tent - and I run inside for a much, much needed shower.