16.52 This song, it's limbering up to take part in a margarine commercial. You're spot on, Catmagic. Jarvis Cocker doing Running The World would be just the ticket right now. Legend's off already. He should lay off the Elton John ballads, that fellow, and shake his love-spuds around a bit. More droning on about light-bulbs. At least the alleged artists here know why they are here. Unlike Francis Rossi at Live Aid who for the entire day laboured under the misapprehension that the concert's aim was to raise a few bob for Welsh farmers. Ah, it's Duran. Crumbs, they're annihilating Planet Earth. He's awfully off-key.
17.04 LeBon, don't start trying to explain the profound meanings of your songs. You're not exactly Bob Dylan, mate. Christ, he can't hold a tune in a bucket, can he? What's with all these lightweights doing ballads? Frankly, this number (Ordinary World) is about as compelling as watching a cornflake absorb skimmed milk.
17.08 For those of you who are interested, Banjo's woken up again and is now chasing my half-blind cat around the garden. Duran just ain't doing it for him even now that they're funking it up with Notorious. Is that a syrup perched on LeBon's head? I'd wager a horse that it is. It can't possibly be real hair.
17.09 My sainted aunt, they're murdering Sly Stone now, the wee tinkers. You should be thankful they're not broadcasting this bilge in France, frogprincess.
17.11 The crowd, Catmagic? They're all waiting to see Captain Beefheart. Alex assures me he's on a bit later. If this drum solo ever finishes....
17.20 Unconvincing rockers, Duran. Even when they're going for the rock-out, the fops all look like they'd rather be doing something else like poncing around on yachts. Woss pronouncing Duran Duran raised a laff at this end. Ooh, Chris Rock is on later. That should set the cat amongst the pigeons. Seems like we're doing the news now.
17.28 Maybe time to speculate who the surprise guests are going to be. McCartney is a shoo-in as far as I'm concerned and I've got fifty oncers riding on it so he'd better turn up. Beefheart, of course. I know Ioan Gruffudd is scheduled to appear. A few Dylan Thomas poems would grill my kippers. Nice weather for it. But remember this. It may be summer outside but it's always autumn under your armpits. And yes, LittleWideWord, a daft Richard Jobson jig would gladden my heart right now. They keep saying, "the world's biggest stars" but the world's biggest stars are doing other things. Banjo has stopped chasing Bilko and is now back on the sofa, gnawing away on a pork chop, gazing at Russell Brand and thinking, "that berk looks a bit like me." 17.35 They just showed the highlights so far. Blooming heck. Has it been that rotten. Is that lady up the duff? Or is it the dress? Here we go. Chris Rock. Surely some effing and jeffing assured. Ah, there you go. The MF word. And he appears to have been ambushed.
17.43 The Red Hot Chili Poppers, as Woss introduced them. I tried one of those once and it didn't half sting the old jap's eye. I'm no great fan of The Peppers, as the young 'uns call 'em. But I was hoping they'd at least blow the cobwebs away with a few arse-rattlers. They're certainly giving it some. Would have preferred half-an-hour of Chris Rock though. When's Captain Beefheart coming on?
17.55 drbendyspoon, top marks for the funniest comment of the day. And more beards, I note with no pleasure. Who exactly let the bearded weirdies back in? RHCP are very plucky but, let's be honest, they haven't a decent song to call their own. William, my teenage son, just wandered in for his pocket money, took one look at the telly and sniffily remarked, "They're just showing off. What a load of old w***." I cautioned him about his use of industrial language and sent him packing to his room with strict instructions to listen to my Chris Rock collection. Ah, here comes their only song worth mentioning but they're making a proper bugger's muddle of it. Who do they think they are? Ornette Coleman?
18.06 Lots of talking now and I've got the point that I ought to put less water in my kettle. Banjo is angling for a walk but I've solemnly informed him that all that caper will have to wait as we're saving the planet here. Having ripped down and chewed up my cherry tree a bit earlier, he's in no position to take the high moral ground. I've lobbed him another pork chop. That should keep him quiet for a while. Here come Bloc Party. Hope they play Helicopter.
18.12 Have to say, Bloc Party are proving to be a much-needed stiffener. Some acute angles being played and that's always good to see. Nice yellow guitars too. You know what though? No-one has smiled all day. As my dear old ma used to say, "A smile costs nowt." There's no rule that says we all have to be cheerful all the time but even so...The average life lasts only 683,280 hours which should leave plenty of time for the occasional smile. Now we're off to the US where Linkin Park are being very tedious. I could be weeding my bed of turnips if I possessed such a thing. A good time to prepare Banjo's chicken dinner, methinks. When's Captain Beefheart coming on?
18.30 She's not exactly the best interviewer in the world, is she? Indeed she is to interviewing approximately what the average giraffe is to ice-skating. Let the fella talk. I should mention at this point that Gene October, the singer with top fag-end punk band, Chelsea, he picks up my recycling on a Thursday. Lovely bloke. I always slip him a monkey at Xmas. He's very stern though about mixing tins with plastic bottles. I've lived, but only slightly, and I've learned. Corinne Bailey Rae now. Lovely shoes.
18.34 C'mon now, Edith's not all bad. Must say though that I was very surprised when I interviewed her recently and she asked me off the cuff what my favourite album was. "Astral Weeks," I responded as quick as you like. "What's Astral Weeks?" she piped up. That was very, very surprising to me. Corinne and Legend are making a bit of a hash out of Marvin's Mercy Mercy Me as I speak.
18.36 It's lagging, isn't it, just a wee bit? Or is it just me? I reckon she'd be good in a tent, Corinne. No, not in that way. Though, since you mention it...No, she has quality, no doubt, but the stadium swallows her whole. What's needed at this juncture is an act to storm on and truly sort the men from the mice, the women from the babies. When are Alan Vega and Martin Rev due on stage?
18.45 If they'd possessed the genius aforethought to have stuck Gillian Welch on stage at this hour and she'd sung Elvis Presley Blues, I swear on a stack of Gideons that all the world's problems, every last one of them, would have been solved at a stroke. OK, here come Keane...they do love a singalong.
18.55 Speech time from Keane. None of it touches the sides, does it? Effing Ada, a ballad. Time to chop up Banjo's chicken. What do you mean, "Is it still alive?" That singer's face has turned very red. Like he's just stuck his face in a fire. He ought to see a doctor.
Correspondent, bang on. Geldof's much-needed at this point. Izzard is currently trying to deny the fact that it's been more than a bit of a wash-out. Lord, they're talking corporate-speak now. Not too eloquently. I wish he'd do the one about the monkey up the tree. Edith, Gawd bless her cotton socks, hasn't got a flaming clue what she's on about, has she? And what the dickens are Keane blathering on about?
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