Well, after some late night decisions on the travel decisions we came up with the most far fetched way to get here. Picking my comrades up from List HQ in the big 1984 Merc (risky business from the start, I tell you) we flew along the motorway like some kind of future-wagon until we hit the inevitable post-festival traffic. No parcel shelf in sight though for the crates of beer and tent poles and lots of passengers with rather unnecessary sunglasses as the rain was pelting it down little little blobs of T in the Park-Hate.

Our plan was to drive and park and walk. Sounds relatively simple, and it would have been, had there been some sort of distance calculation involved. After driving through Kinross we realised that we'd driven a long, long way down the country rounds past the entrance we were planned to go down.So, into a borrowed cottage, on loan from a friend of List Music editor Claire, which was basically a holiday in itself. We prepared ourselves and set off. Cigarettes and umberellas were plentiful and we saw a sheep that looked like it was entirely made of polystyrene. Perhaps it was - who knows what these country folk get their kicks from.

Time flew with stories of swan sexual preferences and why crochet bags should be outlawed before realising that perhaps a 45-minute walk wasn't really the most efficient way of saving £17 from the festival car park (also known as a field). The complimentary Kinross T in the Park bus was a welcome treat and we got on it free of charge (the little victories eh?) and felt like big city frauds abusing the neighbouring town's incentive for having a festival at their front door.

Fancy dress Friday is rife with drunks in baby outfits and those inexplicable full body suits which don't make any sense. What are they supposed to be? You can't just dress as a primary colour and win a prize! Finally managing to shake off the PR lady who had mistaken us for a gossip website we watched The Big Pink, the first time I'd put their recognisable singles to a name and face, and a rather satisfying way to start the big weekend. And of course, with all these Friday evening bands, they weren't without their diehard fans, and while watching pissed up 18-year-old lads screaming their face paint off, i realised that this is what this weekend is all about.