Hippy chick

It’s a jumbled start to the day. Tony heads off for his session on Sunday Morning Live and then comes back because he’s forgotten the robot’s batteries. We watch him on the telly. Exciting.

Stuart and Charlie arrive from Essex. Tony returns from the Beeb. Leila is still somewhere in Stoke Newington. We grab some salads and lunch in the flat, before heading for Hyde Park mid-afternoon.

The festival site is scorched earth. The sun beats down, with hardly a plastic tree to deflect it. We drink £6 lager and Stevie Winwood kicks off the headline acts. He closes his set with Dear Mr Fantasy and Gimme Some Lovin’ so I’m happy.

Santana is excellent. Black Magic Woman and other forgotten classics. I don’t think I’ve ever owned a Santana album, but it turns out Claire’s an old fan. And then Clapton - Old but not out. Some of the classics, and then Carlos joins him for the encore.

Stuart and Charlie head for home. I escort Claire to Euston for the sleeper. Back in the flat Tony and Leila are subdued, bordering comatose. I cook up a chorizo masala storm and, sated, head for bed.