Park life...

World music, a rare (for Hull) display of multiculturalism, didge workshops and the chance to see someone I know doing a spot of graf writing. Harldy the V Festival but then that's not really what Grassroots is supposed to be. And you don't get much these days for free, do you? And a healthy-enough turnout, desperate to at least pay for something by standing in an eastern European-style queue for the opportunity to buy ghastly-looking food, seemed to agree. Sitting on a rug not doing much is a good way to recover from drinking too much lager and dancing a cha-cha to System of a Down the night before. Keen to keep my stomach bubbling away I was going to tuck in to some Indian fayre but by the time we'd made our mind up they'd managed to sell out. Organiser Lou Duffy-Howard was spotted in a frenzy, talking in to a walkie talkie, trying to arrange a snare drum as one of the bands had forgotten to bring one along. Two minutes later he was dashing back in the direction of the stage with the necessary drum. Hull's infamous music promoter Paul Jackson was busy flyering the kind of people he'd like to attend his dark, damp club (seriously, Paul, just clean up the gaff, give it a lick of paint and people will come along and you can stop going on about how the Adelphi will shut tomorrow if music fans don't show their support). These people were mainly dressed in black. It rained, but not for long. We went to Dukes afterwards for some food. Just as we started eating a man came out of the toilets with his son and announced proudly, "He's had a big, long wee." Right now, in between breaking up the all-too regular cat v kitten fights in the house, I'm watching E4's coverage of V, intermittently dropping by Stephen Newton's place for his thoughts on the festival.