First time for Middler to do the whole camping thing at Latitude. Off they went in the very sensibly organised coach on Thursday morning. Then came the call at 10:30pm from a clearly distressed daughter:

[sobbing] "Dad, I've hurt my foot. It's all swollen. Can you pick me up?"

Tried to talk her down. Attempted to pass on details of the RICE technique. Ended up driving up the A12 (with Eldest) at 11:30pm and managed to extract her limping form from the secure site around 1am. Thought it would be a parentally sound idea to get her checked out in A&E. In 2am, triage 2:15am, X-ray 2:45am, discharged 5:30am and drove home in the early morning sunlight.

Around 5pm -- now Friday -- she decided she was fit enough to return. Back up to Blythburgh and felt dead sorry for her as she dragged herself the mile or so up a footpath to the campsite.

Come Saturday and my attempts at blagging a BlaBlaCar liftshare (see Latitude 2014) have bombed. Han Solo drive, half an hour of queueing and over the temporary crossing to the promised pastured land. First stop is the Alcove tent where that Edith Bowman off the telly and wireless is recording a show called Guitar Star with guest judges inc Huey Morgan and Mr Benn, lord of Latitude. Some amazing jazz gee-tar from bloke number one and the chance to play on the main stage. Quite the prize.

Missed SuperGlu opening the Lake Stage yesterday but over the bridge to watch talented local lads Frett knock out some tunes. Too. Many. Food. Options. Returned with messy chilli burrito to the Alcove for Suffolk-based Cove Hithe. Good at the recent Pulse festival and great today, cooking up a storm in front of friends, family and fans. Ones to watch.

Bit of grumpy Badly Drawn Boy at the huge Obelisk and next door into ex-Word now-6Music tent for cult-ish Sun Kil Moon. No idea what to expect. Intense big guy sung diary entries about dying relatives and accompanied briefly by Sonic Youth's Thurston Moore. Oddly compelling.

Mobile signal always dodgy here but arranged 4:30pm rendezvous to check Middler still alive and with two legs. Her and mate are fine, thankfully, and better after Dad splashes the cash on veggie burritos. Beats working, sitting here in the sun eating top nosh and hearing top sounds. On my recommendation, all three of us off to 18+ cabaret tent for Gein's Family Giftshop (after the scary sexy American girls). Two blokes, one girl, a thinning out audience yet many laughs. Hey, look, a coupon for Jif!

Left the limper for third Alcove visit, this one for Lonelady. Boppy edgy Talking Heads grooves had everybody up. Half-hour set not enough. Long walk back up the hill past kicking-off Savages for the experimental soundscapes of James Blake. Man, those bass notes. No compromise set, all a tad avant-garde and well-received. What a nice bloke, too!

Half an hour in which to grab some foil-wrapped falafel and to find a good spot for Portishead. Oh lord, that spine-tingling voice. Big sound, excellent visuals (Cameron laser eyes) and killer tracks from Dummy onwards. Off for the encore thing then some other bloke appeared on stage with them to duet on The Rip. Hold up. Is that Thom Yorke (previously)? What a moment.

Obligatory coffee and doughnuts and a sit-down in the literary or poetry tent, except that the former is filled with fans of Robin Ince and Josie Long and the latter is stuffed with John Cooper-Clarke acolytes. No matter. And the Lake Stage disco is going mad thanks to I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor.

...and still missed Mike Figgis, Jane Weaver and Simon Armitage.