Worried about the glaciers, I offered a lift to/from Latitude on the official Liftshare site. Leaving Ipswich around 9:30am on Sunday, I said, then leaving the festival at 11:45pm. Any takers?

Chap got in touch early Saturday morning to say yes, that he and a friend would like a ride back to the 'Swich. We exchanged a couple of messages and agreed to meet outside the poetry tent, now renamed The Speakeasy. End of the day, approaching midnight on Saturday and cleaning my teeth, my phone beeped:

Hi, we are at the entrance of The Speakeasy. I have yellow trousers.

You're 24 hours early, I told him. I'm still at home.

Back on my Edward de Bono after wearing out friend Adam last year and I'm in the main arena by 10:45am, possibly a personal best. A rare daylight foray into the cabaret tent for the fantastically titled All We Ever Wanted Was Everything by Middle Child Theatre. Can't take your eyes off MC Marc Graham as he leads us through ten year jumps in the lives of Leah and Chris. An angelic asteroid, Build-A-Bear bathos and mention of Phil Brown.

Slingshot around the helter-skelter and around the back of the huge Katherine Jenkins crowd to the sunny Sunrise for pianist Lubomyr Melnyk, elderly master of continuous music and owner of some tremendous facial hair. Could have heard a pin drop in there. Able to catch ten minutes of local boys done good Rad Pitt at The Lake stage proclaiming "We're from Colchester slash Ipswich!" and giving it the full Stooges, then once more over the bridge for the awkwardly named Yorkston/Thorne/Khan. What we have here is a classic line-up of Scottish guitarist, Isle of Wight double bassist and a New Delhi sarangi player. It works, plus a welcome Ivor Cutler cover.

Heard promising opening track from Lisa Hannigan before taking my burrito to The Speakeasy (assume that yellow-trousered gents made it back, bless 'em) for a panel conversation with Women's Prize for Fiction winner Naomi Alderman, Turkish novelist Elif Shafak and women's equality party co-founder Catherine Mayer. Bombed out before the end for uphill slog past Simon Armitage to Obelisk and the phenomenon that is Public Service Broadcasting. National Coal Board imagery, a kicking horn section and a rain shower. New stuff noted, they did Spitfire to lure out the sun, helped also by Yuri the astronaut.

Tiny bit of classy classical guitarist Valerie Hartzell by the sofas surrounding the new BBC Music Introducing stage then hey, I really need a marshmallow-dipped Mr Whippy. Weird moment standing there: girl to my right reminded me of someone. Very similar face to that woman from Broadchurch and Attack The Block. Two minutes later, got an alert on my phone to inform me that Jodie Whittaker had been chosen. Most odd.

Very much looking forward to Otzeki and first couple of mins sounded excellent but chose to abandon them in favour of the music & film arena. Here be Kurupt FM from People Just Do Nothing. Grinder, Beats, Decoy and hero Steves are all up there leading the sweaty crowd to a frenzy over some choice drum 'n' bass, an exhilarating experience. Stayed there, sipping warm Pepsi, for DJ Yoda and his 90 minute immersive mix through videogame history, from Pong to GTA, morphing into clips and tunes from Stranger Things.

Glimpsed Loyle Carner going down a storm while en route, with five falafel wrap, to my choice of headliners, the retro yet modern Temples. They look great, they sound great, and lead singer James Bagshaw just seems really nice. Legs giving way, time to partake of the traditional bag o' doughnuts in the quieter confines of the speakeasy. Impressed by last few poems of Hollie McNish before the surprise of the night, the BAC Beatboxers. How do they make those noises? Finished with some beatbox battles won by the gawky frame of human dynamo ABH.

Left Trevor Nelson and Gareth Potter to their decks to traipse back up the slope and, wonder of wonders, find the car first time. Ain't it lovely to sit down?

...and still missed Fleet Foxes, Mount Kimbie and The Divine Comedy