Clustered around two wobbly-sounding synths, the four members of Canada’s Holy Fuck look like a football team in pre-match huddle – until the throb of their DIY rock-cum-electronica kicks into an ecstatic, grimy groove. Whatever their strategy was (and one suspects it was “Let’s Rock!”), it’s a winner.

Introduced by British Sea Power frontman Yan, a Belgian choir joins the band, as well as a caped violinist and trumpeter, on the foliage-festooned stage. It’s typical of the group’s search for the unusual, which manifests itself today in mighty and majestic form on faves such as Remember Me.

Manchester’s The Courteeners seem a world away from the cutting edge stuff this stage was designed to champion, their jangly indie-rock a murky blend of Libs and Oasis stylings. The tent is packed, however, and rings with a football chant of a singalong (which turns into an actual football chant when the crowd spills out of the tent).

Seattle’s Band of Horses apply reverb-drench salve, delivering such lighters-aloft (well, metaphorically) anthems as Is There A Ghost and No One’s Gonna Love You. Great beards, too. Sophie Harris, John Peel Stage
Red Light Company is very pleased to be here. All group hugs and earthy rock flourishes, their skinny-hipped stomp warms up our third day nicely, and the lads are pretty pleased themselves as they leave their Champagne (they're not slumming it today) chilling for a celebration of playing Glasto – and indeed The Queen’s Head itself.

Next up is the sublime acoustic charm of Stephen Fretwell. Unbelievable to think this Scunthorpe native has toured the world but never played his favourite festival until now. Tracks from the broody debut Magpie and last year’s Man On The Roof share ground with Ryan Adams, Damien Rice and Alex Turner - this is a man not afraid to take a risk. And that’s what Glastonbury is all about. Jo Kendall, Queen's Head