Hippy hippy hooray!

That's your lot for the next week, folks - I know it'll be hard, but please try to hide your disappointment.

The reason? Why, my excursion to the Glastonbury Festival Of Performing Arts, of course! After an anxious wait for delivery of my ticket, courier service Special Mail finally got it right at the third attempt. (So THAT'S what the Chuckle Brothers are up to these days...)

It looks like us festival-goers might be in for a treat. Not only are there loads of intriguing musical prospects spread over the different stages, but the weather's actually forecast to be good too. Can we hope for any more? The Levellers and Jools Holland dying in a helicopter crash en route? That would just be greedy.

Joining me in soaking up the Somerset sun and cider - aside from the usual bunch of reprobates ("ex Nottingham alumni") - will be a healthy contingent of bloggers, including Phill, Andy, Swiss Toni and Smacked Face. If any of you get down there before me, mine's a pint of Burrow Hill, cheers.

Whether I'll be able to muster up the energy to produce a festival diary of the magnitude of last year's is as yet uncertain - rest assured, though, that there will be festival-related postage of some sort appearing on SWSL once I've got home and washed the smell of joss sticks, lentils and vomit out of my hair.

In the meantime, No Rock & Roll Fun can be relied upon for excellent armchair commentary, and this year there's even a blog whose author promises to update regularly from the festival "via GPRS" - dunno what that means, but it certainly sounds impressive.

See you on the other side.