SUNDAY

Good morning to you! Well, it's morning-ish and what better start to our day than a half-hour with Country Joe, he of 'and the Fish' fame. He grasps the crowd in the palm of his gnarly hand and is still quite the protest singer - bashing Bush and treating us to a hefty set of, well, good old-fashioned protesting. The skiffle legend acquits himself far better than soggy Donovan did yesterday. Did Donovan treat us to the world's longest spoon and washboard solo? No he did not. Joe, however, most certainly did.

Melanie C seems nice but we're not sure about her place here. We still associate the Isle Of Wight festival with Jimi Hendrix and not old bits of the Spice Girls but we are open to anything. She's got great biceps and can still caterwaul 'When You're Gone' (the one she did with Bryan Adams) perfectly well. Job done.

Whatever you say about James Morrison you can't deny that he's a hit with the ladies: Morrison mania has hit the Isle Of Wight. Plus, despite the hair and the first name, he is very little like James Blunt at all. More Terence Trent D'Arby in fact.

This is toothsome sandpapery voiced balladeering of the highest order. Nice, but nothing much happens and as this is a festival we shouldn't be thinking about how nice a cup of tea would be while watching James Morrison's set.

Blimey, if you like underage gritty-voiced singer-songwriters, you've come to the right place. Two on the same island; what are the chances?

Marching on to the 'Rocky' theme takes confidence, and it's not what we would normally associate with an acoustic strummer such as Paolo Nutini. He is a bit great though and is beaming away. He's got a few lemonades under his belt though and he's not above covering 'I Want To Be Like You', that Louis Prima song from the Jungle Book. Marvellous.

Ho-hum indie alert! 'Chelsea Dagger' was alright we suppose, but personally we have never been of the mind that The Fratellis were quite the essential listen we'd been told and we are still not convinced.

Surprisingly slimline, unsurprisingly ruddy-cheeked and hopefully over those recent troubles, Keane'sTom Chaplin serenades the crowd for 'Somewhere Only We Know', before hurtling into 'Is It Any Wonder', prancing as close to the audience as he can get without them grasping at his well flushed jowels. The set is fantastic and it is clear that Chaplin is more than glad to be back. What's more, we're glad to have him back too.

Glory be! The moment we've all been waiting for has arrived, pop pickers, and The Rolling Stones strut on amid a blaze of pyrotechnics and tear straight into 'Start Me Up'. Decrepit yes: legends, certainly.

'Sympathy For The Devil' is heralded by a crimson lightshow and Sir Mick marches about in a red sequin ensemble of the type Lucifer would trade souls for. Ronnie Wood looks surprisingly gloomy, leaning on the drum riser like an aged jackdaw, while Keith is simply Keith, the rock 'n' roll pirate - kohl-eyed and dangerous.

A couple of guests wobble on too. The lucky few are: Amy Winehouse, who forgets the words to 'Ain't Too Proud To Beg' and Paolo Nutini, who warbles along to 'Love In Vain'.

But they're superfluous. Maybe Mick and co just wanted to get a couple of contemporary stars up to prove they are still better than any current chart darling you wish to name or invite on stage for a duet.

From 'Start Me Up' to the electrifying finale, 'Jumpin' Jack Flash', the whole shebang is pure rock brilliance, sending us off into the night in a bit of a daze. Well done, Isle Of Wight, the little island comes good once again.

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