Well certainly, there's no doubt about it and Louise agrees with me, we had a great day out at Crystal Palace on Saturday at the Garden Party thingy.
We weren't going to go at first. Well, I mean, it couldn't have been as good as Eric Clapton last year, but we were listening to the radio in the morning and the weather wasn't that bad so we just thought we could give it a whirl and see Santana again.
Point is, I've always liked that record of theirs I bought a few years ago and there's that Costello chap that keeps cropping up in the papers and it didn't seem that expensive at the time — I mean it's not like sitting in the mud for days on end like that other place we saw on telly.
We shoved a few bottles of plonk into the old motor and got a nice little place by the tree near where we sat last year.
Do you remember old Tony? I'm sure you met him once. Well anyway he's some sort of writer now and he was there; had a long chat with him actually and he was binding on about some Southside Johnny or other and anyway even if he was a bit serious he seemed jolly interested in me but we lost him at the end because I thought we'd better leave before the last encore to avoid the traffic. But it seemed good when we left and Louise said to me... never mind, Tony left some notes behind for us...
Crawler: fresh from heating the streets, arrive on stage just five minutes after noon and belt out some blues-based heavy rock to regale the punctual picnickers. They're fine for a little while, then they lose their gloss.
Brand X appear with sonic highly portentous jazz-rock, carried along by Phil Collins' drumming. They overcome a few sound problems and meander around the fringes of avant garde.
There's loads of people here and plenty of bogs too.
A bit later, jet-setting Southside Johnny and the very magnificent Asbury Jukes purr through some sassy R & B. While their brass and class comes through a bit thin in the open air they're a bunch of fun.
They mix a neat selection of old and new with "I Don't Want to Come Home," "The Fever" and "It Ain't The Man (It's The Motion)." John Lyon chucks his mic stand in the lake and they play "We're Having A Party."
A bit more later: Elvis Costello stalks the stage in his horn rims, angrily and effectively. The Attractions are a superb foil for Mr Costello's modern ire.
He's fave for a few water-pogoers, one of whom retrieves the mic stand and takes it into the audience.
A lot of the audience remain bemused but Costello's biting urgency is almost ready for large concerts and his songs are excellent.
A lot later: once again the lake is full of bodies, shivering and oozing green slime, as Santana embark on a 90-minute search for the cosmos in SE24.
Maybe they find it but it's hard to tell as Carlos endlessly explores his fretboard to the accompaniment of congos, keyboards, drums, maraccas and the muted whoops of an ecstatic audience.
They play "Let The Children Play," "Dance Sister Dance," "Evil Ways" and loads more. Unity is attained. I think. The encore is thunderous as cosmicity rules. It sounds even better half a mile away.
That night Southside Johnny won — Britain needs to see him again soon.
Now who in Heaven's name is going to play Crystal Palace next year?