Not ones to miss out on a party, The Guide crew have been hitting it in royal style this past week. While lesser publications are content to dip into the odd gig we selflessly spent last weekend at not one but three festivals. And let us say... it was an education.

It started early, Thursday to be precise, with a trip to that annual tankard-fest, Cropredy, where our man was greeted not only by thousands of hairy beer-swilling folkies, but by what was described by a festival spokesman as a mini-tornado.

Though later downplayed as an “exaggeration” the micro-twister did lift tents with ferocious gusts – which had nothing to do with the industrial quantities of vegetarian food and Wadsworth’s 6X being dispensed.

And so began three days of rain, bad singing (by us), and a confusing, though enjoyable bill ranging from folk rock to dub-reggae and Status Quo three-chord rock. Other than the music though, there was little going on.

So swapping poncho for leather I headed to the second fest of the weekend – the mighty Bulldog Bash. And a more different event it would be impossible to imagine. Instead of polite folk there was visceral rock, while deckchairs were replaced by throbbing motorbikes. Even the St John Ambulance medics were getting stuck in – churning up the mud on souped-up quads. Organisers, the Hell’s Angels, are consummate professionals who have built a friendly event with a freewheeling vibe. In six years I’ve never seen a fight or even a cross word – which is more than can be said for Cropredy, where a brawl broke out during Bellowhead, albeit a rubbish one.

The week ended in super-chilled style near Bicester for Livestock. This jam of a gathering started on Friday in a pub, before adjourning on Sunday to a nearby field. And “fun” doesn’t cover it – with sublime music accompanied by donkey rides, a big camp fire, vintage swing boats, antique tractors and, oh... a herd of alpacas – on leads. And even the sun shone.

Surreal, yes, but a perfect event. It may be an upstart but it proved that great festivals are about more than music; the old stagers might want to come next year and take note.