Compere for the evening was late addition Jarred Christmas, who was standing in for Rufus Hound. Jarred had an easy going, but very loud, style. From the outset, he won the audience over, by dealing with a heckler who mistook his Antipodean accent for Australian and mocked his country losing the Ashes, when, in fact, he is from Christchurch, New Zealand - ouch! Throughout the evening, he entertained us with his wry, sometimes crude, observations and extended monologues, as well as with some nifty dance moves (Footloose and Flashdance-style), and some gentle teasing of the audience. Markus Birdman The opening act, Markus Birdman, from London, strangely appeared to be simultaneously both confident and nervous. He bounded on stage and launched himself wholeheartedly into his material, while self-consciously fiddling awkwardly with his bottle of water. Visually, he reminded me of a younger, slightly less toothy Ken Dodd, with a tendency to laugh at his own material too much; grinning inanely after delivering every punch line, hoping the audience would laugh along. When they didn't, he would utter such phrases as "you're looking at me as though I've just ridden a pig into a bar mitzvah", or "I feel like I've just morris-danced into a reggae club". His material had more hits than misses, but could use a few tweaks here and there. Guest act Andrew J Lederer, from Brooklyn, didn't fare too well. This short, fat, bald (his own description) American's routine didn't have enough clout to carry it for a frostier-than-usual Glastonbury crowd. I think it was a mistake for him to try telling stories for their own sake, rather than comedic value, and some of his humorous material was extremely weak, which consequently encouraged some angry heckles. Also, I don't believe it is wise for an American to criticise the English language, when the nation as a whole misuses it. I suspect he left the stage feeling somewhat miffed. Earl Okin Penultimate act Earl Okin was a riot. In his career, he has supported Paul McCartney and Van Morrison, and played in front of the Queen and Princess Margaret. However, as the less-than-youthful dapper English gent ambled on stage, wearing spats and carrying an acoustic guitar, I feared the worst. Nevertheless, this self-proclaimed musical genius and sex symbol soon had the audience eating out of his hand. He is not only a very funny man, but also a great singer and musician. He has an amazing mellifluous and seductive voice, with hilarious facial expressions, and his bossa nova-rendition of Wheatus' Teenage Dirtbag was astounding. He had the audience participating fully during one somewhat lewd number, and his vocalised trumpet and trombone interludes were gobsmacking. All too soon he departed the stage, leaving the audience wanting more. Alistair Barrie Finally, it was Islington's Alistair Barrie. Originally from the Isle of Wight, this son of a gynaecologist father and family-planner mother (problematic parents when he wanted to bring a girl home!), included both observational and well-placed topical comedy in his set. He was particularly scathing of one Mr George W Bush, who, admittedly, is an easy target, and he added that a similar routine once provoked an outraged American to storm from the venue shouting "flip you and your President". Elsewhere, he defended his lack of belief in a Christian God (but hoped that if he was wrong, God would see the funny side and forgive him), and was also scathing of Islam in the wake of the suicide bombings: "I wasn't going to drink tonight, but I'm in the mood to annoy Allah... mmmm infidel-tastic". As for Britain being an Islamic republic, that's unlikely in the binge-drinking capital of Europe. His material was well considered, and his manner was friendly and engaging, making him a suitable headliner. | 
