The Secret Garden 2005

Most small-scale festivals claim to be held in "a beautiful rural location" but Secret Garden fulfils that description - and then some. Plonked on the side of a majestic lake home to scores of birds, swans and other mysterious creatures, the site runs alongside a cascading hill perfect for the sort of peculiar and downright dangerous "festival sports" that ensue. With appropriately low key security and a crowd seemingly dressed for the set of Alice in Wonderland, it's clear from the offset this is to be no ordinary weekend.

Crossing the bridge over the stream and entering the main area on Friday night we're greeted by the sight and sound of a terrified; or enthralled, it's hard to tell; woman flying down the hill towards us in a wheelchair. She wipes out dramatically on some steel bins at considerable speed, sending rubbish flying to rapturous applause from the group who appear to be organising this chaos,  guys dressed as Santa Claus, naturally.

Steaming dance heads heave to the Fraggle DJs at Stage Tree and pleasant vibes are in abundance.  Annoyingly I only catch the first few minutes of Super Furry Animals as a member of our party manages to tumble down the hill on his way to the main stage, badly twisting his ankle and damaging his camera. I hear 'Rings Around the World' from afar and curse our wretched luck. Still, a silver lining emerges as I meet the woman of my dreams a matter of hours later in fairytale festival fashion.

Saturday is overcast but you'd think this was the Caribbean so jolly is the atmosphere. The first time I saw the Mystery Jets live in Brighton some time ago they blew headliners Engineers off the stage, and I remember predicting big things for the band on the back of that explosive performance. While their recorded output has failed to impress since, as a live entity they are spectacular and here their twisted , psychedelic rock is awash with wonderful four-way vocal harmonies, driving guitars and tripped-out electronica that wins over the main stage crowd. 'Alas Agnes', as ever, the crowd pleaser.

Up next are Glasgow's Amphetameanies, all eighteen of them, thrashing at their  instruments with great enthusiasm that soon has the crowd dancing to their enticing ska grooves. At the Pagoda, Pathaan's blissful Asian-fused chilled beats are a perfect accompaniment to a sunset that sends orange light reflecting majestically off the water, the resident swans oblivious to their intoxicated guests.

As night falls one of the most talked about bands of the year draw big numbers to the main stage. Hard Fi have enjoyed a rapid ascent, their Mercury Prize nomination testament to startling talent. Dressed all in black, singer Richard Archer is on top form, spitting lyrics with his trademark swagger. Three songs in we're treated to an acoustic 'Stars of CCTV' after which Archer screams, "this is the most bonkers festival we've ever played. Thank you Secret Garden!" They bash out 'Tied Up Too Hard', it's "naa-na-naa" chorus making the girl standing next to me choke on her chips attempting to sing along. Debut single 'Cash Machine' evokes the biggest reaction, its throbbing dub bass and melancholic vibraphone framing Archer's poverty-infused lyric perfectly.
New release 'Living Through the Weekend' gets an airing too, though perhaps lacking the spark of previous singles.

The sun finally comes out on Sunday and with temperatures rising we take refuge in the Up All Night tent. With (albeit plastic) flowers tumbling down from the tent's top, a well needed bar and scattered sofas providing welcome respite for sore backsides, London's Up All Night Music collective have created an ideal setting for acoustic performance. Sean Redman is fantastic, pulling haunting licks from his battered old guitar, his vocals tortured and desperate.

On a lighter tip Sally Johnson opens with "Limb by Limb" a tender, Tori Amos-esque lullaby. She enlightens us with how a pre-show toilet trip in the bushes led her to an unpleasant encounter with stinging nettles. An offer to rub cream into her buttocks from a thoughtful member of the audience is surprisingly declined, and no, it wasn't me. It's American Eliza Wren Payne who steals the day though, drawing stunned silence with her first song. Using her guitar only to tap a beat, her vocal range and control is mesmerising, her songwriting assured. One to watch for the future for sure.

Back on the main stage Crazy Penis get us going with their cosmic disco funk while a man dressed as a cow; life-size udders and all, cartwheels his approval to the left of the stage. Billed as "musical genius and sex symbol", Earl Okin ambles onstage looking like neither. A poet, singer, guitarist, pianist, and comedian his style is difficult to describe. It's not even the songs he sings, but the manner in which he sings them, his facial expressions, pauses and suggestive poses so immensely entertaining.  His swing cover of the Wheatus hit  "Teenage Dirtbag" has people literally rolling on the ground in hysterics. He proves an unexpected highlight of a weekend full of surprises/

And so, the rumours are true, the Secret Garden is clearly one of the cheekiest festivals on the summer circuit. But shhhhh.. remember, it's our secret.