The beauty of Michael Eavis' fourty-four-year-old baby is that each and every attendee is guaranteed to experience Worthy Farm on a completely different level.

Be it the sun creeping out from behind the inky clouds, for the first time in what feels like eons just as The War On Drugs lean into another of their Americana-coated solos. Or questioning one's sanity whilst members of Portishead and Goldfrapp recreate instrumental versions of the Stingray and Thunderbirds themes. Or stumbling into Skrillex down The Rabbit Hole. Or watching an Irish brass band doing impromptu Bloodhound Gang covers as the sun sets over The Park. Or helping Adam from Solihull roll a joint because he's too blitzed to call on the most basic of motor skills at the Stone Circle. It's these little moments of inspiration that makes Glastonbury worthwhile still; they're unique and can't be recreated ever again, here or anywhere else. Apart from the last one, you can definitely do that next year.

Photo: Dan Carson
Not a bad view, is it?

Photo: Dan Carson
The famous sign

Their album hasn't even dropped yet, but now's the time to crown West London boys Jungle the biggest new band in town. Judging by the capacity John Peel crowd's nuclear reaction to 'Busy Earnin'', we're certainly not alone in our thinking. It's a shame Lykke Li doesn't inspire the same levels of euphoria later, but that's not why the few-hundred devotees of her sombre, moving pop have gathered under the same tent that Jungle owned hours before. We're here to be rooted in her heartbreak, to be transfixed by I Never Learn's clinical, fractured anthems, and to bask in the occasional crack of sunlight which comes from 'I Follow Rivers'. It's the perfect contrast to Arcade Fire's bells 'n' whistles approach at the Pyramid, complete with pyrotechnics, the now idiosyncratic papier-mâché heads, a medley of iconic Glastonbury-headliner's hits, and curtain-closer 'Wake Up' - the biggest mass-sing-a-long since 2009's 'Tender'. Older gems 'No Cars Go' and 'Neighborhood #3 (Power Out)' are woven seamlessly into the gloriously OTT 'Reflektor' and swooning 'Afterlife', and although we experience a midsection lull, the finale is just about the best live sequence around right now.

Photo: Dan Carson
We all owe the person who booked James Blake as Sunday headliner a round

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You haven't lived 'til you've seen a brass band cover Bloodhound Gang

Photo: Dan Carson
Jungle win the John Peel Stage. By a mile.

Metallica are at their brilliantly divisive best on Saturday. Their set is heralded by a bizarre short film in which the band, dressed as gun-toting bears ambush a party of fox-hunting humans; we're left puzzled as to whether it's a well-observed dig from frontman James Hetfield - whose love of hunting is heavily documented - or just plain dippy. Whatever way, their brash, shamelessly bombastic cover of Thin Lizzy's 'Whiskey In The Jar', and the surprisingly earwormy 'Enter Sandman' and 'Seek And Destroy', coupled with dozens of gigantic black beach balls, prove the foursome aren't the chalk to crowd-pleaser Dolly Parton's unbridled cheese that everyone had expected. In fact, they're up there with the highlights of a rather patchy day, which lurched into life with the tight but joyless Midlake and a criminally undersubscribed Wolf Alice slot. On this evidence, Ellie Rowsell's gang have all the tools they need to plunge the UK into another bout of 'guitar music' *gags* fever; they just need a couple more big tunes like the loud/quiet tempest 'Blush' and the hair-raising 'Moaning Lisa Smile' to gather the youth around their scuzz-pop standard. All in good time, I'm sure.

Whoever chose James Blake as Sunday's Park Stage headliner deserves an OBE, or at least a hot shower and something more robust than one-ply loo roll. 'Station', a creeping, crawling indie-electro banger is the gem of Liverpudlian lass Lapsley's set; and while Raleigh Ritchie's energetic show in the close confines of the Pussy Parlure acts as a temporary defibrillator, we can't help but ache for Blake's cocooning melodies. Like The xx's comedown-friendly booking on The Other Stage last year, it doesn't disappoint. Closer 'Retrograde', covers 'Limit To Your Love' and 'Hope She'll Be Happier' entwine with the divine, dewy-eyed 'Case Of You', ensure that our wounds are carefully salved before we head into the breach: Disclosure's star-studded closing party. Half an hour later, the ankle-deep slurry is rent open for 'Latch'. A real 'conquer-the-world' moment for the Lawrence's, and with Sam Smith's vocal elasticity at its peak, we're powerless to resist a last thumping hurrah.

Thank God this only comes around once a year.

Photo: Dan Carson
The Booka Brass Band, all the way from Dublin

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Hello, Bombay Bicycle Club

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It got a lot worse, trust me

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Metallica didn't win everyone over. This guy's happy enough

Photo: Dan Carson
>Hetfield and co. show their big balls

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Does Anna Calvi always inspire such varied reactions?

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For the love of God, get this writer some James Blake

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Struggling by this point

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There's nothing quite like a Glastonbury sunset

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Or a Glastonbury rainbow for that matter

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Never mind Wimbledon, get your strawberries out for The War On Drugs

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Pink wigs, markedly less offensive than all the Native American headdresses kicking about

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Dark clouds gathering. Again

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End of the road for these unfortunate tents

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Pyrotechnics fill the sky at Arcade Fire

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Smoke and mirrors before the 'Reflektor' show

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Tuborg takes its toll on one reveller

Photo: Dan Carson
The sun sets over The Park one last time