Every summer, two members of The Regulars stuff their rucksacks with bags of crisps and peculiar shirts and head off - as do so many of our youngsters - to one of our nation's several pop festivals.

Those two are Stu and Chopper. (Paul and Chris have been known to go too; but Pete invariably stays at home moaning that all the bands are shit.) And at this year's 'Leeds festival', which took place from 26-28 August, one young popkid by the name of Si Wilson was overawed by his chance meeting with The Regulars' throbbing core.

Several weeks later he had recovered sufficiently to compose a characteristically whimsical account of his experience for this website. And this is it, here.

features

It could be them:
a chance encounter
with the Regs

Mission accomplished

Sunday morning - as a good a place to start as any. Got up early, rushed byes to those borrowing lounge-space at my pad for the weekend (making sure they were pumped full of a filling brekkie consisting of copious cups of tea plus some form of 'solid', naturellement), twiddle thumbs idly at the bus stop...

I was alertly anxious at this fulcrum in time about:

• Town's futile performance against Wednesday;
• minding Baby Green; and
• being able to arrive at Temple Newsham early enough to catch the first acts at the Leeds festival.

The overflow of the day's prospective activities subtly pushed aside the first worry. My young charge - well, he's a big boy now in't he? And the third - it was a treacherous battle to surf-slide my way past the swamp monster, indigenous to the trough of sloshy mud at music festivals, but I made it - alive - to the end of what seemed like a re-enactment of the Krypton Factor assault course.

Got in; got seated on the ground; now awaiting the at-last recognised talents of The Delgados. Mission accomplished.

Chopper-a-likes

And then what did I spy? Another of those Chopper-a-likes. They've been springing up all over Leeds in the past six months, some doing passable impressions of everyone's favourite Regular axe-wielder, others bearing an uncanny resemblance to Graham Coxon. Each one has prompted me to stop abruptly in the street, turn and just check it isn't the man himself.

This one, I have to say, was the best yet - so much so that I entered into a staring phase, transfixed by the uncanny resemblance. Still unsure, probably due to the lack of a polo-necked jumper (a trademark item of Chopper style), and then realising I was drunk the night before so my vision might be somewhat warped, I had to consult Jon. Intrigued, like Holmes and Watson, we rose to investigate.

Closer and closer this visage loomed until - my God! - it was Chopper! Suddenly, missing Daphne and Celeste the day before no longer mattered - standing as we were next to a real-life pop star mingling with us, the plebs! And all the way from Birmingham as well.

Baggie bassist

Organisers of these musical fests go out of their way to announce who will be playing on the stages. Maybe the time has come to announce who'll be in the crowd as well? Imagine, the number of people who would be willing to mingle with the stars.

It'd be a whole new ball game. All around the 'us and them' mentality would vanish, as the stars get in touch with their fans. It'd also be a chance for the stars to get in touch those that aren't their fans, and hopefully the chance for some swift justice upon the likes of Robbie Williams.

And here I was, experiencing this - streets ahead of being stood next to Steve Lamacq and his (14-year-old) groupies at a Bis concert. This was the real deal, baby.

But a more eye-catching experience was to bedazzle me after a cursory glance over to the right - the baggie bassist himself, the one they call Stu, for he had chosen to bless us with his appearance as well. And blessed we certainly felt - his shirt illuminated a dreary day (and I am referring primarily to Mary Ann Hobbes' attempts at being a compere). What had we done to deserve this, a mere ten minutes after passing through the gates?

Dewy-eyed

Some days you wake up, the birds are singing, the sun is shining - this wasn't one of those days, but moments like this create that feeling deep inside you. That cheeky little bashful grin; the catch-up on West Brom's slow start to the season; how awful it must have been to see all that skateboard rawk on the Saturday; who else of the Brummie posse was here and those that weren't...

Rumours of the Green brothers' absence seemed to be founded in the realms of just-about-believability - Pete was busy dreaming up a new soup recipe, while Chris was seeking influence and inspiration in the warmer climes of a dance-fuelled holiday in the Med.

One hopes, if only because it might make some kind of dent in the column inches of gossip in the Sun, that les brothers Gallagher could follow the Greens' civil example.

With the appearance of Jon Spencer on the Monday, Sunday was calling for a holder of the flickering pop torch. With Edwyn Collins seemingly predisposed elsewhere, Pete could have easily filled this void. As it was, the remaining Regs were left to stare dewy-eyed at the stage, mulling over 'what-if's. Next year, it could be them...