So it seems everyone from the John Peel stewards to the NYC Downlow trannies are leaving Glasto 2010 in agreement: this was, as Mr Eavis would no doubt say, potentially the best yet. The sun helped, of course, but there was just something in the Vale Of Avalon's vibes this year and everything seemed to combine for one glorious birthday bender. Everything except the headliners that is.
U2 left us with a Bono-sized hole on Friday and Gorillaz didn't look like they could be arsed to bring much to the table while Muse didn't even bring the spaceship. For a long time the best thing on the Pyramid was Femi Kuti at midday on Friday - he had girls in tassled skirts shaking booty for forty minutes at least.
Thankfully Sunday night brought a draw that didn't have us running screaming into the Rabbit Hole with Jamie Klaxons, or sitting through N Dubz in protest. Sunday brought us Stevie.
And right from the outset he knew what he was here for, bigging up 40 years of Glastonbury as one big celebration and a celebration of Michael Jackson's life. Two minutes in and he was on his knees flying through a keytar solo, five minutes later tootling on the harmonica to 'We Can Work It Out', then singing through a helium microphone to make himself sound like "little Stevie". Thom Yorke doing 'Karma Police' was beautiful and all that but squeaky voice beats tennis headband in my book.
The set was shot through with a sense of humour and a sense of fun, and most importantly a sense of occasion. Want hits? Try 'Signed, Sealed, Delivered', 'Sir Duke', 'I Just Called To Say I Love You' and 'Superstition'. In. A Row. And by the time Michael Eavis was invited onstage to get the special harmonica that only Obama's been the recipient of, and sing along out of key to 'Happy Birthday', it became clear that one final night in the asylum was definitely worthwhile.
More of that for the next forty years please Mikey.