Glastonbury may have been spared its traditional biblical floods this year, but Bestival proved less fortunate when the festival season reached its rain-sodden climax over the weekend.

Conditions at the usually idyllic Isle of Wight site were grim, with hordes of unhappy campers plotting to go home as early as Friday evening. Normally a byword for sunshine and hedonism, DJ Rob da Bank’s gigantic family-friendly fancy dress party is such a distinctive and well-regarded event, it is hard to believe it launched only four years ago. Bestival even featured in The Archers over the weekend, the ultimate endorsement from Middle England. Strangely, Radio 4’s parallel universe seemed to have escaped the rain and mud.

In fairness, a strong musical menu helped to offset the horrible weather. The recently reformed Anglo-Irish noise-rockers My Bloody Valentine were sensational on Friday, sounding simultaneously sweet and harsh, slow and fast, sleepy soft and nightmare loud. Their deafening, 15-minute, white-noise thunderstorm in the climactic You Made Me Realise was exhilarating, a sonic equivalent of the Large Hadron Collider punching black holes in the fabric of space-time. On reflection, maybe Bestival’s bosses tempted fate by giving this year’s fancy dress parade an undersea theme. Still, at least several bands brought their own outlandish costumes. Lovefoxx, the irrepressible singer with the Brazilian party animals CSS, arrived wearing what looked like a giant silver hedge. Hot Chip went one better, dressing as cartoon animals and medieval knights during their lively set of disco-geek euphoria.

The art-funk legend Grace Jones also modelled several fabulous outfits during her impressively weird surprise appearance on Saturday. Surprise guests are a Bestival tradition, and this year the organisers excelled themselves with Jones and a reconstituted lineup of ska-pop veterans the Specials. Newly reunited with singer Terry Hall, the band played a bouncy and rapturously received greatest hits set.

Despite recent lurid speculation about her mental and physical health, Amy Winehouse defied the prophets of doom with a relatively polished headline show on Saturday. However, she arrived an hour late, so curfew rules forced her to chop her 80-minute slot in half. After a perfunctory gallop through Rehab, the scowling diva tossed her drink towards the crowd and stormed off. Ho hum. Don’t blame us, girlfriend.

After more monsoon-level showers, the main pedestrian thoroughfares into the festival site became perilous to negotiate. Bestival’s organisers cannot be blamed for bad weather, but they were clearly ill-prepared. In any case, the wretched conditions made this a weekend of dwindling fun and mounting discomfort, ending the festival season not with a bang but with a soggy squelch.

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