The Secret Garden 2004

There is something undeniably exciting about not knowing where you are, particularly in a country whose rural back roads are now littered with signposts advertising local attractions, or lengthy codes that begin with 'B'. We are here now though, wherever that is, for perhaps the least known small music festival in England. Judging from the name, the organisers want to keep it that way.

Tucked away snuggly in the 'lower field', of a Cambridgeshire farmstead, The Secret Garden is without question one of the most beautiful festival sites ever seen. A small brook gurgles through the willows that run the length of the site, and, beyond, a huge lake stretches away. All over the site, lights, paintings, flags and streamers blend with the environment. This could be an exhibit at the Chelsea Flower Show, if it weren't for the stumbling, shrieking revelers and thumping bass.

A huge earth bank hides the site from the road, blocking out the sound of the 10 cars that pass this way everyday. There are sofas and armchairs laid out on the grass, most round the ever-burning campfire. Attention to detail is everywhere: small model butterflies on wire spring out of the walls in the chill-out tent, wooden fairground motorcycles sit in the grass next to the stream, and there are purpose-built platforms with more sofas and hammocks. The bar tent houses a pinball machine and a penny one-armed bandit. The chill-out zone at the bottom of the garden has a massage tent, a wishing web and a beautiful Mongolian Yert, of which more later.

Taking a first wander round the site, we are struck by the feeling that we have chanced upon something truly secret. As well as making us feel privileged, however, it also makes us feel slightly uneasy. This festival is so small and so particular about its appearance that you feel as if it's a garden party that you weren't really invited to. This emotion passes as the weekend wears on, but undeniably, this is a slightly cliquey affair that is perhaps not as inclusive as it would like to be.

The line-up, mostly handpicked by organizer Freddie Fellowes, would be the envy of any festival this size. The main stage is supplemented by two dj set-ups, one in a treehouse, the other in a pagoda overlooking the lake. On the ridge, two huge, military-style tents provide lounging facilities, special teas and eclectic music (though hearing Foreigner's 'I Wanna Know What Love Is' twice in one weekend is pushing it slightly). Saturday sees rising star Carina Round take the stage, fresh from a stateside sojourn, Carina belts out her tunes with theatrical intensity, technical blips like her guitar lead escaping her guitar only seem to add to the frenetic set, and she draws in a decent crowd. The Golden Virgins then take the stage, The crowd, thinned after Carina's set, are not drawn in by them but the upbeat 4-piece soldier on with smiles. Three bands then follow that pull just about everybody in. The Loose Cannon's brand of fiery funk goes down a treat, as does the old-skool skaantics of The Beat.

After them it's Babyhead, who like the deranged sons of Madness, swerve all over the road, their lead singer rapping, toasting, singing, and rocking, sometimes all at the same time. The three-piece horn section pull all kinds of visual stage gags out of the hat and they have the artful dodger with them to play mouth-organ. Babyhead really mix it up and their set is full of infectious riffs, soaring horn solo's and digable grooves. They play London in November: Go. Coming on-stage an hour late, The Egg finally start, delayed by a series of technical set-up issues. Clearly perfectionists, they test the patience of the crowd to breaking point, then come out and prove why they're worth the wait. Atmospheric glissando noises, dark ambient beats and textures, and a mesmerizing light show round off Saturday nicely. The Egg prove to be a really inspired choice, and as the sun starts to rise in the East, we trudge over the ridge to our tents in blissful mood.

The music on Sunday is definitely more low-key, and, judging by the depleted crowds, it looks like many people have decided to call it a day already. Still, it's another beautiful day and those that stay are treated to a couple of real musical highlights on the main stage. The Fridge Magnets' coffee-table warblings are perfect Sunday afternoon fodder, but the highlight of the whole day comes at the end, with the unerringly sedate, classy songs of a singer who was not on the bill, and whose name I do not know.

I have always adored '20's music, there is something otherworldly about music that is so clearly from another century. Its been more than 10 years since I heard 'Georgia On My Mind' live, and this guy, whoever he is, plays it beautifully. The Secret Garden is drawing to a close now, and, like pixies and elves, the revellers slowly retreat from the garden, back to their lives in the undergrowth. Just before leaving, we grab a few last words from the organizer Freddie Fellowes, who tells us about the festival and where it's heading. Click here for the full interview.

It's a little gem this festival, the layout is utterly superb and everywhere you look, attention is given to the smallest details. We must give a shout out to Wateraid and their fundraising manager Claire Davies. Wateraid have had a presence at both festivals, and it's a partnership that looks set to continue. Wateraid's volunteers steward the festival over the three days and in return the charity gets a donation from the organisers - another nice touch. Mr Fellowes succeeds in putting on the best-looking festival of the year, and the music is pretty good too. All weekend there is a huge variety in the DJ's setlists, everything from Thin Lizzy to Adam F, from Bob Marley to Eat Static. If you fancy a weekend in the country somewhere around here, at round about the same time next year, you could do a lot worse. Just keep it under yer hat, alright.