Lisbon, Portugal

Ah, the joys of being European!! Today is Eurovision and our taxi driver seems to be trying to get us in the mood by pumping out cheesy Euro-pop as we drive from Lisbon airport to our hotel. Singalonga nonsense soon turns into 'Touch Me' by Sam Fox to Coman's huge delight, followed by 'It Doesn't Have To Be This Way' by the Blow Monkeys. What decade have we landed in?!

We arrive at the Hotel Dom Pedro Palace at 11am. A large concrete facade doesn't exactly conjure up images of an historic palacio but it seems very nice indeed and the check in staff apologise that our rooms aren't ready yet, so we retire to the lobby restaurant for coffee and pastries while we wait to hear from the Pumpkins' manager.

Soon enough we're summoned and hop in a cab over to the Ritz Four Seasons. The foyer is quite stunning with an enormous floral display of orchids. Andy and I go for a look around to see if there's anywhere suitable for photos and quickly notice there's a large, empty plaza with a pool and statues, basking in sunshine below the lobby terrace. It's ideal.

Very shortly we're joined by Peter, the manager and Mark, the tour manager, who sort all our backstage passes for tonight's festival, the misleadingly-named Rock In Rio, which every other year takes place in Lisbon. After about 30 minutes, Billy Corgan appears.

I don't know quite what to expect, but he's charming and very friendly, and thankful in the extreme when I decline to shake hands as I don't want to pass on my cold. He tells us later of the band's calamitous last visit to the city when they'd all been suffering from norovirus and spent the entire gig puking. I make sure I keep a healthy distance at all times.

Emily however has to sit in close proximity to conduct her interview, so in a clandestine effort to ensure germs are dissipated I suggest they sit outside on the terrace. They're both up for that so I leave them for almost 90 minutes as they cover Billy's entire career while Peter regales us with tales about crack-addicted rappers and superstar indiscretions.

The rest of the band join us at 2.30 and I lead them all out for their photoshoot with Andy on the plaza below. Billy confesses that it's over three years since they've done a magazine photoshoot and he's finding it difficult to work out "how to stand". It's true, there's a whole confidence and attitude required when doing a shoot and if you're out of practice it can be rather unsettling.

We're all wrapped up within 30 minutes and Andy is happy with everything he's got so, job done, we take our leave and ride a taxi back to the Dom Pedro Palace where we can now check in. Coman and I are given a room on the 12th floor and I'd read that these rooms give an expansive view over Lisbon, but ours is on the wrong side and all we see is the back of a tower block and a graffiti strewn wall. Back at reception I ask if there are any other rooms available. Very apologetically the receptionist informs us there aren't but gives us a pass to the VIP lounge on the 19th Floor. Woo-hoo! Free tea and coffee...

Andy and Emily join us in the lobby restaurant and we all have a quick sandwich for lunch before retiring for a disco nap before tonight's adventure. We reconvene at 7pm in the lobby and, following the concierge's suggestion head to a nearby restaurant called A Valenciana.

He'd warned us it was nothing fancy, just a place for locals and he's not wrong. A large dining room which has not been updated since the 1970's it's a mass of brown tiles and fluorescent lighting but a very cheap and amenable place indeed.

Annabela doesn't speak English but fortunately, on seeing our confused faces perusing an incomprehensible menu, she manages to locate an English language version and we proceed to order. I opt for Pork in Portugese Style, knowing very little of what it will entail but what arrives is utterly delicious, and my fellow diners with their chicken, salmon and pork dishes are all similarly impressed. Wine is just 12 Euro a bottle and utterly delicious.

But it's the restaurant's clientele that entertain us the most. Through the plate glass window we see an old man and his middle-aged companion trying to negotiate their way in. She is obviously worse for wear and by the looks of her was drunk when she got dressed this morning. A lurid pink t-shirt is hitched up over tight black leggings, stretched unflatteringly in all the wrong places. Tight brown curls are badly dyed, alongside smudged red lipstick and enormous dark brown glasses. They eventually make their way to a table and slump down opposite each other.

A few minutes later an ageing rockabilly in a peacock blue suit appears, his quiff still in place despite the years, and a faded air of Showaddywaddy about him. He's got a cigarette dangling from his lips and slowly shuffles up and down the restaurant, more interested in smoking than eating. In fact, we decide he looks more like a cross between Ray Davies and Englebert Humperdinck, but they'd look like spring chickens next to this octogenarian teddy boy.

While we finish off the wine, a woman in a studded PVC basque brings her children in to eat and the place starts to fill up with a variety of other characters that wouldn't seem out of place in a Portugese version of Royston Vasey.

Desserts of creme caramel and raspberry cheesecake are brought out but Emily and I are topping ours up with a double-dose of flu medication to keep us going.

We arrive back at the Ritz Four Seasons bang on 9pm as agreed and with no sign of band or management yet decide a mojito will get us in the festival mood. As we sup away in grand surroundings Mark appears with a fistful of artist passes for us and some very good news. They have laid on an extra people carrier just for us so we all hop in one, band and management in the other and are whisked straight from the hotel to Parque Bela Vista, the location for Rock In Rio, and in through the production entrance straight to the band's backstage compound.

They head into their dressing room to warm up and get ready while we hit the hospitality bar which, much to the disappointment of non-lager drinkers Coman and Andy, serves only Heineken who seem to be sponsoring the festival. Emily and I top up the flu pills with a couple of bottles and feel quite happy indeed.

My voice has almost gone by this point, a croaking, squeaking sound emerging rather than normal conversation, but no matter. There's a loud rock band taking the stage so we'll go and watch them instead. Waving our artist passes at security we try and venture into the photopit but are brusquely refused entry. Turns out that Linkin Park, who are on before the Pumpkins, have insisted on a total lockdown. Not a soul is allowed anywhere near them. There's nothing for it, we'll just have to venture into the crowd.

And what a crowd. Linkin Park's head of security tells us there's 96,000 people there, Peter thinks more like 60-70,000, but whoever's right, there's no denying it's simply enormous and all focussed on the one stage.

Around the edges of the crowd sit the usual food and drink stalls (Pepsi and Heineken having the monopoly) and there are odd little stalls like the theatrical barbers where you spin a wheel to choose which haircut he'll give you and then he massacres your locks accordingly. There's a line of people queuing up to be coiffed, but the strong smell of hash in the air is possibly why so many people are willing to be outrageously tonsured just for a laugh.

Above the crowd is a zipline running from a huge tower stage left to a landing station on the right. Throughout the night punters strap themselves in and whizz down the wires straight in front of the stage. It's a brilliant idea and must give a fantastic view of the entire festival, and the band, as the intrepid fliers sail overhead.

Linkin Park aren't messing about. Despite Emily claiming they're like "the metal N'Sync", they crank out hit after hit to enormous applause; 'Somewhere I Belong', 'Numb', 'Crawling' and 'A Thousand Suns' all sound great. But there's no fun to a festival without a drink in hand and Andy and Coman spy the only place serving booze of a non-Heineken variety.

It's a Caipirinha slushie bar selling two flavours of alcoholic ice, raspberry or lime. Emily and Andy go sour while Coman and I go sweet. Oh Lord, this isn't raspberry, it is in fact exactly the same flavour as the blackcurrant lemsip I have before leaving the house this morning. Fortunately it's so cold it dries up my runny nose and hacking cough by freezing my insides for the next hour.

We head to hospitality again and while we wait for the Pumpkins to take to the stage, Peter joins us for a chat, telling us some great stories about the time he worked with Axl Rose. The man is a fountain of entertaining anecdotes.

And then midnight comes and with it time to take to the stage. Emily, Coman and I opt for a vantage point amongst the crowd for the first half and the band turn in a good performance despite the sound blowing around. Classics like 'Bullet With Butterfly Wings' and 'Today' are magnificent but by now a chill is in the air so we head back to the photopit and this time are allowed entry to watch 'Ava Adore', 'Tonight Tonight' and the epic prog of their new album's title track 'Oceania' from there. '1979' is an utter crowd-pleaser with the fans going nuts.

But it's on stage where the real magic happens and up we go to stand in the wings for the finale. 'Cherub Rock', 'Disarm' and covers of 'Space Oddity' and 'Black Diamond Nights' by Kiss, sung by Mike the drummer, round the whole thing off. We follow the band as they are taken from stage to dressing room, towelling dressing gowns draped round their shoulders to protect them from the chill, and as we walk above us fireworks light up the sky with such ferocious explosions that they set off car alarms all round.

We sit around as the band chill out after their performance, congratulating them on a great gig and then we're all bundled into people carriers and driven back to our hotels. It's 3am by the time w're through the door, and still feeling rough I take a couple of night nurse capsules to help me sleep instead of incessantly coughing and sneezing, and then set the alarm for breakfast. Tomorrow we're joining Andy on an open top bus trip round Lisbon.