The Fall are surprisingly triumphant on first day of Camp Bestival

One of the biggest subjects of discontent around the Camp Bestival site on Friday, and there are few, is that the car parks and campsites haven't opened until the opening morning.

Coupled with the large swathes of tent space handed over to Boutique Camping and Camping Plus, this results in a huge bottleneck and lengthy traffic jams on the narrow Dorset lanes surrounding the festival. A bunfight over the remaining space not reserved for the elite to breeze up in their Chelsea tractors and pitch their tents in follows and a good percentage of those who have bought tickets arrive on site too late to enjoy the opening few acts, with a couple of tempers fraying.

So it is that your eFestivals reviewer misses out on Kid Carpet's 1.30pm set on the Castle Stage. It's disappointing, as Bristol's children's toy-wielding unhinged genius would have provided a splendid way to kick off proceedings.

As it happens, that honour is bestowed, equally fittingly, upon Justin Fletcher aka Mr Tumble.

Berkshire's finest clown takes to the stage in a flurry of comical noises, including his classic face wobble, and breaks into a finely-honed reportoire that has the kids in raptures. The bandstand lends itself well to a set of lively songs from Mr T's lengthy children's TV career, including the appropriate 'Hello Song' from the BAFTA nominated 'Something Special' series, and classic nursery rhymes. Children flail themselves wildy as adults sit back in the warm atmosphere created by a truly talented kids' performer. In fact, during 'Rock and Roly Poly' the majority of roly-polying folk are decidedly post pre-school.

The performance lacks pace at times, and the version of 'Old MacDonald' has a slightly contrived and over-rehearsed air to it, but it's no mean feat to entrance a few hundred warm and revved up kiddies when a helter skelter is only feet away - all this with the decidedly non-patronising use of Makatan throughout. Respect is due Mr Tumble.

After a quick stride out into the crowd during 'Party Party' and a final child-tiring burst of 'Jump and Jive', the red-faced cheery chap leads the audience in a rendition of the 'Goodbye Song' and leaves to much applause. Well worth a watch, and we even forgive the shameless plugs for his new series.

Set back from the bandstand area, the Insect Circus have made camp with their old school stage and curious museum caravan.

Greeted by our circus master-cum-compare, we are led into their baffling world of giant insects trained to perform standard circus fare alongside human trainers. The Charming Mao and her shape-making, balancing ants kick us off, complete with hurdy gurdy music and traditional Victorian-style costume. A graceful Ladybird rope act is followed by the dainty Lady Babcock the Fifth, with Dungo son of Dungo - who rolled and balanced a large ball. Quite an achievement for a giant dung beetle.

The acrobatic performances are so excellently presented, you would be forgiven for forgetting it must be a great deal harder to entertain crowds in a giant fly suit, and by the time Maroc the Beast Tamer performs his bull/beetle taming act, it's barely noticeable that the six legs poking out from the giant rhino beetle, topped with feathery headdress, are those of three humans.

This weird and unapologetic act is further enhanced by the troupe's mini museum, housing peep show-style insect training dioramas and mock circus artefacts. Brilliantly executed and listed in Time Out's 100 Things To Do In Britain, the museum alone is worth a visit and utterly convincing to imaginative little minds.

Back at the Castle Stage, 21-year-old London grime artist Patrick Chukwuem Okogwu Jr - aka Tinie Tempah - is reaching the end of his set, 10 minutes after the scheduled start time for The Fall, which presumably delights their notoriously grumpy and awkward frontman Mark E Smith.

Tempah, naturally, saves number one single 'Pass Out' until last, milking it for all it's worth and stretching the song, with its annoyingly catchy keyboard loop through several false endings, his DJ each time imploring the, by now very large, crowd to "make some noise for Tinie Tempah".

Parents, toddlers and teenagers jig along in unison and he leaves to no little acclaim.

This is far from home territory for Mancunian Smith and his band, now in their 34th year, faced as they are by rows of picnic blankets, MacLaren buggies and an array of fancy dress costumes. They arrive on stage, flanked by two fairly puny looking white banners, five minutes after Tempah has departed, taking much of his audience with him.

They waste no time in launching the simplistic post-punk 4/4 kick drum, snare and repetitve distorted guitar riff of 'O.F.Y.C Showcase' from 'Your Future Our Clutter' - their 28th and most recent studio album, Smith looking, as always, as if he has just tucked into a wasp and nettle ciabatta. He mopes about the stage in his black donkey jacket, presiding over his band's sound, occasionally pausing to turn up his guitarist's amp until it emits ear-bothering feedback and is suitably over-bearing for his liking, and chewing furiously on gum between shouting, almost incoherently, "Your future-ah... Our clutter-ah".

'Hot Cake' is similarly angular and abrasive, Smith prowling nonchalantly over to wife and Fall keyboardist Elena Poulou and slamming his hand down on a collection of keys of his choosing and producing a noise which adds to the chaotic, discordant mix. Kid Carpet looks on approvingly.

But for a few believers at the front, no-one really appears to know what's going on, but The Fall are totally unperturbed, rattling out a series of barren-sounding three-minute invectives with unnerring focus and a certain relish. Smith even breaks from his perma-grimace to emit a clearly audible "cheers" at the end of one number. They fit in with the Camp Bestival ambience about as well as a poo in a fruit salad, but The Fall are surprisingly triumphant.

At the same time, Billy Bragg is reading bedtime stories over at the Isle Of Boden tent, while in the enchanting wooded Dingly Dell area, Videopia are creating live makeshift movies to the delight of a gaggle of bleary-eyed youngsters, presumably not too concerned at missing out on Marc Almond back at the Castle Stage. The Sandman calls.

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