SHAMABALA has a well-earned reputation for being thoroughly enjoyable. It’s small enough to be fully relaxing, without the freneticism of its mega-fest cousins such as Boom Town and Glastonbury but with enough going on to keep you permanently stumbling upon wondrous new little nooks and crannies.

To call it a hippy Butlins doesn’t quite do it justice but is not far off the mark. There is even a “social club” marquee with stand-up, cabaret, tribute acts and karaoke in which a few redcoats would certainly not be out of place.

There’s a giant kids’ field too, along with workshops aplenty featuring everything from vocal training to interactive games illustrating the nature of fiat money and the power of private banking.

There’s even a marquee dedicated solely to puppet shows, courtesy of the Smoking Puppet Cabaret Theatre, which hosts a childcentric programme. But at nightfall it becomes an entirely child-unfriendly panoply of lewd and satirical creatures, all hosted by a charmingly tipsy and irreverent bearded fox-man. Bizarrely compelling.

Elsewhere, Roots Yard features wall-to-wall heavy reggae and dub, while the Kamikaze marquee is the place for hardcore jungle, techno and other off-your-face delights.

But there’s plenty in the way of brain food and intellectual stimulation at the Rebel Soul cafe. Distinctly anarchist-leaning, there are some excellent talks by dedicated activists such as Merrick, who provides jaw-dropping details of what he and his fellow environmentalists have unearthed about the undercover police at work in their movement.

They estimate about 10 per cent of them — some 13 in all, including the notorious Mark Kennedy — formed long-term relationships with female activists, several of whom were left with babies after the cops ran off without paying maintenance.

This is clearly state policy, described by Merrick as “institutional sexism.”

There’s not a huge number of really big-name acts yet the music is of consistently high quality, from the infectiously groovy psychedelic Cumbia of Sidestepper to the bumping Latino rhythms of La Gallera and the uplifting future-roots reggae of Komono. There’s not a duff act on a bill of music spanning all conceivable genres, and then some, but the one unifying theme is that it all puts a smile on your face and makes you bop.

Ingeniously conceived, flawlessly executed — that’s Shambala.

George Fogarty