Dazed Digital was working with Rizla at Bestival this year... and in more clear evidence that  festivals and brands fancy each other - Her: fun, young, looks good in the sun. Him: connected, respected, cash injected. 

So what? No one wants to see phone companies splashed all over the inside of a tent. Well, unimaginative brand managers armed with logo guns beware, the Rizla Tent at Bestival was a lesson in 'Experiential Marketing' (yes, that's how The Man refers to you having a good time).

With their bright green fun bus, like Southend Pier parked in the middle of the dance floor, and doubling as the DJ booth, Rizla scored maximum fun points all weekend. The setting, in a neat corner of the festival, and a well-considered line up, programmed by James Baillie, he of The Bomb and Shelley's, made for one of the most consistently popular places to be, all weekend long. Don 'Legend in his own Lifetime' Letts began Sunday's session with relaxed reggae that ran into RnB, warming up to the biggest bogle of Bestival playing Chaka Demus and Pliers' Tease Me, when a sea of two-finger salutes shot in the direction of the afternoon sun.

Stuart Patterson induced rows of beaming faces and for Maurice Fulton the massive queue gave up getting in, and just spilled into getting it on outside the tent. To top it all Greg Wilson licked it, cracking off  "real house" classics cut into even greater classics, all layered over each other in his reel to whatever-it-is-that-he-does genius way.

Also popular with the best of the fancy dress, The Rizla tent saw Pablo Escobar dancing in a cloud of white powder, Cleopatra shimmying in the sun and a stunning blonde nurse in white PVC raising temperatures with a well-licked finger, all being flash-bulbed by a gang of voracious 1950s paparazzi photographers.

In the shadow of that, the only slight exhale was Will Saul's audio version of arse-scratching, 'Tepid' and 'Forgettable' were two words overheard as we left to get another drink. However, the real edge at the Rizla Tent wasn't clever music programming or subtle branding, it was the total disregard for anything remotely 'tent like'. No poles, no wet-dog-smell, and no white boys with their tops off leaving a gaping chasm of females. It was more like  your cocky mate with the convertible - roof off, tunes loud enough and good enough that everyone turns to look, sunglasses on, even after dark, thinking we're cool, dancing on three subtly sponsored steel tiers of festival funshine.