Trundling around a field in the grounds of a beautiful Georgian farmhouse, surrounded by colourful tents, tucking into an organic pie and a pint of pimms- it doesn't get much more boutique than this. Secret Garden Party won the Sunday Times Small Festival award in 2004 and now in its fourth year, this not-so-secret little festival delivered its usual feast of foolishness and decadence, and quite a lot of good music too.

Sliding through the muddy gates on a sunny Friday afternoon we were immediately transported into a weird wonderland of beautiful tents and flags. The Head Gardeners reduced the numbers and enlarged the area this year, and also rearranged a lot of the stages so, unlike last year we didn't have to take to sliding transport in a huge bath to avoid falling over.

There were ten stages scattered around a huge lake- my personal favourite was the Pontoon stage right on the water where we spent many a happy hour dancing to reggae in ballgowns. There are tents for dancing and drinking, but much more common are those for dressing up, body painting, wearing orange, celebrating New Days Eve every night at 12, even a tent where outside was a sign reading "Warning- vaginas drying" with ten painted vagina moulds lined up neatly next to it.

There is so much going on it can be almost overwhelming and, compared with bigger festivals, there is a much stronger emphasis on the non-musical fun and games. You basically spend four days doing whatever tickles your fancy, and living in a world of expensive decadence that takes more than a few days recovery. When raving in the Remix tent got too much we simply wandered off to sip tea in Granny's caravan. Sunday morning was spent in a hula-hooping competition with all the other overgrown children at the Kid's Tent and then mud wrestling with the Suicide Sports Club.

Saturday night we speed dated in a horn shaped tube of wooden palettes. One enthusiastic participant ended up with his head stuck in a palette. Luckily a German in an all in one leotard was on hand to help. Art installations like this one were scattered around everywhere. A huge white box with a maze of passages inside it rewarded those sober enough to make it through with a panoramic view of the whole site. From here we watched the launch of twenty Chinese lanterns into the sky whilst a huge pink hand on a floating island was set alight on the lake.

For all the fun and games there was actually some music too. It's pretty much impossible to get a handle on everything from such a long list of varied acts, and it is a testament to the Gardeners that you always know there's something equally exciting going on somewhere else. The closest thing to headliners were Echo and the Bunnymen, who let us know before a magical rendition of The Killing Moon that it is "the greatest song ever written". Any smidge of arrogance is most definitely forgiven as, dancing in the sun next to two six foot octopuses, it certainly felt like it was. New Young Pony Club were the next biggest attraction. They drew the biggest crowd of the weekend and while it rained, we danced and danced. Ice Cream got the crowd thumping but overall they were a little uninspiring, rushing through their set and looking a little bit pissed off the whole way through. The Noisettes and their should-have-been-huge single Scratch my Name pulled everyone to the front of the stage too, and much more deservedly.

It was at this point that I lost my friend to the Where The Wild Things Are tent for a set by Timid Tiger, who seemed to have blown him away when I eventually found him tucking in to a Moroccan feast in the food wonderland. He was happy as larry and assures me they're worth a listen. People definitely weren't there for the big names and the happiest times were spent abandoning the muddy set list and just seeing what you fell upon- be it Kate Walsh's flowers-in-her-hair Norah Jones style sleepy magic, or the sarcastic sign outside the Living Room Tent telling us that Kate Nash's 'people' unfortunately felt that small festivals weren't really her bag. Her loss I'd say. Beans on Toast popped up on the stage next to me whilst I was reading Harry Potter in a hammock and armed with two litres of White Lightning he sang us through an array of topics – "Sex, drugs or politics?" he asked at the beginning of each song, and proceeded to let us know his opinions. If not the most accomplished musician, which he is first to admit, he drew a full crowd of giggling spectators. Sunday afternoon's highlight was Peter and the Wolf, and sipping raspberry cider whilst listening to their energetic interpretation of acoustic- tambourines, double bass, trombones, recorders and violins all enter the mix, was near perfect. Alabama 3, Fugiya and Miyagi and the New York Fund all pelted the Main Stage with equal perfection.

As for dancing-till-the-early-hours music, Utah Saints' breaks and beats on Friday got the Remix tent going with a promising set, until one Klaxons remix too many shunted off even the most inebriated. A bit disappointing, but we turned to the Looniverse tent for help the next two nights, and this was where the magic happened. Their upbeat brand of ska, swing, tribal beats, electronica, gypsy, folk and funk was much more in keeping with the spirit of us silly revellers, and we only stopped for a short break to watch the Feast of Fools perform an intriguing and surreal kind of pagan ceremony. Novelty festival hats off to them for keeping their performances going practically the whole weekend, and to all the organisers of the fun and frolics that got everyone involved- one intention of this small festival that was definitely achieved. Weird and wonderful, decadent and foolish, Secret Garden Party is something special. I'll be coming back next year, as should you.