Air We Go! (2/2)

Something's gone wrong. MTV, which is filming the whole episode, is not allowed to bring its cameras onto the plane. And so it transpires that the midnight moment, instead of being celebrated in mid-air as planned, takes place in an eerily empty, strip-lit corridor of the airport. The girls sing Stardust "to get into the spirit of things", everyone hugs and Zoë whips her trousers down for the midnight knicker show. Welcome to 1999. After everyone has nominated Paul Oakenfold as chief baggage-handler and watched him load the hold ("It's just like the old days," he quips), it's on to the tiny plane. It's not quite the palace-of-the-skies that the DJs have been led to expect. Walking, doubled over, onto the 18-seater, the jibes to Cream man Jim begin.

"Lear Jet? More like Fear Jet!" and "Do you want me to get out and push?" are two of the comments made as the propellers scream into life. The captain announces over the intercom that he "expects everyone to start drinking as soon as possible", someone makes a glove puppet out of a sick bag, Zoë Ball does the stewardess life-jacket demonstration and, while everyone links arms and sings 'Auld Lang Syne', we take off for Manchester and the Cream and Colours bash.

THE main room of Manchester's Nynex arena is packed as far as the eye can see, Paul Oakenfold just a tiny dancing speck in the DJ box. Two girls on the dancefloor hang on to each other for dear life, eyes shining and grins fixed as the tunes unfurl around them. Hands Burn's 'Good Shot' starts a cheer that ripples round the arena like a Mexican wave, and then it's just "Oak-ey, Oak-ey" - as if the crowd are making their own tune. Roger Sanchez, who is heading off for Cream vs Shindig in Newcastle after this, is rocking it in the Colours room, playing chunky but funky, a smile visible below his trademark black hat. Norman, in the Bugged Out section (which is a corridor), has caused a roadblock, while TV screens above display the advice 'Don't eat yourself'. It only seems like five minutes since we arrived, but it's nearly 3.30am and we're off to Liverpool for the finale. As we walk out, Zoë Ball is almost kissed to death by well-wishers, and half as many people again look totally puzzled. No, you're not tripping. That was Zoë Ball dancing on the speakers back there.

Twenty minutes later, we scramble out of the vans and through the doors of Nation. Paul Oakenfold heads off to the Courtyard like a man possessed. This is the farewell set of his two-year residency and he doesn't want to miss a second. As you'd expect, the crowd go bonkers when they catch sight of him and it's not long before the famous queue to get in the room materialises. Norman Cook is grinning like a buffoon and waggling his arms around in the annexe. "This is the best of them all," he conceeds. "I love it!" In true Cream tradition, it is all going right off.

6.30am. The DJs' posses are gathered outside the club, looking slightly the worse for wear. The Cream van is waiting to take us back to the hotel. Oakey and his gang throw in their bags, pile in and take their seats, only to clamber out again two minutes later. Mr Fatboy Slim is sitting in the van, on his own, arms folded. "What?" he shrugs. "I just told them I wanted to go first." Turfing out Oakey, Cream resident supreme, star of the show and all round King DJ? How embarrassing. But by now - one plane journey, thousands of miles, three sets and more than several bottles of expensive champagne down the line - scrapping over who gets in the minibus first doesn't seem important. Especially as we're only going to be doing the same thing a million people all over the UK are doing at this moment - sitting around on the floor talking bollocks.