Not to make you feel bad or anything, but while the rest of the you were swanning around sunning yourself over the weekend, we were busy putting in some serious overtime at the Body & Soul Festival, applying a keen analytical eye to the socio-political relevance of the annual Ballinlough bash.

Not really. But we did have a ball, and then some.

Here, then, are a half-dozen takeaways from this year's B&S, which rocked. Gently.

There's A LOT to be said for the weather.

While B&S is justly renowned for its uber-chilled vibe, this year's installment offered, simply put, the most pleasant Irish festival experience imaginable. A generation ago, the young people of Ireland lost their innocence (along with their dignity, minds and shoes) on the battlefields of Feile. This was solid three days of blistering weather, good vibes and magic moments. While some lamented the absence of big name headliners - our whatever passes for them these days - the music on offer was top-notch wherever you pitched up, from Swedish electronic diva Fever Ray and techno auteur Jon Hopkins to homegrown nu-trad heroes Lankum and Icelandic all-girl hip-hop posse Reykjavíkurdætur. 

Such was the absence of the wanton messiness often still all-too-prevalent common at Irish gigs (talk to anyone who caught a show at Malahide Castle recently) that when a trio of stroppy gatecrashers landed in the middle of the site way too early one morning, it felt like that moment in Monsters Inc when one of the creatures returns to base inadvertently sporting a contaminated sock from a child's bedroom. They had to be removed, pronto. And, courtesy of the most hands-off security we've ever seen, were promptly herded offsite. 

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Mother knows best.

While each area offered its own sublime pleasures, Dublin club royalty Mother absolutely owned the Saturday at B & S with their day-long residency at the Reckless In Love stage, bringing the fabulousness with a steady stream of crowd-pleasing DJs spinning crowd-pleasing tunes, interspersed with queer performance art, dirty cabaret hi-jinx and occasional moments of wanton transcendence.

It takes a certain steadiness of nerve (coupled with an anarchic streak) to halt the banging tunes mid-afternoon to treat the assembled masses to an operatic take on Celine Dion's It's All Coming Back To Me Now, but by the time resident disco queen Kelly-Anne Byrne delivered a knockout DJ set on Saturday night to thousands of very happy punters, the gaff belonged to Mother.

There's always time for a spot of Sing Along Social.

It's good to talk. And talk. And talk.

One man dominated the Library Of Progress stage, programmed by the team behind Electric Picnic's Mindfield arena, and his name was Blindboy Boatclub, who brought his unique worldview to a compelling series of chats, culminating in an epic stream of consciousness natter with Tommy Tiernan. For a brief, glorious moment, the world was set to rights. Elsewhere, the Waterford Whispers crew previewed their forthcoming stage show. It's going to be something quite special. And very flipping hilarious.

We have seen the future of Irish music. 

The cream of cutting-edge Irish bands acquitted themselves admirably, with Saint Sister owning the main stage with an etherial cover of The Cranberries' Dreams and pop-punk upstarts Pillow Queens staking their claim for indie superstardom, but possibly the most exciting thing we experienced all weekend was the knockout set from grime-infused Dublin hip-hop merchants Mango X Mathman, who positively tore up the 2FM Rising stage with their whipsmart rhymes and infectious beats. Between this and an appearance in movie of the summer Dublin Old School, they're having a moment. 

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We are living in curious times.

There we were on Saturday night, kicking back on the grass verge overlooking the main stage, playing host to a rather fine set from crumbled crooner Baxter Dury, when who did we spot out of the corner of our eye, having a pint and taking it all in? Only The Taoiseach himself, sans entourage, entirely untroubled by randomers and digging the tunes. Without sounding too creepy (a constant struggle), we spotted him doing something something similar at the rather transcendent Nick Cave/Patti Smith bash at IMMA a few weeks ago. You may disagree with his policies, but we find it increasingly difficult to fault his taste in tunes. 

The future is recyclable.

It used to be all about the artisan pies. These days, cardboard tents are where it's at. Seriously. And yes, they're waterproof. See you next year.