Last night’s incendiary set by The Prodigy is the last one I watched at this year’s Glastonbury – and the first where I really wish I was there.

Who would have thought they could carry off a festival headline spot seven years after losing Keith?But they really can – and how touching to hear them dedicate the show to “Mr Fucking Flint.”

It’s the third time I’ve seen them, though this was only on TV from the comfort of my sofa, with a drink in my hand.

The first was at the Ministry of Sound in 1996: the aftershow party for the premiere of Tarantino’s vampire film From Dusk Til Dawn.

Firestarter had just come out and they had dancers with oxyacetylene burners on podiums sending out showers of sparks while a scary-looking woman walked through the crowd with a huge albino python draped across her shoulders.

I had not paid a whole lot of attention to the band before that, missing out on early hits like Charly and Everybody In The Place, but I was instantly converted that night.

It was impossible not to be drawn to the energy and power of their punk-dance hybrid. And with that performance I finally realised just how punk they were.

The second time was at the Benicassim festival in Spain in 2010, where my son Theo – then aged 14 – squeezed to the front of the vast crowd on his own and I thought I might never see him again.

When he finally emerged he was covered in brown dust from head to foot, the dust glued to hs skin and clothes by sweat. I hardly recognised him.

The previous morning we had hardly recognised Keith with his hair plastered down rather than spiked up, having breakfast with a vast gathering of friends and family at the same beachside café as us.

So last night was the third time, and the first without Keith. And also, despite the absence of their front man, and my absence from the gig itself, the best.

Start the dance!