The boy with the thorn up his bum

10:34am: Meeting fellahs in the Park ...
A massive big collective hug to all the wonderful people who came along to the New New Royal Family's soiree last night and made it such a lovely, lovely evening. I'm quite overwhelmed to be honest. Extra special thanks to Ed for his incredible rapping, Seaneen for taking superb pics, Anna for her stylish stylophone skills, Jeremy's band for being really quite excellent, oh, everybody. Thank you.



Just look at Renu's face!

1:03pm: A cheap holiday in other people's misery
On Monday Anna and I went on holiday! To Canary Wharf!



It's just like New York, but much cheaper. Actually, probably reminded me more of Toronto, all shiny and impressive but a bit soulless and slightly sinister too. We had a super time, though. Went to the Docklands Museum and the Jack the Ripper exhibish which was refreshingly sober and reflective.

Me being sober and reflective:



I had a 2 for 1 voucher so the entire holiday including travel, drinks in the cafe and a slap up meal at Mrs Miggins' Pie Shop Pret a Manger cost us less than a tenner each. And left a miniscule carbon footprint.

Been a bit up and down this week. Played a fairly awful gig with Keith TOTP on Sunday. Art Brut were stranded at an airport in Italy and the Indelicates weren't feeling well, so the core of the band was me, Keith, Adie, Fruitbat and the saxophonist from Glam Chops who were the only ones who'd ever heard the songs plus various people I'd never met before including the legendary Stuffy on drums who just about held it together. But I was out of practice and clearly had no idea what I was doing. I don't think I've ever played a gig before where the entire front row have their hands covering their ears. Keith seemed to think this was a tremendous result. Maybe it was. I did manage to give away an entire packet of chocolate digestives during AFACD, so if that's any measure of success then I suppose it was a small triumph of sorts.

Tuesday was rehearsal with Nightbeast which was quite exciting. I brought in a new song which everybody else seemed to think was quite good. I wrote it in ten minutes the night before. Always the best way.

I couldn't get out of bed on Wednesday. A combination of fatigue and world-weariness. I had loads of things to do and couldn't face any of them. I eventually forced myself to answer the phone and only then did I realise it was 5.30pm. Whoops!

Today has been better. I've swum/swam/swimmed 20 lengths, I've bought a big pile of fruit and veg, I've been to the library and tidied the house. The sun is shining and the world keeps spinning round.

7:41pm: Paint it all black let the humorous glow
Last night Anna and I got dressed up as Goffs to go to Feeling Gloomy which was good fun but unfortunately probably also the highlight of the evening. We both got pretty mis at the club itself. I'm not sure why. I don't think it was anything to do with the bands who were all quite good.

I'd ostensibly gone to see my chums in the Vatican Cellars and Jonny Cola, but the most entertaining was definitely the middle band who were like Bad News fronted by David Brent. I think I was the only person who enjoyed them. I got really confused because the guitarist appeared to have breasts. Then I realised it was a woman. And the bass player looked like Jerry Sadowitz and I wanted to pull off his top hat to see if his hair was attached to it like one of those See You Jimmy Bonnets that Scottish people wear at football matches.

David Shah pointed out that "I.W.I.S.H.I.W.A.S.Gay" is grammatically incorrect, assuming I'd made the same schoolboy error as Midge Ure on his 80s abomination "If I Was". However, he had fallen into my trap of assuming the title was a simple spelling of "I Wish I Was Gay" rather than an incredibly clever acronym. Quite what it stands for, I've not actually worked out yet. Perhaps more attentive readers would like to offer some suitable suggestions?

Today me and the missus went for an East End Dickensian adventure for research purposes. We saw the childhood home of Lionel Bart and some other stuff which has temporarily escaped me and got drookit on the way home.

Now I am waiting for the rain to subside before venturing out to darkest Brixton for another turn as a Minor Indie Celebrity with Keith Top of the Pops and chums. Apparently he's got about 18 people in the band tonight so I doubt if anyone would notice if I didn't turn up ...

7:13pm: "Imagines Howard Devoto fronting a seriously chilled Cardiacs"
So says the incredibly wise and perspicacious Losing Today of the New Royal Family's recent charity compilation contribution "Tortoise". Knighthood for that man, please.

If that hasn't got you frothing at the gash with excitement at our imminent live return, then the very exciting news that Finsbury Park Sex God(TM)moleintheground will be joining us on stage for some world exclusive rappity rapping on the first (and possibly last) ever live rendition of "I.W.I.S.H.I.W.A.S.Gay" surely will. I'm more excited than a very excited man with a very exciting reason to be especially excited. Whoop!

6:12pm: Break advertising
Here is a flyer for the New Royal Family's exciting comeback gig a week on Saturday featuring songs and sketches and jokes old and new. And possibly even a rapper!

If you cut this out and bring it along you'll have a whole extra pound to spend on beer. And remember, the more you drink, the better we'll sound.



Sadly I've had to cancel our Manchester outing due to a variety of factors including rumours that the venue had closed down, the promoter not having been in touch for over a month, our stand-in guitarist never having played the songs on guitar before, our stand-in bassist never having played the bass with us before and our stand-in drummer never having met us before. What a wuss.

1:58pm: My (new) Booky Wook
People often say to me: "Dave," they say, oblivious to me detestation of nomenclature truncation, "Dave," they repeat, "When are you going to write a follow-up to your genre-shattering, bottom-rupturing, multi-thousand-selling blockbuster, Love & Poison, that thinly-veiled autobiography masquerading as the story of once-popular indie-wets The Suedes?"

"Probably never," I sigh resignedly, looking off into the far distance and thinking of love's labours lost and won, what might have been and what never will. "To be honest," I confess, "It was all a bit of a fluke."

So it came as something of a surprise to discover that I have a new book out. Right now. Available to buy. In the shops and everything. Possibly.

Okay, so I only wrote bits of it. And I'm not even sure how many or indeed which of those bits are included (although I seem to recall doing something about that old perennial the River Fleet). But it's a book nonetheless. A proper, made-of-paper, old-fashioned, hard-covered book. And a rather nifty-looking one too, I gather.

Suede fans may be disappointed to find that there's rather less of their idols in this, the difficult sequel. But it is edited by one Mat "Fingers" Osman, which ought to keep them happy. I do hope he remembers to send me a free copy.

6:22pm: Danke beaucoup, as the Alsatians say
Some excellent suggestions of Shoreditch Twattery, my fine fellows. Merci schone, as the people of the disputed Lorraine region probably don't say.

Yesterday's London Wall expedition was more of a challenge than Anna or I had anticipated since the original plates that inspired our quest date back to the 70s and are more than a little incomplete. Of the 21 that were originally in place, only around eight or nine have survived. Since each plate only indicates the whereabouts of the one immediately following or prior to itself, following the route was pretty tricky. I think we located about six of them in the end. At least one had been blown up by the IRA. An Interesting Fact was that most of the Wall had been built over by the 19th century and it wasn't until the Blitz that substantial chunks of it were revealed by the Luftwaffe's bombs. I'm sure Hermann Goring will be pleased to know that his legacy isn't just concentration camps and secret police. The big fat opium addict.

Today we visited the cartoon museum which is a real gem. There's a special Beano and Dandy exhibition on at the mo which is a joy and not just cos I used to work at DC Thomson.

Am currently wrestling with my inner alkie as to whether or not to go to the pub since I haven't really been out this weekend and it would seem like a shame to waste it . . .

12:40pm: Knowledgeable London music fan types - help wanted!
You're a brainy lot, aren't you? I wonder if you could scratch your collective heads for me. I've somehow landed a rather ace writing job by pretending to know loads about Nathan Barley Land - eg the area around Old Street roundabout / Hoxton Square / Shoreditch High Street and thereabouts. What I'm looking for is songs or lyrics which might relate to this area. Obvious ones are Pop Goes The Weasel (City Road) and Oranges and Lemons (Shoreditch Church), but I could do with something a little more contemporary - eg within the last hundred years or so.

I'm sure there must be loads by the likes of the Libertines, Blur, Kinks and so on, but so far all I can come up with is Being For the Benefit of Mr Kite (Bishopsgate) and Jack the Ripper (Whitechapel) both of which are stretching the geographical boundaries somewhat.

Any help would be massively appreciated. I'll try to think of some kind of ace prize for the best answers. Maybe. Oh, and non-musical - ie books, TV, films, etc - references might be handy too. Ta.

Today I have been mostly procrastinating. I need to do some more stuff for Global Cool and I need to do some housework. So far I have avoided this by staying in bed till noon, thus missing the eclipse in the process. Jeremy was very excited about it. He said it looked as if a mouse had taken a bite out of the sun.

8:56pm: Eternal dust, less ticklish
Why isn't Charlotte Hatherley an enormous popstar? Her gig last night was astonishingly good. Like Elastica at the peak of their powers but with better tunes and not just their boyfriends' hand-me-downs. Her cover of Outdoor Miner actually sounded quite bland compared with her own amazing stuff. But I doubt if the place was even half full. She didn't even have her own guitar tech. Sometimes I don't understand the human race.

A smashing evening, though. I met Charlotte's mum. She was a zombie in Shaun of the Dead. Brilliant.

Jeremy's brother Matt has moved from Cornwall to London. To Cornwall Road spookily enough. So Jeres and I took him out today to show him a good time by frog-marching him from Stroud Green to Highbury then taking him for a swim where he was almost blinded by the chlorine (not like the fresh sea water they have in the Duchy).

Then Matt wanted to go to this exotic-sounding place he'd heard tale of called "Nando's" so off we went and I was pleasantly surprised even though a mushroom burger that would have cost less than a pound to make set me back five quid. Their chilli sauce is good, though. After a quick exploration of the local pubs where Jeremy failed to drink and I failed to play pool convincingly, Matt had had enough excitement for one day so bade us adieu and we went to the cinema to see the hotly-tipped Dark Knight.

It's a shame "Batman Forever" had already been bagsied as a title 'cause that's how long it seemed to go on for. It was horrible and violent and Batman's voice was unintentionally hilarious, but Jack Nicholson was quite good.

6:12pm: A Scottish person writes
Today I have been exercising mind, body and soul by reading some of Alexei Sayle's wonderfully warped short stories, swimming a bracing 20 lengths in the pool and fighting once again for my consumer rights.

That last one sounds intriguing, Dave, do elucidate. I'm glad you asked. I recently took advantage of Tesco's money off vouchers at their new soul-sucking, community-destroying "Metro" store on Highbury Corner. Obviously, I wouldn't normally frequent such an emporium, but £5 off if you spend £15 saw me abandoning my principles faster than you can say "what 10p tax band?"

Once home I perused my receipt and with some horror observed that I had been overcharged to the tune of £1.24 in total. Not a great deal of money, I readily accept, but it's the principle of the thing innit? So today I spent ages at their "customer service" desk, insisting that their on-the-vine tomatoes really had been advertised at 80p on Monday, even though they were now once again selling for £1.69, and really, really getting on the tits of the rapidly growing queue of people snaking behind me who only wanted to buy some fags.

Eventually they conceded that they were in the wrong and - get this - stood by their policy of giving back twice the amount when they overcharge someone. So I got a whopping £2.48 back. Ha! Take that, the Man!

Meanwhile, back on planet rock, I see that the New Royal Family's forthcoming vinyl offering is now available to "pre-order" from Filthy Little Angels It's the one called "Just A Minute", so named because all the songs on it are just a minute long. Clever eh?

I imagine it's probably too late to ask if anyone would like to be my plus one for Chathers tonight?

7:38pm: Not suitable for bowlers
Jeremy dragged me down to Dulwich last night to see his great showbiz mate Martin Carr play a gig which I thought was going to be in a record shop. It wasn't in a record shop at all but in this really bizarre social club which looked a bit like an ordinary Georgian house but when you went through the door had this enormous bar in and then French windows which led out onto a beautiful bowling green. Like the sort of thing you'd see in an episode of Chigley.

Most of the local Conservative association seemed to be out the back, drinking tea and playing bowls and with their children and grandchildren running about excitedly. I quickly realised it was probably the least appropriate event I could have chosen to wear my risque "f*** your mother and don't run away punk" t-shirt to. You know, the one that's got a picture of a man with his arm half way up another man's bum.

Jeremy's still off the sauce so it was very odd being out with him and me being drunk while he was sober and sage and sensible. Fortunately I managed to behave myself, I think, and avoid shouting out "Wake Up Boo!" very loudly during the quiet bits. The gig was surprisingly good actually. Mr Carr's still got an ear for a sparkling melody even if he now looks like a badly drawn Badly Drawn Boy with his fuzzy face and funny hat.

Spent almost all today rehearsing with my exciting new rock band. We've invented a new genre: Death Kettle. Looks like we're going with the so appalling it's almost good moniker of Nightbeast. That's a world exclusive for you there. Don't tell the NME.

1:41pm: TMI
Inevitably I slept like Rip van Winkle on elephant tranquilisers and missed the video shoot. Bo.

Awoke today to find 58 (FIFTY-EIGHT!) emails from Facebook clogging my intray. When I signed up to it I promised myself I'd just stick with people I actually liked, or at least knew socially. But when you get a desperate-sounding plea saying "so and so wants to be your friend" then it seems rude to turn them down, doesn't it? Rejection is one thing but rejection by a fool is cruel as someone once said.

I've now had several requests from people of whose identity I haven't the foggiest. And, you know, I can't really say, "sorry, but who the hell are you?"

And then there are all those people writing on my "wall", whatever that is, and characters I haven't seen for years saying, "we really must meet up for a beer". I'd really like to go for a beer with lots of these individuals. But if I started trying to answer all these comments then I'd probably never leave the house again.

I mean, here I am on the most beautiful day of the year, sitting indoors whinging about how Facebook is keeping me chained to my computer, and I haven't even logged on to my Facebook page yet.

So, if you have sent me an exciting message on Facebook, please excuse me if I haven't replied yet, or confirmed you as a friend yet, or committed any one of the infinite number of exciting new possibilities for social faux pas that lie before me every waking minute of every single day for the rest of my life, stretching on endlessly along the intestines of eternity, rather like this sentence . . .

PS - 2 things:

1. Would anyone like to clean my flat for cold hard cash? I'd do it myself but Facebook means I won't be able to do any domestic chores again ever.

2. Would anybody like to come to see Martin Carr play at the opening of a record shop somewhere in Dulwich tonight? Don't tell me, this is probably the sort of thing I should use Facebook for, isn't it?

9:14am: London Revellers - show-offs wanted!
After an early morning post-work dip I arrived home yesterday to find my inbox full of Facebook updates which took me until midday to trawl through. I am now officially addicted. I'd just nodded off when the people next door starting blasting Amy Winehouse through the walls. Not literally, but you know what I'm trying to say. This was the opening salvo of a massive 30th birthday party for the lady next door. Seeing as it was a Saturday afternoon, I couldn't really ask them to turn the music down a bit and at least the tunes were quite good: Gloria Jones, Stevie Wonder, some reggae and soul and that sort of thing but the cumulative effect was that I was so sleep deprived that I actually started hallucinating at work last night. It was quite nice actually.

Anyway, I really should be catching up on some shut-eye rather than typing out this nonsense, but just wanted to invite anyone who's interested to my friend Renu's video shoot which is happening this afternoon and this evening. I'll be doing the latter part. It's for her song The London Revellers which is really rather good. Night night.

LONDON REVELLERS VIDEO SHOOT

Dear Revellers

Thanks for making time for this video shoot. I really appreciate it!!!

There will be a : INDOOR SHOOT
And : OUTDOOR SHOOT

1) There won't really be anywhere to change so come as you are!...WEAR WHAT YOU WANT, COME IN COSTUME..etc

2) Please ask friends to come down to make up revellers crowd

3) I would like everybody to have a laugh on the day

4) Please have a packed lunch and some booze to keep yourselves happy (School trip vibes!!)

5) The NIGHT BEAST BOYS: I know you can't make the INDOOR SHOOT, but please note the OUTDOOR SHOOT IS 5.30

6)The director will explain all on the day





DATE: SUNDAY 27TH JULY

INDOORS
Time: 2.30
Venue: 3 Blind Mice
Location: 5 Ravey Street, (off Great Eastern Street),
Shoreditch, London, EC2A 4QW
Nearest Tube / Rail: Old Street

OUTDOORS
Time: 5.30
Location: Blackall Street Around corner from 3 Blind Mice, Shoreditch, London, EC2 4QP
Nearest tube/Rail: Old Street

SHOOTING ENDS
TIME: 8.00

THANKS!!! THANKS!!! THANKS!!!!!
YOU'RE ALL ULTRA SUPER SEXY COOL YAH!!!
Renu xxx

10:12am: Leaving the 20th Century
Since email seems to be rapidly going the way of the telegram or carrier pigeon I've finally given in and joined Facebook. I've got 38 friends already which is at least three times as many as I have in real life. Excellent.

Does this mean I now have to spend the rest of my life replying to these people thanking them for being my friend and then thanking them for thanking me for being my friend and so on?

7:47am: Crivvens, jings and help m'boab!
My mum's beau was procrastinating at the weekend about whether or not to put a grand on the SNP winning Glasgow East. Much as I despise the SNP - I don't want to become a foreigner in my own country - I told him to go for it since I was sure that Gordon "Things Can Only Get Worse" Brown's anti-Midas touch was capable even of jeopardising the fifth safest seat in Scotland. And so it has come to pass.

Och, I should have placed the bet masel'!

8:37am: Comprehensive guide to human vices
Some of you may dimly recall that Rhodri (my hero) came along to Anna's birthday last month and got surprisingly excited when I told him that Alex James' book includes the shocking revelation that Mike Smith of EMI almost gave his old outfit The Keatons an enormous publishing deal. Without wishing to urinate over Rhodri's metaphorical parade, it has to be said that Mike Smith of EMI almost gave a lot of people enormous publishing deals. I mean he even gave Guernica some free studio time (must dig that tape out to embarrass our guitarist Erol - now an internationally renowned DJ and producer - with some day). But I digress.

The conversation sparked a brief but intense bout of nostalgia for The Keatons who I thought were great back in the day. Still do in fact. Rhodri, for his part, posted an exhaustive list of all the band's live dates. I, for mine, phoned up my brother and asked if he could look up the dates of their Scottish gigs in my old diaries and see if I'd mentioned them at all. For younger readers, "diaries" are like the internet but made of paper.

All this preamble is in essence a very convoluted way of me saying, "here's some stuff I wrote loosely connected with The Keatons before most of you were born." Many thanks to my little bro for transcribing these ramblings. Hold on to your pants!

23-02-90
Went to see the Keatons (who were completely brilliant) and Thrilled Skinny (who were okayish) at Biancos where Gogs* was making a complete hash of trying to be the DJ, even though the actual records he played were pretty good.

*Gogs was the bass player in Pure, a JAMC rip-off act with whom I played guitar. We played our first gig earlier that same evening at Perth Grammar School. Gogs went on to join Pure's arch-rivals Aspidistra who released records on Fierce Panda and got in the NME and were thus, I was sure, the most famous people I would ever meet in my entire life.

06-03-90
Gill* came up to the house at about seven with a large collection of pop discs - some good - House of love, the Keatons, PWEI - and some bad - Prety Boy Floyd ...

*Gill Todd was my girlfriend at the time. Rather cruelly known as The Seamonster in later years. She robbed me of my virginity around this time. I was 20.

07-03-90
Tonight has been my first night in alone for ... let me see ... oh ages at least. I decided to type out lots of letters to pop groups but in the event I only managed to type ones for the Keatons, the Librarians and the Beaver Sisters. I asked the Keatons such brilliant questions* as "Who is your favourite Viz character?" and "Can I have a signed photo?"

*I believe the answers were "The Pathetic Sharks" and "no" respectively.

02-09-90
Neil phoned up pleading to borrow my microphone as they (ie him + Stuart) were putting on five bands this evening. I kind heartedly submit, warning of the stands tendency to collapse, and the held-together-with-sellotape demeanour of the actual mike itself! [...]
As evening beckoned we went down to Bianco's to witness my microphone being used and abused by ... Aspidistra, who are in the difficult "no bass player" stage ... Pregnant Neck who are almost famous and almost
good ... the Keatons - they were good but not as good as last time (though I still bought a T-shirt) ... and Dawson who sounded a bit on the duff side to my ears but what do I know? The final band, The Ex, were also to use it but we left before they came on!

Neil and Stuart were the other members of Aspidistra. This is obviously just before Gogs defected. Pregnant Neck weren't almost famous by any stretch of the imagination but I liked them, especially Lee who did amazing fanzines and became my penpal for a while until he killed himself. I'd never known anybody kill themselves before. I've still got the Keatons t-shirt.

04-11-90
Sunday morning was spent by me and Andrew finishing issue 1 of "Strangetrousers Here We Come" and - phew! - what a corker and no mistake! The Darling Buds, Ralf, Aspidistra, Keatons, Librarians, me and some!

06-11-90
Letter writing frenzy! [...] Then I sent a few copies of Strangetrousers to Biscuit Distribution and also one to Steve Keaton.

04-12-90
[...] And that's not all - I also received an ace letter form Steve Keaton which included such smugness-provoking comments like "excellent fanzine" and "what a witty young chap you are." Yeah! He also included a brill "white puddings of Scotland graph". Hurrah, hurrah and thrice hurrah!

I haven't changed much have I?

1990 CAST LIST
STEVE KEATON - Bass-player and driving force of top agit-pop combo The Keatons. Also "penpal" and Strangetrousers interviewee.

I may have some of my facts wrong here. I think Rhodri was playing bass for them by now wasn't he? Steve did me a handy family tree, but it looked a bit like a plate of spaghetti.


1991

09-02-91
SONG OF THE DAY: Toys - The Keatons

08-03-91
Got some mail which cheered me up enough to suffer work - a tape from The Keatons and a lyric sheet from the Nivens - and all for free!
SONG OF THE DAY: Real Estate - The Keatons

Bless, I was easily impressed in those days.

04-04-91
After tea I went down to Bianco's, supposedly to "help out" Neil + Stuart with their latest promotion, but as it turned out this translated as "hanging out with the in-crowd and getting in for free". I felt a bit guilty about that! The first band, Badgewearer, were slightly crappy but okay. Thrilled Skinny were excellent, much better than last time they played (23/2/90) here. The Keatons were excellent as ever, though I would have liked to have heard some of the old faves like Residivistish or Toys*, oh well...

*I am rather giving away the fact here that for all my enthusiasm I only knew the one single.

I believe Steve subsequently emigrated to the antipodes. It's remarkable the lengths people will go to to stop me pestering them.

7:49pm: Wizard Sleeve!
Here's a sneak preview of the sleeve of my next vinyl outing, due for release in September. It's a 7" various artists EP featuring 19 bands, so as you can imagine the sound quality is going to be astounding.



Sadly, they've got both the song title and band name wrong. It should of course be "I.W.I.S.H.I.W.A.S.Gay (Beat Me With Your Penis)" by the New Royal Family versus Alexander's Festival Hall featuring Eddie Argos. I mean, what's the point of cajoling a bona fide Top 41 recording star to shout on one of your records if his name's not in big shiny letters on the sleeve, eh?

Still, nice pins.

7:54am: 24
0800 Woke up, went to the lav, fed the cat, went back to bed
0900 Went to the lav again, went back to bed again
1000 Went to the lav again, probably fed the cat again, went back to bed, said bye to Anna
1100 Had "wankquilizer" in failed attempt to get back to sleep
1200 Finally got up, had some breakfast, did dishes
1300 Phoned London Cycle Campaign and GLA
1400 Bashed together stunning new article for Global Cool
1500 Farted about on internet a bit more
1700 Set off for Highbury
1745 Swam/swum/swimmed 20 lengths
1830 Caught bus back to Archway
1900 Picked up prescription, bought some fruit and sundries
1930 Phoned Auntie, phoned Mum
2000 Made tea, ate tea
2030 Did dishes, checked email/livejournal/myspace for millionth time
2130 Set off for work
2230 Arrived at work, read some papers, drank coffee, bought Twix, farted about on internet some more
0000 Made cup of tea, ate Twix, emailed Anna a bit
0100 Googled "New Royal Family" - 15,200,000 results
0200 Ate packed lunch (spag with mushrooms/courgette/garlic)
0400 Inserted Grocer's Apostrophe into one of Rory's summaries to check he was paying attention.
0500 Did Daily Express "brain workout" (2 out of 3 correct - strangely intermediate level was 1 digit out)
0600 Emailed Jeremy (who sits about 20 feet away) about Human League / Frank Sidebottom
0630 Left work, walked along Thames Path
0700 Caught bus at London Bridge
0730 Arrived home, fed cat, did massive "sitdowner"
0800 Wrote riveting blow by blow account of past 24 hours' thrilling activities, felt a bit sleepy, went to bed.

11:06am: Forfar Sodgars
Took the folks on a yomp across the Heath yesterday. Pergola to Kenwood house via the Spaniards, then winding down back to Archway. A beautiful day.

In the evening they took us to see Black Watch at the Barbican which appears to be the hottest ticket in town. The audience was far more star-studded than the cast, featuring as it did Kevin Spacey, John Cleese, Juliet Stevenson, Suede biographer David Barnett and the violinist from the New Royal Family, to name but a lot. Crivvens.

The play, though, was magnificent. It was more like a ballet really, kind of Crouching Tiger meets Trainspotting via Apocalypse Now with extra swearing. They should put that on the poster.

Turns out my great grandfather was in the Black Watch. He only cried twice in his life: once when his wife died, and the other time when he first got lice in his kilt in the trenches. I obviously didn't inherit his bravery genes. I cried at Titanic. What a poof.

11:00am: Sair heed
My mum and her fellah are visiting. Yesterday we went to nine pubs.

I just got a phone call from Sian Berry in my capacity as cutting edge environmental raving reporter. She couldn't answer my questions, but it was nice of her to make the effort. Boris still hasn't replied to the questions I sent him at least two days ago. I imagine he's too busy sacking his top advisers.

9:36am: Calling all Northerners!
Ay up! T' New Royal Family are reet excited to be invited to play Manchester on Friday 15th August.

Most of the band are otherwise occupied, but we're not going to let such trifles put us off.

But to help us in our plans:

1. Does anybody know The Castle venue in M4? Is it any good?

2. Would anybody be likely to come along? Guest musicians most welcome!

3. Would anybody be able to offer a small piece of floorspace to two struggling musos on the night?

RSVP!

8:07am: What a glorious day
Jeremy was playing geetar for Akira the Don at Bush Hall last night and invited me to tag along. The Bush Hall is a beautiful venue with chandeliers and plush decor, but the backstage area is just as scuzzy as any other backstage area, disappointingly. The gig was fun, though.

I first saw ATD live about five years ago when I rather foolishly wrote in a gushing review that if he was not the biggest popstar in the universe by the end of the week I would gladly insert my John Thomas into a miniature guillotine. As it happened, he did actually land a whopping big record deal with Interscope, but then it all went tits up and my knob was on the line. Fortunately, the website I wrote for in them days has had a major revamp and the review has vanished, so the offer is null and void.

Mr the Don's backing band are called The Women but, confusingly, there is only one woman among them, and she is leaving to join a manufactured pop group put together by some music biz svengali who had some success in the 90s I gather. They haven't got a name yet, but they have got a record deal which I guess is more important. You heard it here first.

Anyway, I'm havering now but the gig was pretty similar to that first one, except that Adam's now sampling XTC and that song about Werewolves of London that goes "Waaooooooooooh" which I really like. The highlight, though, was when Jeremy's mobile went off towards the end of the set. "My cab's outside," he said, "can we do the last song now?"

And so they did, and Jeremy then dropped his guitar, swung on one of the chandeliers across the gasping front rows and skipped across the tables like Adam Ant to his waiting carriage. Well, not really but it felt a bit like that. There was definitely some magic in the air as we whizzed down Park Lane and past the Houses of Parliament towards Tower Bridge. A splendid evening indeed.

6:18pm: And for my next trick . . .
Flower
Pants
Laptop
Parrot
Whale
Nipple
Stadium
Tony Blair
Tissue
Wedding
Lavatory
Clipboard
Thumb
Buzzer
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YES! I've reached the next level . . .

Is anybody else doing this? I'd be interested to know how you're getting on.

2:13pm: Video nicey
First person to name all the "gay icons" in Anna's fab new video wins a prize:



We're not sure what that prize is yet. Perhaps we should have another competition to decide that?

10:48pm: Satisfactory end to a titanic struggle against all the odds
No, not Doctor Who, me v National Express:

Mr Barnett

Thank you for your email.

I am sorry that you felt I was not taking your complaint seriously and apologise for any offence caused. I can assure you that your comments were taken seriously and passed on to the appropriate department regarding this. I have taken your complaint from your last email to my superiors, considering your experience at the station and in dealing with your case we would like to offer you a full refund of the £120 ticket that you were required to purchase.

I win again. Just like the Bee Gees.