Wham bam thank you ma'ams (and sirs) who came along to the Bowie Bash last night. What a super event. Those PopArt people really know how to throw a party. Nice to see so many people making an effort to dress up too. The Major Tom outfit was astonishing, and Sue Denim from Robots in Disguise came along dressed as the clown from Ashes to Ashes. Amazing.

White Witches gave a pretty good account of ourselves I thought. I enjoyed the other bands too. Best bit for me, though, was Indie Bingo. Not only did they play Anyone Fancy A Chocolate Digestive? but I won a Flight of the Conchords CD. Sexcellent.

Prior to that I'd been doing backing vocals on Keith's album with a veritable Who's That of indie. He's got a new song which has his cast of thousands singing "Ooh la la la, he's Keith Top of the Pops!" in a spooky falsetto interspersed with the occasional "Fuck you!" from the man himself. Class.

Coming up next: the annual Adam & the Ants convention this Saturday featuring the New Royal Family's third last gig ever. We have a generous allocation of guest tickets to dole out, so if you want to come, speak now or forever hold your peace. Need to know today. You will Kick! yourself if you Miss (Thing) this one.

Starts at 8. We're on at 9. Everything else you need to know should be here: http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=114293899778&index=1

And so to bed.

Happy birthday davidsmum! Thanks for making me.

This week I have been mostly swimming, reading Kafka and Lewis Carroll, watching The Night Porter too many times to be strictly healthy, working like a Trojan summarising the troubles of Hull City FC and First Quench Retail, and getting very excited about various upcoming rock'n'roll engagements.

The most pressing of these is White Witches' appearance at The Man Who Bowled the World Bowie Tribute shebang at Bloomsbury Bowling Alley this Sunday. It is FREE, we're on at 7pm and Mr Solo is also on the bill so it will be GRATE. As you may have heard, we have been recording at Jarvis Cocker's house. It's sounding quite good. And yes, he is as lovely as you probably think he is.

Then on Saturday 7th the New Royal Family will be playing the annual Adam & the Ants convention. I am so excited about this I feel like that 10-year-old boy who got to play the drums with them on Jim'll Fix It and made me DEAD JEL. But now, only 28 years later, I WIN!!!! Actual real life Ants Merrick, Terry Lee Miall and Gary Tibbs are all going to be there. We have a generous FREE GUESTLIST so if you fancy coming along please let me know ASAP. It will be fANTastic.

Then the following week we are apparently supporting Lloyd Grossman. Yes, that Lloyd Grossman. No, I can't believe it either. Sometimes life is even better than a dream.

Three hearty cheers to everyone who came down to the Britpop discotheque on Friday, just in time to miss me playing these songs:

Living with the Human Machines - Strangelove
Party Hard - Pulp
Be My Wife - David Bowie
Ziggy Stardust - Bauhaus
Map Ref 41N 93W - Wire
Bigmouth Strikes Again - The Smiths
Wonderful Sometimes - Suede
Yes - McAlmont & Butler
Shot By Both Sides - Magazine
Car Song - Elastica
Left to my own Devices - Pet Shop Boys
Love Cats - The Cure
Popscene - Blur

As you can see, I went for a rather safe, crowd-pleasing set but it was most gratifying to have some random goths dancing by the end. And I got asked back, so that was nice. It was a surprisingly enjoyable evening actually. I'd forgotten how much I loved Strangelove too.

I spent Saturday in Greenwich with my young lady friend. It was like being on holiday. We drank ludicrous cocktails, gasped at wonderful churches and meandered up the hill at dusk. There was this amazing laser from the observatory along the meridian line through Canary Wharf and beyond. It looked like something from Doctor Who.

On Sunday morning we went to an advance screening of Nick Hornby's new film, An Education, at Whiteley's in Bayswater. It's not the greatest piece of cinema ever but I enjoyed it very much. The flimsy plot is made irrelevant by some wonderful dialogue, excellent acting (esp Alfred Molina) and astonishing period detail. Oh, and Sally Sparrow's in it.

Based on a true story which makes interesting reading: http://www.guardian.co.uk/culture/2009/jun/07/lynn-barber-virginity-relationships

Later we went to Keats House in Hamsptead. He wasn't in. I hated him at school but I feel a major reassessment may be on the cards. There's not much to the house, but it's very pretty and the five poond admission gets you a year's entry. Definitely worth a gander if you're in the area.

Greetings fellow humans. It's been an another action-packed rollercoaster of a week and a bit in which I have re-enacted a particularly embarrassing episode of Peep Show (more on that later), run away to Scotland for a few days, come back again and bumped into Jarvis Cocker in his kitchen.

Here are some exciting dates for your diaries:

TONIGHT: You will all be going to the Deptford Beach Babes video shindig no doubt. But if you instead find yourself wandering around Camden by mistake, then I will be DJing (ha!) at Club Nuis@nce, a celebration of crap Britpop. It's at the new Monarch which is next door to the old Monarch. I'm on at 10 and it's FREE.

Sunday 1st November: The Man Who Bowled The World. Those nice PopArt people have put on one of their themed all-dayers in Bloomsbury Bowling Alley. This one, if you haven't guessed, is dedicated to wonky-eyed chameleon, corinthian and caricature, Derek Bowie. My goth-metal band White Witches are on at 7pm. Also on the bill are Alex Potterill's Jonny Fartpants outfit plus Rory and Ed will be doing a very special duet. Should be excellent. THIS IS ALSO FREE.

Saturday 7th November: The New Royal Family play this year's Adam & the Ants convention! I'm v excited about this one. We had a rehearsal the other night and it sounded surprisingly ace if I do say so myself. Which I do. Tickets to this are a tenner a throw BUT we have quite a generous tip-top secret (eg don't tell the antpeople or they'll get dead jel) guest list. So if you want to come, let me know ASAP and I'll yank a few knobs. It's on Minories in the City and will be a hoot. Proper ants Terry Lee Miall, Gary Tibbs and Merrick are all supposed to be coming. So throw your safety overboard and join our insect nation. Or something.

Saturday 14th November: The New Royal Family at Guided Missile Club at the Buffalo Bar. The Ant bash was supposed to be our penultimate gig before my retirement from showbiz in February. However, we had such a lot of fun at our rehearsal the other night that when Paul offered us this gig we just had to say yes. This will be the last NRF show of 2009 and the second last one ever, so it would be really nice if some people could turn up and bring hankies etc. We are on at 9 sharp. Sob! Requests welcome, though that doesn't necessarily mean we will pay any attention to them.

So are you well. I'm feeling strangely euphoric. I think the recent Jan Moir and Nick Griffin pantomimes have given the human race some sort of hope for the future. Can we have Bonnie Greer for PM please?

Comrades!

Please welcome my little brother to LoatheJournal: tonymerchison (Quiz: can you guess what his favourite childhood pop group was?).

He hasn't just discovered rock'n'roll, but he has just had a near-death experience so I'm sure a few hellos would be much appreciated.

I had the best weekend. Primitives and drunkenness on Friday, cracking gig with Keith & the Minor Celebs on Saturday. We were supporting Glam Chops so it was a right jolly wheeze, boosted no end by the 100 quid my pal brought along from our recent eBay scams. We spent most of it on disgustingly-flavoured vodka shots. I had chilli, chocolate, after-eight, pistachio, custard ... I lost track after that. He got lucky for the first time in recent history. That's the DB effect. I was already very lucky.

Sunday was a day of rest and recuperation with a nice stroll over Hampstead Heath, dinner at the Spaniards and a hello to the deer in Golders Hill Park. What have I except to cry "spirit never die!"?

The last time I went to see The Primitives was at Strathclyde University circa 1990. I remember it vividly, down to exactly what I was wearing: Doc Martens, white jeans and a white long-sleeved t-shirt with the Creation logo on it. After downing about ten pints of student-priced cider I got myself right up against the barrier and didn't want to lose my place so simply used the pit in front of me as a handy urinal, much to the bouncers' chagrin. During the final encore of Really Stupid I clambered onto the stage and started dancing about like a loon before diving back into the audience and crowd-surfing all the way to the back of the hall. Thereafter I got lost in some corridors and chanced upon the band's dressing room just as they were arriving off stage. I somehow managed to ingratiate myself with them enough to smoke all their drugs and give Tracy Tracy a peck on the cheek.

Last night was even better. A secret-ish gig at Twee as Fuck at the Buffalo Bar. It had sold out before I even heard about it but my lovely chum Adrian magically produced a couple of tickets for me. One of his many claims to fame is that he snogged Tracy at a club in Coventry once. However, re-telling the story in more detail, it wasn't quite as impressive as I'd originally thought. Still, we were both very excited indeed.

The joint was packed and the atmosphere was very jolly. I seem to remember the other band being quite good but everybody was getting impatient for the main attraction as their alloted stage time came and went and the DJ bunged on another Sarah record. Then without any fanfare the band came on and completely ballsed-up the intro to their first number. Deep breath. Start again. Ah, that's more like it. They kicked off with I'll Stick With You, a song I had completely forgotten about and probably not listened to for almost 20 years. It's an absolute belter, a lost gem. Like I'll Get You by the Beatles or something. But not Something. It's nothing like that.

Really Stupid followed rapidly at which point the crowd got surprisingly boisterous. It was more like what you'd expect from a Sham 69 gig. But with nice tunes. All the greats were dished up: Thru the Flowers, Way Behind Me and of course Crash which Paul introduced as "our tenth best song". That's probably about right.

It was mostly early stuff, there was only one song I didn't recognise and only one I didn't think was fabulous, the unconvincing Sick of It off their otherwise quite good second album. Lots of people whinge about the sound in the Buffalo Bar but they sounded fantastic to me. Loud enough to be exciting without being distorted and deafening. The band looked like they couldn't quite believe how thrilled everyone was to see them. Tracy is absolutely tiny. Even standing on the stage in high heels she was still shorter than me but happily still drop dead pretty too and dressed in what appeared to be exactly the same outfit she wore on Top of the Pops in 1988.

The best reaction came for Stop Killing Me at which point Mr Guided Missile started impotently shouting from the back for everyone to calm down a bit and stop knocking things over. They ended with my personal fave, their overlooked penultimate single, You Are The Way which I seem to remember was co-authored by Ian Broudie in the days when he still wrote pop classics. There was no encore. The set said "no need". A near perfect gig by a band I thought I'd never see again (and who disgracefully I'd almost forgotten about) from the days when indie was indie. (Yes, pedants, I realise they signed to RCA in 1988).

Please sir, I want some more!

Jon Eydmann's funeral on Friday. The service was held at Golders Green crematorium in a lovely little chapel with beautiful gardens. I'd been worried that I might not know anybody there but as soon as I arrived I walked straight into Mat Osman, now with a greying beard that makes him look a bit like a kindly Harold Shipman, deep in conversation with the eternally-youthful Bernard Butler and Justin out of Elastica, like a surreal episode of This Is Your Life. Then Charlie arrived with his enormous new baby boy who proceeded to cry throughout the service. Nobody minded. It was that kind of funeral, a lot of love in the air.

Perhaps surprisingly, the service was a traditional Church of England effort with a vicar in a frock reading bits of the bible who seemed a little uncomfortable praising Jon's "punk ethos" and introducing a song by his favourite band, Mega City Four would you believe? There were some very moving speeches and I got a little bit teary eyed, but generally it was a suitably happy affair. All my memories of Jon are of him laughing hysterically so it seemed appropriate that there was much laughter among the tears. The service ended with Jerusalem, which unfortunately was played in a key impossible to sing, but it was still rousing and moving. It's about the only hymn with a tune really, isn't it?

The wake was in a pub in Kentish Town where there was much hugging and drinking and plenty of hilarious stories about Jon. I met his son and his grand-daughter and loads of people I hadn't seen for many years, including a few I'd completely forgotten existed. We all agreed it's a shame somebody has to die before everybody gets together like that. It certainly put my own trivial grumbles into perspective. But it was great to see such a big turn out for a very humble man who was always laughing and enthusiastic and who changed so many people's lives for the better.

"Ha. You were fine. I remember everyone telling you not to send a text and you sent it anyway. You were hell bent on it. I think what happened was a bottle of Absolut. The last time I saw you you had climbed over a wall into some trees. At the time it seemed incomprehensible to me but I think you were probably going for a piss. At least you stopped making a twat of yourself. I carried on at the Camden Head. I remember falling over my own foot."

Sheesh!

So there are still some 4 hours unaccounted for between me demolishing Art Brut's rider at around midnight on Saturday and finally passing out around 4 in the morning in my bed.

Last night I received the following message, which may go some way to explaining this Fortean Times-like mystery:

"I am very sorry indeed that I left you in a bush and hope you are not dead. All I could say when I finally found Eddie was 'he went into a bush, he went into a bush,' like a survivor from an alien abduction. I did go back to look for you but I think you may have passed out by then. If you are dead I hope I am not accused of your murder. I didn't do it."

Bloody hell.

Thanks for all your wise and welcome advice. How lovely. I'm very touched. I think I know what I have to do. I won't be doing it quite yet though.

Meanwhile:

• Does anybody fancy a dip in Hampstead pond tomorrow? It was lovely today. I wish I'd stayed longer but I had to dash back to wait for a phone call that never came. Sigh.

• Does anybody fancy coming round to the flat and playing Beatles Rockband some evening? It's gear.

• Does anybody have any nice female friends? Preferably unattached. No hanky panky on the first date.

I received some very sad news last night. My friend Jon Eydmann has died. I don't know the details but from what I gather he had a heart attack while swimming on holiday in Italy.

I didn't know him that well. He was Suede's manager before Charlie, and I only really met him properly when I interviewed him for the Suede biog. But we hit it off instantly. He was hilarious company. His anecdotes about the madness of the band's early rise are some of my favourite bits in the book. If you want to get a taste of his wicked sense of humour, just read the chapters he's in. He got the sack - for having too much fun, according to Mat - just as the band released their first album and moaned about not even getting a gold disc. So Charlie and I got him a platinum one. He was very touched.

We met maybe a dozen times after that. I actually approached him about managing The Boyfriends when we were having our 15 seconds of fame, but Martin in his wisdom chose a man who stole 15 grand of our money instead.

I think the last time I saw Jon was maybe 18 months ago when he invited me for a jam in the shed at the bottom of his garden in Finsbury Park - me on bass, him on drums, shouting out the chord changes as he bashed away. We were still in touch occasionally via Facebook and so on. He'd become a chef, was writing a cook book, doing a history degree and still dabbling in music. He was always enthusiastic and effusive about everything and I never heard him say a bad word about anyone. It's a terrible, terrible tragedy.

See you in the next life Jon. You were one of the good guys.

Monday - Went for a swim, went to the bank, went to the pop quiz (v poor performance), went to work. Credit crunch is biting our fun factory somewhat. All bonuses have been cut completely which is a bit of a bummer. Not so much of a bummer for me as it is for Jeremy, however, as his team is the only one not to have been awarded the £300 "performance bonus" since it was introduced. Harsh.

Tuesday - Got up in the afternoon, went for a run round the Heath. 5k in about 27 minutes. Not bad considering the first bit is up Highgate Hill. Went round to Anna's for tea. It was lovely to see her again. And Flash. Been missing them both very much. Was there to do my second injection of dangerous drugs, cos they have to be kept in the refrigerator. A convenient excuse to visit for the next couple of fortnights. It was bloody sore this time. I'm glad I didn't have to do that on my own. Watched some Comic Strip. Went to work.

Wednesday - Gig at the Flowerpot with Keith and his assorted rag-bag of indie also-rans. It was a very enjoyable gig with some fabulous rocking out by Charley who bled all over her guitar in the true spirit of rock. We did That Girl Has Got It again. I was very proud to have Fruitbat Out Of Carter playing the bass to my song. It sounded pretty good to my ears. Then Steve Horry out of 586 got up and sang Daydreamer with us - a last minute addition to the set that Keith announced about 15 minutes before we went on stage. Fortunately it only has the one chord so actually went quite well. A top night. We went on late and I bounded off the stage at 5 to 10 and sprinted to Camden tube, guitar in hand. Only 5 mins late for work which I think I just about got away with. Phew!

Thursday - Got up in the afternoon, went for a run around the Heath. 5k in about 27 minutes. Hmm, deja vu? Rehearsal with artists formerly known as Sex Tourists. Quite good fun. Went to work.

Friday - Got up in the afternoon, went for a run around the Heath. Guess how fast? Took nice lady out for pizza. Did satisfactory amount of kissing by Tower Bridge. Went to work.

Saturday - Got up in the afternoon, went for a run around the Heath. Probably. It's all Blurring into one now. I've been running to a soundtrack of Modern Life Is Rubbish. I usually get back somewhere during Intermission. Went to work. Work has been considerably improved by the hilarious emails that our chum Andy randomly sends throughout the night. I can't think of any examples but you'll have to trust me on this. They're bloody hilarious.

Sunday - Ran from work to Columbia Road at 7am. Discovered excellent early-morning pub, the Nelson, full of gay clubbers extending their Saturday nights. Got asked if I had any drugs. Wished I had. Got a bit tiddly. Woke up in the afternoon to discover my windowsill was adorned with beautiful flowers. I'd obviously made a purchase after the pub. A nice surprise. Destroyed hangover with a run round the Heath. Pleasant evening at the Hideaway with Rob and Donna. Went to work. Got offered overtime this week. Decided I needed some time off. Yippee!

Monday - Got up in the afternoon. Went to Highbury pool. Swam/swimmed/swum 20 lengths. Went for run round the Heath. Went to the pop quiz. The "Mindfuck" question was to name all of the Sex Pistols top ten singles. Easy peasy. Not only was I able to do it in chronological order, I could easily have provided the serial numbers (VS181, VS184, VS190, VS220, VS240, VS256 and VS272 in case you were wondering). We won! Got absolutely hammered.

Today - Awoken with raging hangover at 10am by Rory on the blower, asking if I wanted to go for a swim in the Hampstead pond. Reluctantly dragged myself out of bed. Ran up Parliament Hill. Swam/swimmed/swum round the pond a couple of times. It was absolutely glorious. There was just me, Rory, another random bloke and a heron in the pond. Certainly blew away the cobwebs. Ran home again. Felt great. Took a friend out for lunch on the Strand. Had pleasant meander round Embankment, Temple, etc. Had a gander at the Hunterian Museum. Felt a bit queasy. Went to Habitat to look for a lampshade. They were all crap. Came home. Typed a load of uninteresting garbage on Livejournal. Now off to Prince of Wales Bastard Hard Pub Quiz in Hampstead.

Be lucky, people.

xxx

Cor, gone a bit quiet round these parts hasn't it?

It's now my eighth day in the new flat. I feel as if I should update if only to remind my future self what I was up to in this transitional period. Although much of it is unrepeatable and he'd probably remember the interesting bits anyway. Still, it's been surprisingly okay so far.

My (step) dad helped me move in a break from mopping up some of England's piddling molehills. He's a proper mountaineer and has exhausted all the significant peaks of the British Isles. I have to say, he was an absolute diamond. Apart from criticising Anna for saying "sort of" too much and me for, basically, too many "basicallys". Anna and I had a big goodbye hug and a little sob while he shuffled awkwardly by the van. Sigh. Then he bought me a beautiful new rug for my room and took me out for tea. It would have been much more of an ordeal without his help. Thanks Paw!

I deliberately chose to do a couple of nights overtime last week to fill the gaping void in my life, keep me busy and stop me getting all maudlin. It was strangely fun. It's odd on the opposite shift - almost but not quite the same as real life, like a parallel universe. After my second night I got a phone call asking if I could do a third since a couple of people had gone down with swine flu. It was nice to feel wanted. And it means I'll be healthily solvent for the next few weeks at least.

On Friday I had a Suede fan from Norway come to visit. I took her on a Suedewalk round Brett's old DMS-era haunts in Highgate, over the Heath and down to the White Horse where they played their first gig almost 20 years ago (yikes). The girl insisted on buying me a pint as a thank you. I'd been on the wagon for 2 weeks and felt like I'd got past the danger zone so consequently got merrily pissed. It was fun.

I've been in a surprisingly good mood here so far. The flat is gloriously bright and sunny, much more so than I've been used to, and ridiculously handy for popping out to the library, shops, tube station, etc. And my flatmates seem to be quite nice, although I've barely seen them. Turns out one of the blokes is a musician and the other a comedian. It's going to be like Glen Michael's Cavalcade here. Which only viewers of STV in the 70s will understand.

Johnny invited me out to the pub with him and Jamie. We ended up back here drinking whisky and talking about nazis. Which was nice. Then after they'd gone at about 3 in the morning the weekend took an unexpectedly surreal twist and carried on in that vain for the next day or so. An emotional rollercoaster but an invigorating one. I had a really great run around the Heath on Sunday too which cleared the head and made me feel good to be alive.

If only I could get Nothing Compares 2U out of my head I'd almost say I was going to be alright.

Technophiles! Now that I'm not so young, yet irrefutably free and single and consequently just want to mingle I'm thinking of going from one extreme to another and eschewing my rejection of mobile phones in favour of grabbing one of them there dinky iPhone contraptions.

Now, how on earth does one go about getting one?

Lots of love
Ned Ludd

Anna's been doing singing lessons for the last few weeks. When I met her she was probably the worst singer I'd ever heard. And coming from someone who was in The Boyfriends, that's quite a claim. Anyway, one day she just decided she wanted to learn to sing and so signed up for this course. It's one of her many endearing traits. When she wants to learn something, she gets stuck in. She did the same thing with knitting which she is now brilliant at.

Monday night was her end of term concert. It was in an old hall on Red Lion Square in Bloomsbury. It was only some time after I set off that I realised I didn't actually know where Red Lion Square was. Consequently, I turned up late, and sneaked into the back row of neatly lined-up and sparsely-arsed chairs.

Anna stood in the back row, swaying out of time like a drunken gazelle. She looked more gorgeous than ever. She had a solo spot during a Nina Simone song, but unfortunately I think it was just at that crucial point that she spotted me in the audience and was thrown off completely. She giggled her way all through her moment of glory, for which I felt incredibly guilty. But for the rest of the set she was magnificent, her voice soared above the others and I understood why she had become the teacher's pet.

Included in the set was an Elvis medley. When it came to Love Me Tender, I burst into tears. I was so proud of her and I will love her always.

Last night I went to look at a room in a flat in the middle of a roundabout. It's cheap and convenient and the people there seem nice enough. But I must admit a return to bedsit land wasn't where I expected to be on the brink of 40. Even ten years ago I might have found it quite romantic in a Suedey kind of way. But now I fear I'm going to make Gordon Comstock look like a high achiever.

Last week was certainly action-packed and no mistake. It began triumphantly on Monday with my first win at the Rough Trade Pop Quiz. I was so excited I danced on the table. Until somebody told me to get down.

Then in the very early hours of Tuesday morning I collected my brother and his wife and kids off the Caledonian Express sleeper at Euston from an almost secret platform, a bit like the Hogwarts Express. From there it was a whirlwind of zoos, museums and exhibitions which was both exhausting and exhilarating. They are a lovely bunch and I very much enjoyed being an uncle. I got a bit broody if I'm honest. The great thing about going out with kids is there's none of that bothering to read the descriptions of museum exhibits business. It's just "Wow, look at this! Can I have a go? What does this button do?!" etc.

Finally packed them back on to the train at 9.30pm on Friday after which I thought I should treat myself to some Me Time. I was torn between two pals' clubs that I'd been invited to, so got round this dilemma by going to both. The first was a Britpop revival night with Mark Morris out of the Bluetones DJing. It was fun until about the fifth Marion song, after which I got a cab to Black Plastic and disgraced myself quite spectacularly. The debauchery continued until well into Saturday morning and I eventually awoke to found myself Lost in Tottenham.

Saturday was quite lovely. Met up with a friend in Trafalgar Square to look at a man standing on the fourth plinth taking photos of people taking photos of him. Then demolished a bottle of wine at the French House, got a backie through the streets of East London, sang Beatles songs on the tube, went out for a pizza and finally, and most triumphantly, played a gig on a boat on the Thames. It was Ten City Nation's album launch but Keith and his chums including the Indelicates and various indie riff-raff were somehow headlining. I was making my debut as Keith's bass player and to celebrate we attempted to play the New Royal Family's classic That Girl Has Got It. This was only slightly hindered by the fact that I was the only one who had any idea how it went. It was one of the most extraordinary things I've ever heard and definitely one of the most enjoyable gigs I've ever played. Result.

On Sunday I felt like absolute death, wracked with pain, guilt and self-loathing. As per. Still, better to regret something you have done than something you have not. Right kids?

Well that was an eventful weekend. Benny from Abba and the Indelicates in one night. Alas, I was sitting in a portaloo with my trousers round my ankles when the bearded genius finally got round to playing an Abba song I'd actually heard of (I Do I Do I Do I Do I Do). Still, the powers that be should put on more gigs on Hampstead Heath. It's a bit like the V festivals if they were sponsored by Waitrose instead of Virgin. It was supposed to be a celebration of Swedish culture yet the songs included Spread A Little Happiness, Moonriver and Roll Out The Barrel. And there wasn't a hint of Roxette or Ace of Bass.

Meanwhile, at the Lexington, the Indelicates were nicely angry about having their set cut short and berated the audience for daring to ask them to play one of their hits. They ended with a surprisingly powerful bash at Jacko's Earth Song. I very nearly got up on stage and wafted some imaginary farts out of my bottom in a Jarvis stylee but I thought they might think I was taking the piss. When I told them of my fiendish plan afterwards they said I should definitely have gone for it. Another missed opportunity.

Talking of Jarv, did you see him on Question Time? Why isn't he Prime Minister? A monstrous swizz if you ask me.

Then I went to Crimes Against Pop and impressed The Kids with my magic. Not a lot. Met some nice people, got drunk, fell over.

On Sunday I went out with Ben and his brainy pals. Which was nice. We went to a Vietnamese restaurant and I resisted the urge to ask for number n-n-n-n-nineteen off the menu.

Oh, yeah, my friend Joe reckons the following is the reason for which the internet was invented. I think he might be right. Non Smiths fans look way now:

I can't remember how to do that clever bizness but suffice to say that MOLEINTHEGROUND was really really great tonight. He should try being nice more often. It suits him. He could be the new Joanna Lumley.

That is all. Thanks Ed.

A friend called to ask if I wanted a ticket for Blur at face value. Sure, why not? I didn't realise that face value meant 50 quid. FIFTY QUID! That's loads - the most I've ever paid to see a gig. Even Prince was only 37 pounds something. And he had to pay for his flight from America and probably got his costumes hand made.

Still, I needed cheering up so off I went. I have to say, Hyde Park is a brilliant place for a gig. It's like having Glastonbury in your garden. But there's no mud, no endless queues, no shit other bands getting in the way, no camping. The bar even had waitress service. Brilliant.

Blur came on at 8.15 sharp to the strains of one of them waltzy oompah songs that all sound the same. Maybe Intermission? One of them ones. They opened with She's So High and banged through all the hits. Except for Bang. And the two awful ones off of The Great Escape. And maybe some of the later ones that everybody's forgotten about anyway.

Best bits? Plenty to choose from. Tender, which sounded weedy on the Glastonbury clip I saw, was massive and actually made me cry (see also To The End, Death of a Party, Badhead and the British Gas ad). The crowd were still singing it after the next song had started. In fact the crowd was singing along so much they really didn't need the motley collection of backing singers they'd brought along that looked like rejects from X-Factor. The brass section was used to good effect, though, on stuff like For Tomorrow, Popscene and a surprisingly entertaining Country House. The band looked like they were really enjoying playing that one too. I suppose it's their Yellow Submarine. Shit but fun.

Dave was the only one who'd aged noticeably, but then he always looked ancient. The curse of the ginge. The lights flashed "VOTE DAVE" as a wink to his unlikely new career as a Labour politician, during the interminable intro to Song 2. Alex looked exactly the same as he did when he used to get mistaken for me, down to the fag hanging from mouth. Damon was beefier than he used to be but miraculously his hair appears to have grown back. That man is truly in league with the devil. Graham started off with his annoying librarian shuffle thing that he does but soon ditched his specs and gave the wildest performance I've ever seen him do. There was an amazing bit in Popscene (or it might have been Advert - one of the mental fast ones anyway) where he fell over and somehow managed to roll over on his back while still playing the guitar. It was brilliant. He's quite nifty on the old banjo, it has to be said.

What else? Phil Daniels came on and gurned through the morons' favourite. It's a shame they didn't get Paul Daniels on for a change. I'd have liked that. Not a lot, but I'd have liked it. Damon stopped to tie his shoe laces before some mad jogging during Sunday Sunday. He gave some waffly speech which I think might have been against the war in Iraq, although I didn't really know what he was on about to be honest. He looked quite choked and uncharacteristically humble too. And the sunset was lovely. You're all going to see it tonight anyway. Have fun. You'll love it.

Fifty quid, though, fucking hell.