Another week, another whirlwind. A bit like last week turned up to 11. As is God's thermostat it seems. Nikki had some job disappointments on Tuesday so we went for a picnic on Hampstead Heath to try and cheer her up. It nearly worked. We found a nice secluded spot with men rubbing suntan lotion into each other's bodies. One chap was wearing a posing pouch in the colours of the Brazilian flag. If I ever decide to turn gay again I'll know where to go.

Then the place she thought she'd flunked the interview for phoned her the next day to tell her she'd got the job. Hooray! So we went to Hampstead pond to celebrate. I had my first swim of the year (16 degrees - a little parky) and drank Strongbow while Nikki just drank Strongbow. Then I dashed off to do the door again on the final night of the Artmagic residency. Nice to see everybody again and happily it was actually quite busy this time. Less happily it meant I missed the entire set but there you go.

Another rehearsal with the Ice Caps on Thursday. Swelteringly hot but starting to come together. We're playing TONIGHT at the Wilmington. Come. If you like. Then Keith got in touch to tell me Dyan had put me on the guestlist for the Blood Arm at that weird Surya place on Pentonville Road. So I popped in and it was like being back on tour but without all the hassle of actually having to play a gig. They have a new drummer but otherwise were as brilliantly the same as ever, with Nathaniel changing the words of Randy Newman to Andy Barding. Andy looked even pinker than usual. I was very late for bed but it was worth it.

Friday was one of the most ridiculously busy days I've ever had. I am not exaggerating when I say I did almost a week's work in one day. I'm a bit worried work might ask why I can't do that all the time - like the bit with the hinge in Schindler's List. I also squeezed in a lunchtime run with Jeremy as it was his last day at Precise. He's taken voluntary redundancy and is going freelance full time the lucky bam. Anyway, we trotted off to Southwark Park past Bermondsey Station and I played about on the outdoor gym which I discovered earlier this week and then we ran back again.

I stayed at work two hours late to get stuff done and then I spent another 90 minutes rattling through an assignment for one of the internal jobs I accidentally went in for. It's the final phase apparently. I think I did alright. I'm a bit worried they might actually offer me the job. And then Jeremy invited me to be his plus one for Gaz Coombes' solo gig at the Bush Hall, so I whizzed over to Shepherd's Bush and enjoyed the simian Supergrass singer immensely. His solo stuff is surprisingly excellent and an example that other singers of dated Britpop bands could learn from.

Woke up annoyingly early this morning so jogged over to Hampstead Heath to attempt my first Parkrun since my injury in January. It wasn't my best effort but it was good to be back. Cooled off with a jump in the pond. The blackboard said it was 19 degrees but it was lying. Ran home again. Might have a lie down.

But David, you probably don't ask, why have you been so busy with work this week? Because incredibly Nikki is taking me to her family's holiday mansion in Majorca tomorrow for four days. And not only is this with her parents' knowledge, but it was they who actually suggested it. (I think possibly sending her grandma some get-well flowers may have helped). This is an amazing breakthrough. It feels like the thawing of the Cold War or something. Thank you Mr & Mrs B! Anyway, as you can probably tell, I am very excited. Hip hip hooray!

Last week started off as an eerie re-run of the week before with eBay frenzy, door duties for Artmagic at the St Moritz (mercifully better attended this time) and rehearsal with the Melting Ice Caps down the Enterprise. The weekend kicked off early with a post-rehearsal detour with Phil to see the Lovely Eggs at the Old Queen’s Head, a pub which it seems is bafflingly rammed to the rafters whenever there’s anything I actually want to see there. T’Eggs, as nobody calls them, were even more marvellous than the last time I saw them despite (or perhaps due to?) Jasper stubbornly failing to fall into their drum kit. Half of indiedom had turned out to see them so it was one of those unexpected spontaneous evenings that are memorably brilliant, although it did mean I got to bed way past pumpkin time.

As soon as the factory bell rang on Friday I rushed to Gordon’s Wine Bar (and got a seat for once) to meet my better half to celebrate / commiserate various things. We demolished a bottle of Fat Bastard then had a lovely stroll through the gardens of Temple before stopping off for dinner at the Seven Stars (again miraculously getting a seat – the god’s were smiling on us). Then it was the evening’s main event – one of the Transport Museum’s legendary late night openings with Bob Stanley on the decks and lots of slightly tipsy people running around giggling and playing on the trains and buses. The highlight was a reading by Craig Taylor from his wonderful Londoners book which I recently finished and Nikki is now enjoying and which you should read too. We hung around and pestered him and he was lovely and engaging and seemed genuinely pleased by our slightly pissed appreciation. One of the best nights out I’ve had in a long while. Perhaps we should have called it a night there but it seemed the done thing to go and say happy birthday to Ed at his disco in Camden. There were lots of happy people who I hadn’t seen for ages and who all seemed to be having a spiffing time. And then I don’t know if it was because I was teetering close to the maudlin stage of drunk, or just because the crushing realisation that popular culture no longer applied to me hit me on the bonce like a rubber mallet, but I had one of my peculiar turns and started panicking and wanting to run away and curl up in a ball and hide somewhere very far away. The hosts had considerately put out bits of paper asking for requests but the only request I could think of was “PLEASE PLEASE MAKE IT STOP” which would have been most uncharitable and I didn’t want to spoil everyone else’s fun so instead I made my excuses and left and poor Nikki had to come running after me and I’m frightfully embarrassed even thinking about it now but there you go, that’s what happened.

Happily I had almost returned to a semblance of sanity by the morning when Nikki took us to see the Royal Ballet perform La Sylphide at the Royal Opera House courtesy of her grandmother (thanks Mrs B!). I have never seen ballet in real life before and was expecting it to be a bit of a snoozefest in all honesty, but oh my word, what an astonishingly emotional experience it was. The ROH is a vertiginously awe-inspiring venue as it is, but when the dancers appeared and twirled like fairies on top of a music box I was totally transfixed. There was something profoundly moving about the soft “thrrrrump” as they landed in unison from their leaps and prances. You don’t hear that on the telly. It was a dress rehearsal with most of the attendees being oldies who I think were patrons or “friends” of the institution. I was surprised to see during the intervals that most of them appeared to have brought their packed lunch with them. We nearly bought some champagne, but then reconsidered when we discovered it was £200 a bottle. Instead we celebrated with pizza in Regent’s Park, to the envy of everyone who passed us. After all that excitement we flaked out on the sofa to From Russia With Love and Titanic and passed out about ten o’clock. If you haven’t seen Titanic before, my late Granny Barnett once précised it as follows: “It’s a love story y’ken. And the boat sinks at the end.”

Flippin' 'eck Tucker! Life continues to hurtle who-knows-where in the style of a lunatic on a monocycle. It's mostly been fun but jumping jehosophat am I pooped! (Answer: yes).

I suppose the big news of late is that I took my dearest to Scotland to meet the rest of the Clan Barnett. We took the Hogwarts Express, natch:



I knew they'd love her and they did. Within about five seconds of getting off the train my mother enthused "Oh David, she's lovely!" True enough.

There's not a great deal to do in Gourdon and its environs but we packed in a lot during our short stay: jogs in all weathers to and from the next village, pool and darts in the pub, karaoke renditions of Grease in its entirety, much feasting and drinking, and a visit to the local castle, billed as an "impressive ruined fortress" which is a fair description.



It was all very lovely and everyone got on swimmingly and some quite significant things happened that I won't mensh here but suffice to say Things Are Looking Good. We both really needed a break as Nix has been reluctantly starring in her very own personal version of The Devil Wears Prada these past few weeks.

On the fourth day we left Gourdon early and spent the afternoon in Edinburgh where we crammed in a fabulous tour of the sights and visited the Scottish National Portrait Gallery, a beautiful building which has undergone a gazillion pound facelift recently and is well worth a look. Then it was back to London by choo-choo at tea-time. We'd bagged ourselves an amazing deal and travelled first class which now seems to include a free meal and an endless supply of booze. Suffice to say, we certainly got our money's worth.

Other than that in the last week or so I've been working like a trojan, survived several internal job interviews, played another excellent gig with Keith, had my first rehearsal of the year with the Melting Ice Caps, eased my way back into semi-regular running, visited the Grand Designs exhibition at the Excel Centre, hitched a ride across the Thames on the Woolwich Free Ferry (a real time-warp experience - highly recommended!) and presented a guide to the musical history of Camden for MTV China. As you do.

Can I have a lie down now please?

So my almost-realised-until-recently plan of documenting every day this year at least in passing has gone awry for the simple reason that life has gone completely nuts. Fortunately that's nuts in a mostly enjoyable sense. Here are some edited highlights:

Saturday 21st April: I performed karaoke of my own band to a tea-room full of poetry fanatics!

Yes, one of my all time favourite poets of all time ever (not as great an accolade as it first might appear) Kevin Reinhardt invited the New Royal Family to perform at Bingo Master's Breakout some time ago and being easily flattered I immediately agreed without really thinking about what this involved until dangerously close to the event. Now then, BMB as you either know or will probably have figured out by this stage, features bands doing karaoke versions of their own songs. More specifically, the singer sings while the rest of the band mime to a backing track using inflatable instruments. That's the idea anyway. In the New Royal Family's case, Rob was the only other member of the band who was available and/or could be arsed to turn up. What's more, I realised far too late that the closest thing I had to backing tracks were drum and bass-only versions of a few songs. So in a last minute burst of improvisation - a bit like Apollo 13 meets the Generation Game - Rob and I cobbled together a few songs on the night of the gig itself and arrived to be greeted by Kevin announcing "Oh, thank fuck, it's David Barnett!" That's the kind of entrance I deserve quite frankly. Minutes later we were "on stage". The audience was not the usual bunch of close personal friends and crap novelty punk devotees. Instead, they were a very studious looking bunch of proper poetry nuts many of whom I suspect were "on the spectrum" as they say. I was half expecting to be bottled off, were it not for the fact that most of them were politely sipping tea. But they were lovely and laughed at lines no one has ever laughed at before and even cheered at the line from Tam O'Shanter in Scotland the Brave which was most rewarding. Rob was absolutely brilliant too, playing his inflatable guitar like a proper punk rocker while I skipped from chair to table top, trying not to send any tea cups flying.

Tuesday 24th April: I won second prize in Heidi Heelz's pop quiz! Had a few good nights out with Mr Low recently and finally got round to joining in with Mrs Cola's quiz at Aces and Eights which is becoming quite a regular hang out these days. Anyway, despite turning up half an hour after it had started (or in Chris's case an hour) we still managed to bagsie the runners up prize, which being a massive pizza and a bottle of wine, was probably actually better than the winning booty. Meanwhile Chris got me to Google some pictures of his latest flame. She is an actual porn star by trade. I don't think I'd be very comfortable seeing any lady friend of mine doing that sort of thing with other men. Certainly not all of them at the same time anyway.

Wednesday 25th April: I did the door for an Artmagic gig! I'm not quite sure how I ended up volunteering to do this. I think I owed Charlie a favour. I quite enjoy this sort of thing usually but it was woefully under attended so I spent most of the evening reading a book. I mean, I understand that they want to keep things "low profile" but that's ridiculous. Anyway, they didn't seem too put out by this and the bits I heard sounded pretty good, if a little earnest, especially the penultimate one which it turns out is going to be their first proper single apparently. Richard was his usual lovely self and bought me a pint to accompany me on my lonely vigil. He's doing the new Suede album now. They've got Ed Buller in and it sounds like he's being quite a hard task master which is just as well. I've a feeling it might even turn out to be quite good. Now that would be a nice surprise.

Saturday 28th April: I took the love of my life to Scotland to meet my family! But I think that deserves an entry of it's own. Stay tuned.

Thursday 3rd May: The New Royal Family continued their one-off reformation with another brilliant gig! This one was supporting the Indelicates at the Monarch and there's not really much to say except I enjoyed it very much and so did lots of other people it seems, including the Indelicates themselves which was very flattering because I am beginning to suspect that they are actual geniuses. There were a couple of teenagers who had come all the way from Folkestone or somewhere who turned out to be actual New Royal Family fans who owned all our singles etc. This doesn't happen very often. I got very very drunk. Plus ca change. Oh yeah, and Boris won the election. Still at least my girlfriend was happy. We're a bit like the Mitford Sisters in that respect.

To be continued ...

So where was I? Fell off the tour van at 3am on Bank Holiday Monday on a rain lashed Finchley Road. Ran down West End Lane, still half asleep with my guitar buffeted by the wind. Felt a bit like that bloke in Being John Malkovich. Next day was very much one of rest and recuperation with my better half. I needed that. Anna came round with a carload of the remains of my crap from her flat the following evening. She couldn’t wait to leave which was a little sad but fair enough I guess. There’s a right treasure trove of tat in them there boxes which gave me the impetus to start an eBay frenzy. It’s amazing what people will buy. A used Morrissey ticket went for 26 quid. That’s about three times what I paid for it. It’s quite satisfying letting go of these old memories and especially knowing they’re going to a good home. The weird thing is, I remember all the gigs from when I was in Scotland incredibly clearly. Yet the ones from London have all merged into one free booze-soaked blur. It’s a bit like music nowadays; when you’re spoiled for choice it all becomes slightly meaningless.

On the Thursday we went to see Heeno’s War of the Waleses out of a sense of obligation I suppose. Billed as the story of Diana retold in the style of Shakespeare, I wouldn’t say I was expecting it to be crap, but I don’t think I was expecting it to be good either. Oh ye of little faith, David. It was ruddy marvellous. I guffawed with laughter throughout. Everyone was brilliant, but John Major stole the show. It’s weird that the 90s are now history; they still feel like last week to me. Lovely to see Rob and Mel doing their wandering minstrel bits too. I am very lucky to have so many talented friends.

The next evening Nikki took me to a ceilidh with some of her workmates at Cecil Sharp House which I adore. The dance itself was great fun although I was embarrassed at how little I could remember. I was also quite stressed and nervous about meeting her colleagues and consequently got drunk and emotional and behaved like a right arse. It seems whenever things are going right there’s always a part of me that wants to bugger everything up. I spent most of Saturday trying to cheer up my depressed flatmate by taking her on a walk up to Alexandra Palace and back through creepy Crouch End. We found a swing on the Parkland Walk. She definitely smiled for a bit while mucking about on that so I consider that a job well done. Oh, we have a replacement for Sabrina in place too. He is called David and was wearing a Pixies t-shirt when he came to visit so he can’t be too bad.

Dear Life, please so slow down you're moving too fast got to make the morning last as Paul Simon once sang. Or was it Tracy Tracy from the Primitives? Either way it seems only yesterday that I was clambering back in the tour van courtesy of the mighty Keith Top of the Pops to head for a festival in West Bromwich of all places and celebrate Keith's birthday. Except it wasn't yesterday. It was the weekend before last. Or "Easter" as Christians and chocolate fans might remember it.

There was most of the classic European "drunk culture" line-up, ie: myself, Keith, Charley, Mel and Andy (driving rather than bassing this time), PLUS Adie Nunn and the latest but not least recruit to the Minor Indie Celebrity fold Mr Rob Britton who was so excited about going in the back of a splitter for the first time that it was ridiculously cute to behold. What with his clever-clogs spectacles and the way he kept putting his hand in front of his mouth he reminded me a bit of Graham Coxon but without the faint whiff of urine emanating from his trousers.

But I digress. We were off to West Bromwich for our lovely friend Emma's inaugural "Now We Are" festival which I'd assumed had been named after the A.A. Milne books, but after some similar lawyer-arousing probing from the Milne estate I was assured that it was nothing of the sort. Meaning it was. Anyroad, the line-up was as one might expect basically all our mates. So as well as Keith & the gang we had Art Brut, The Indelicates, Fruitbat's Abdoujaparov and even the Pop Art gang DJing and introducing the band (dyingumdyingumdyingum). Jonny Cola & His A-Grades were supposed to come too until terrifingly Alex had to be rushed to hospital with something really quite serious even though he was being all jokey and heroic about it on the interweb. Get well soon dear boy.

Now then I had jokingly told Emma that since 3/4s of the New Royal Family would be there with Keith's band, that she could keep us on the substitute's bench should she need another band at short notice. And lo! a couple of other acts had pulled out at the last minute and so it came to pass that London's leading crap novelty punk superstars got to play their first festival at 5.30pm in the afternoon to a load of our mates from London and a handful of bemused locals.

Proof:



It was actually a pretty great gig - people seemed to genuinely enjoy it especially the little kids - and a super start to the festival. We sold more records than we'd ever done when we were a going concern. The venue had a big screen showing Now We Are-related Tweets and somebody had written "The New Royal Family are my new favourite band!" So that was nice. Three hearty cheers to Dom for doing a brilliant job of being the stand-in drummer for the stand-in band. Yippee!

The venue was an amazing shiny new metal and pink arts centre confusingly called "The Public" which was a real oasis of culture in the grim post-apocalyptic nightmare of West Bromwich town centre. Some our party had thought we were actually on some peripheral abandoned industrial estate, but the rows of boarded up shops really did represent the dead centre of town. Like The Wire without the glamour. In an attempt to disguise just how badly austerity Britain had hit, a few of the boarded up shops had fake shop-fronts splashed across them illustrating the typical sort of deli or bookshop one might enjoy if one lived somewhere like Highgate or Hampstead rather than the post-industrial midlands.

Needless to say, we spent most of the time holed up in the relative safety of The Public. There were lots of lovely familiar faces I hadn't expected to see (Hello!). It was a bit like half of Nuis@nce had gone on holiday to the same place by mistake. And by the time the Indelicates and then Art Brut came on, enough of the locals had turned up to make it almost busy. Needless to say both the aforementioned bands were excellent and we all had a very smashing time indeed.

In traditional David-on-tour-with-Keith style I went for an early morning run the next day. Happily I managed to find some greenery not too far from the urban wasteland in which we found ourselves. In fact, there was a very nice, very large Victorian park with a reservoir for me to run around. It even had an outdoor gym which I had a half-hearted go on before trotting back to the hotel for breakfast. Sunday was largely spent hanging about quite a lot until it was at last time for us to do the whole playing a gig with Keith thing that evening.

Happily it was one of my favourite Keith TOTP gigs. The Birmingham Press agreed, writing: "Keith Top of the Pops led a 14 piece band with no less than eight guitarists, which was a personal best I don’t think I’ll ever see beaten. At times, they were awesome." There you go. It's official.

However, the highlight of the entire weekend was still to come. West Bromwich may not be the most aesthetically pleasing place you might visit, but it's probably the place with the cheapest beer I've drunk outside of the 1980s. The local Wetherspoons was selling pints for £1.95. £1.95!!! Amongst those taking advantage of this undeniable bargain was everybody's favourite Art Brut second guitarist Jasper. Having suitably loosened his inhibitions he decided to accept Sunday's headliners The Lovely Eggs' invitation to join them on stage as their very own Indie Bez for the grand finale. The following documentary evidence has had me literally weeping with laughter. In the old fashioned literal sense of literally. Meaning literally. (Fast forward to 4.40 for the best bit):



And then The Indelicates invited the New Royal Family to support them at their next London gig. Splitting up has done wonders for our popularity.

Seems to have been quite a boozy week, though more in a pleasantly squiffy way rather than the bad old falling over and making a tit of oneself David of old. Nikki treated us to some posh wine on Tuesday. When I say posh, I mean we got it from Oddbins rather than the special offer shelf at Sainsbury's. I'd never pretend to be any kind of expert on wine - when choosing from a wine list my only concerns are the price and whether or not I can pronounce it - but it definitely tasted more expensive than usual.

Off to see David Devant & His Spirit Wife the following evening. Well, to be honest I was there to lend my support to Jonny Cola and co. They did the Luxembourg song that used to be called Dusty. It was nice to hear that getting a proper airing. Rhodri and Paul's Dream Themes TV tunes band were on next which we listened to from the comfort of the merch booth. It was odd having to explain concepts like It's A Knockout and Terry & June to the youngsters among us. I'm a big admirer of all of Mikey Georgeson's incarnations, especially David Devant, but I could have done with a few more familiar faves. Pimlico was marvelous though. I have fond memories of watching him to that with Art Brut at the Tate Britain back in those crazy days when magic mushrooms were legally available on every high street. Not that I ever indulged you understand.

My better half and I had planned to have an evening of First Thursday culture (when loads of art galleries are open late in the east end on the first Thursday of the month). There was a Stewart Home thing on I'd like to see but it was a bit of a busman's holiday for Nix so we ended up doing a slightly less cultural pub crawl instead, taking in some old stalwarts like The Lamb in Leadenhall Market, The Jamaica Wine House and the Seven Stars. The suits were out in force and seemed on one massive mission to get totally smashed as quickly as possible. A group of them asked if I was in a rock band. When Nikki responded "yes but not a famous one" they literally smashed their glasses to pieces in front of us. No wonder the world's financial system is collapsing around us.

Up surprisingly early this morning and since Nikki had Passover commitments this evening we seized the day and took a boat trip to Greenwich, propped up with rum and vodka. It was a lovely day for it. The tour guide was highly entertaining. I can't actually recall any of the facts he bombarded us with but there were definitely a lot of "ooh, fancy that!" moments. Oh, yeah, Ian McKellan has bought one of the pubs around Limehouse. Might go and stalk him sometime. It was interesting to see the route of my lunchtime run from the river. It looks like quite a long way. (On Thurs I attempted it for the first time since my injury and incredibly managed the four miles plus in about half an hour - chuffed! That's about 121k this year now).

Greenwich is always worth a look but seemed particularly pretty today. I was explaining how the naval college buildings were used in films like The Golden Compass when we walked straight onto a film set. Here is Nikki on set looking like a filmstar:



Russell Crowe is doing a version of Les Miserables, which I believe is a musical about the famous French Smiths tribute band. I'm not sure what the elephant is doing there. Anyway, we had a slap up feast and plonk at a riverside pub, a hike up to the observatory and around the park, ice cream, vintage shop browsing, then took the foot tunnel to Island Gardens and got lost somewhere under Canary Wharf before it was time to go home. Seems to be lots on tonight but I'm already in bed. I have to be up early tomorrow to go to West Bromwich and be in a rock band. But not a famous one.

Bang goes another week.

Monday: Aug came round to watch some vintage Doctor Who, namely Jon Pertwee’s debut Spearhead From Space, some of which is apparently filmed on Georges Rd v near Aug’s house. Interesting to see UNIT HQ under the old arches of St Pancras station. And I’d never noticed the Doctor having a tattoo before.

Tuesday: Went for a little run up to the Parkland Walk with Vanessa. Her and Sabrina have both announced they are moving out shortly. The end of an era. If anybody is looking for a room in Archway shortly, do get in touch. It’s cheap, cheerful and you get to live with ME.

Wednesday: Ventured south of the river with Nikki for the opening of our mutual friend Gen Williams’ art exhibition at a pub in New Cross. Lots of big pastel drawings of tube stations and the like so very much my cup of tea as was the free fizz.

Thursday: Running around the wild no man’s land between West Hampstead and Kilburn and avoiding youths smoking extra strong weed and urinating on the outdoor gym equipment. The cheeky scallywags. Made most excellent salads with halloumi. Yum. It was also my wee brother’s birthday. He’s 37. How did that happen?

Friday: Oh dear. The first Friday after payday and girlfriend busy elsewhere. What could possibly go wrong? Well some friends of Charley’s were having a breast cancer awareness charity do at the Verge/Bullet/Flowerpot/Heroes/Whateverit’scallledthisweek so I went along to that and got right royally sizzled. It was quite a merry evening. There was a record attempt at getting the most Daley Thompson lookalikes in one room. Sadly in these times of political correctness no one had risked blacking up so instead everybody just wore moustaches and looked like the blokes from the 118 adverts. The Abba Stripes did an excellent set and I dimly recall the other bands being decent too and then there was karaoke. I did a respectable rendition of Pretty Vacant and Keith TOTP sang Echo Beach. I must confess though that most of my attention was grabbed by a saucy scene from Secretary which was projected above the bar. It caused quite a consternation in my breeks I can tell ye so off I went home and at this point really should have gone to bed but one of my flatmates was up so we got some tinnies and ended up shooting the shit till about 5 in the morning. My poor head. I also fell spectacularly off the giving-up-fags-wagon. Naughty David.

Saturday: With my v important comeback gig that evening I spent most of the day trying to rid myself of the world’s worst hangover. I bought fruit. I ate a healthy breakfast and pumped myself full of smoothie. I had a brisk run and punished myself on the outdoor gym. I attempted to have a “relaxing” bath. I even hoovered the stairs in the flat for heaven’s sake. In the end what I really needed was a comforting pint prior to soundcheck. That seemed to do the trick. Jenn’s dad was there. He works for the FBI and looks like Steve Martin. I think that might be a secret though so apologies if I’ve compromised the security of the western world there. The gig itself went pretty well I think, although it was very much more of a private party rather than a triumphant comeback show, with most of our “fans” off to see Pulp or otherwise engaged. Dan looked like he was having a marvellous time though which was what it was all about and our woefully under-rehearsed cover of Head On seemed to go down quite well. I was very touched when the front row all did the New Royal Family Rules Okay dance for the finale and it was nice to play A Likely Story again which I think we only ever did about once before. A very happy night anyway. Maybe we’ll do it again in another two years …

Sunday saw some much-needed catching up with my dearest. She’d come to the gig but I’d been rather pre-occupied with channelling the spirit of rock (although there was a lovely moment when she got slightly tipsy on snakebite and black and opened her heart in a way that made me feel all gooey, but this is not the place for that). She had to return to Bar Mitsvah duties in the afternoon but we crammed a surprising amount into the morning, including a walk/jog/run to the outdoor gym and an outrageously swish brunch of eggs Benedict courtesy of the New Royal Family’s winnings. I accompanied her on the bus back to W.Hamp and then spent the afternoon trying to lose myself on some of the Heath’s lesser trodden paths and feeling quite undeservingly fortunate.

Back at work I applied for a new position in our department. I don’t think I’m in with a hope in hell as there are many other people far better qualified, but it’s good to show willing I think. Jeremy asked me to go for a run at lunchtime. I waited outside for him for ages only for him to eventually turn up in his work clothes apologising that he’d forgotten his t-shirt. A little miffed I shot off on my own and overdid it somewhat so that I was almost limping by the time I got back. Oops. Anyway, that probably brings me up to 115k for the year so far. Must be careful though. Phil Whaite’s birthday at Gordon’s Wine Bar in the evening. Most civilised. Idit turned up glowing and pregnant and let me feel her bump. The baby is now the size of “an ear of corn” apparently. Gosh! David Shah was also there, proudly showing off a USB stick which contains the fruits of a recording session we did last year that I’d forgotten about completely. I’m hoping this means I might be on another two albums this year. This retirement from showbiz is proving remarkably productive.

The weekend started early with a trip to see Jonny Cola and his A-Grades at the Black Heart on Thursday. After some ear-splitting torture from a Slade sound-a-like trio featuring ex members of These Animal Men, “Jonny” and his merry men took the stage and played an undeniably impressive set in front of a big-screen projection of Derek Jarman’s Jubilee which works far better as a backdrop than an actual movie. The A-Grades have come on by furlongs in recent months but there was a tangible sense of them having turned a corner this evening. At one point a friend turned to me and went “Who are all these people in the audience who we don’t know?” I think they’re called fans. During one of the slower numbers I counted no fewer than five camera phones recording the event. It was almost like being at a real gig. I was very pleased for Alex. He’s the hardest working man in showbiz I know and deserves a break. It reminded me of the night Morrissey came down to see Luxembourg and The Boyfriends at Metro and accidentally picked the wrong band to go on tour with him. Morrissey wasn’t there this time, but that’s probably for the best. Yip – as I might say – pee!

On Friday my ever-wonderful dearest finally had some much-needed Good News so I took her out for fish and chips and Pinot Grigio in the garden of a nice pub on Southend Green to celebrate. I know what the ladies like. Being the first really temperate evening of the year the place was rammed. I am so glad summer is on its way. Can’t wait to get back in the pond. Very pleasant walk through lesser known parts of Belsize Park to W. Hampstead then fell asleep watching the Wire by about 11 o’clock. Hardcore we are.

Saturday was glorious weather-wise and we had a lovely old meander down Abbey Road, past the famous studios which still give me quite a thrill, looking exactly as they did when the Fabs used to bound up and down the steps in their kaftans and dingers (although the zebra crossing is currently being dug-up along with what seems like half of London), onto the Regent’s Canal and past the Lego-like mansions, the zoo and Camden Lock. It’s funny how everyone has suddenly switched from cagoules to t-shirts, shorts and sandals. I was dressed in black jeans and leather jacket. My “summer wardrobe” comprises me removing my duffle coat. Our scheduled destination was the Grauniad’s offices at King’s Place where they were having an open day. Everybody there looked exactly like a caricature of a Guardian reader. And You Will Know Us by the Trail of Muesli.

After brief visits to an outdoor gym (!) in a surprise oasis of green by King’s Cross we popped into Keith’s studio where he was laying down the backing tracks for his next album along with Charley, Fruitbat and Mikey. It sounded pretty great. It’s almost a shame that there are still dozens of other instruments to be layered on top. Nikki had to hold the fort at work so I went off on my tod to Joe Daniel’s birthday party. Was a little apprehensive as though I love him dearly he’s a v popular chap and I didn’t really know anybody else who was going. However, it turned out to be a most enjoyable evening. There were two enormous flagons of free rum punch which is always a good way to start a party. There were inevitably a lot of people from bands: a Lamma Farmer, Joe’s new young signings This Many Boyfriends who were very sweet, Anthony out of Dirty Pretty Things and various Klaxons. The real head turner though was undoubtedly Kiera Knightley who looked very petite and pretty and much nicer when she is smiling normally rather than doing that funny thing with her mouth on the posters. Perhaps sensibly I decided to leave early before I got pissed enough to say hello, although sadly this meant missing Jamie Reynolds MCing which he promised would be something to behold. The Northern Line was down so my early departure turned out to be a wise move and then after gabbling away incoherently to Sabrina when I got home, Nikki made a surprise appearance and my brilliant day got even brillianter. I’m not sure if she believed me when I said that I fancied her more than Kiera Knightley but it’s true.

Sunday was mostly spent nursing a hangover in Keith’s studio. I was desperately ill-prepared and the idea of me trying to lay down some hot “licks” over Charley et al’s flawless backing tracks seemed at first akin to arming a lunatic with a permanent marker pen and suggesting he add a moustache and spectacles to the Mona Lisa. But someone must have been smiling on me because somehow I managed to do some pretty nifty riffing on six songs, at least four of which I’d heard no more than once before. Probably my best ever guitar playing captured on tape. I know that’s not saying much, but still. Pleased.

On Sunday I was invited to take part in a video shoot for Dom’s new band whose name escapes me. Being a total media harlot I obviously said yes. My role involved lip-synching to Rory’s vocal. I thought I’d be clever and download the song onto my iPhone and vaguely familiarise myself with it on the bus to darkest Clapton but either I somehow managed to download an instrumental version or my headphones are dodgy because the singing was inaudible which made learning where the words went slightly problematic. Clapton reminded me of the worst bits of East Baltimore, but maybe that’s just because I’ve been gorging on the Wire recently. However, the flat in which the filming took place was pretty swanky, with a balcony overlooking the canal. Rory was wearing a dress when I arrived which was unexpected. The video was based on Quantum Leap apparently. This would possibly have made more sense if I knew what Quantum Leap was. I had to wear a baseball top and a wrestler’s dressing gown and had to sing the words to myself in the bathroom mirror. I had a quick run through which didn’t go too badly. In fact everybody decided that I didn’t need to bother doing it again. I would probably have been a little more animated had I known that my solitary take was the one they’d be using. Definitely the easiest video shoot I’ve ever taken part in.

Over to my dearest’s again on Monday. We went for another gentle jog (3k) and then rustled up not one but two delicious courgette-based feasts. We are quite the team in the kitchen. Very much enjoyed the final of Universally Challenged. I got some belters including the Inaccessible Pinnacle thanks to my secret past as a reluctant mountaineer. Was v pleased that the team led by the boy who wants to be Alan Bennett when he grows up won. It was odd hearing Camilla chatting away with them when she dished out the prizes. She sounded almost like a normal human being.

Poor Nikki had a bit of a bombshell on Tuesday so I took her out for comforting burger and milkshake that evening. I had already eaten 1x bowl of crunchy nut cornflakes, 1x egg roll, 1x tomato and bean stew, 1x banana, 3x melted cheese and spinach wraps and 4x oatcakes with butter and marmite so was pretty full when I got there. Felt disgustingly fat after stoically munching through my aubergine and goats cheese burger with chips. But not so full that I couldn’t polish off the bucket of chocolate milkshake. Burp.

Still feeling guilty about my gluttony I attempted my first proper run since my injury after work yesterday. Did 5k in about half an hour. A real struggle. I’m not sure whether the difficulty was due to my legs still being a bit dodgy or simply because I’ve become so unfit without any exercise for two months, but it was a lovely evening and a wonderful feeling to be back on my old route around the ponds, trotting past the geese and swans and posh parents with push-chairs the size of a Panzer IV. Brings me to 104k for the year so far. A blessed relief.

After that it was down to a dank cellar in Holloway for my first rehearsal this year and my first rehearsal with the New Royal Family in more than two years. Yes, the rumours are true. Britain’s second best crap novelty punk band are jumping on the reformation bandwagon and playing by special request at Dan’s birthday party on Saturday 31st March. It’s at the Horatio pub on Holloway Road. We’ll be on about 10 and you should come. In common with the comeback craze we’ll be playing our entire hit single in order.