Friday night's gonna be alright, it's gonna be right, it's gonna be alright now baby etc
I was appalled to see the Graudnai seems to be doing some kind of impersonation of Heat magazine, with rubber-faced funnyman Pete Doherty on the cover, which obviously did nothing to ease my hangover. Here we are on the brink of a third world war and they dedicate the whole of page 3 to his "exclusive prison diary". If I want to see a tit on page 3, I'll buy the Sun, thank you very much. It reads like that "Secret Diary of a Manics Fan" from the halcyon days of the Melody Maker, especially the Vogon-class poetry which rhymed "night" with "shite". I'm assured by people whose opinions I respect that he once wrote a couple of good songs but now the miserable wretch is reduced to feeble punnery along the lines of "Munt, 'ave a rest." I know we all like to sprinkle a few class A's on our cornflakes now and again, but to make a career out of it is rather sad. And as for all that, "oh poor me, it's not fair, I haven't done anything wrong," ... driving a car on a cocktail of crack and smack really isn't very clever. He's turning into one of these people like Victoria Beckham where people can't remember quite what they're famous for. I look forward to reading Posh Spice's pensions advice in a future issue of The Guardian. Or perhaps Franz Ferdinand on international cuisine. Oh, hang on ...
On Saturday evening I sensibly stayed in while Bananna talked with her chums about cock sizes and me being bummed by cuddly Rob. I'm not available!
And today I popped into Keith Mahoney's studio on Brick Lane. He is the man who produced Formed A Band and much of Art Brut's other early output. I was there to pick up the exclusive version of Art Brut's Top of the Pops with The Boyfriends shouting all the way through. It sounds even worse than I remember - Fantastic!