It looks a lot like it's going to snow. I'm not keen on snow. It makes a noise like polystyrene when you walk on it and gets stuck in your shoes then makes puddles on your carpet. And it causes transport chaos. Bah humbug. At least it looks pretty.

The Morning People played for the first time in absolutely ages on Saturday, and I had a much better time than usual due to having a proper keyboard that I'm getting the hang of now. It's a bit more awkward to transport than the crap little casiotone though - turns out taxi drivers aren't really keen to have large items in their cars for some reason. The guy on the way there made me turn it upside down because the bottom of the case might have touched the ground at some point, and then was making a big point of checking his seats for compression damage when we took it out. Then on the way back the first guy refused to take Dave and me because we had too much stuff and told us to get a people carrier. When that eventually turned up the guy, who I'm going to call Jabba the Taxi Driver, arbitrarily said it was £15 to go about half a mile because we had luggage. I asked what difference it made, and he said because of the lifting and I said we'd be doing the lifting, and then he got angry and drove off eating some small slimy creature in a single gulp and chaining Carrie Fisher to the back seat. We should've taken it though because when Dave rang up and complained they said it'd be £16 now. 90 minutes standing around on Hills Road in the early hours of the morning. Lovely. It's a shame that there's only one taxi company left in Cambridge. Someone should start a new one that isn't run by arseholes and understands that they aren't actually doing you a favour and are bloody lucky we're all lazy enough to pay six quid a pop to be driven a couple of hundred yards.

Almost the opposite thing happened on Monday night when I accidentally went to see Leatherface at The Portland on Monday. Chris and I had gone for a quick post work pint before he went off to the gig, during which he somehow convinced me that going along too would be more fun than just going and sitting at home on my own. We left the pub, which is on a backstreet, and a for hire taxi pulled straight up. "Must be fate" I thought. I do a lot of things these days because I think they're fate, even though it's fairly obvious that if fate does exist it doesn't like me all that much. I've just bought a rather more expensive than I had planned to volume pedal for my keyboard because I was checking them out on ebay one morning and Jinder posted on Facebook that he'd just won one he didn't want in a competition. Fate. It's not turned up yet, but I bet it'll make a massive difference to something somehow. I'm not a huge fan of punk music, not so much becaue of the music itself but because of the general attitude, but the show was really good. The first act I saw, Vanilla Pod, were fun and catchy, and the second guy whose name escapes me, but is out of Snuff (who I saw supporting NOFX earlier in the year) varied from pretty dire to total genius. I might actually try and learn one of their songs if I can find a recording of it somewhere. Leatherface themselves were so loud you could physically feel it, but that kind of thing is great if you try and forget about your ears hurting. I also took the opportunity to get a bit further into credit with Charlie Boorman's By Any Means quiz machine (it's still new, so either hasn't figured out how hard it needs to be yet or is trying to entice people in by giving money away).

I'm doing my third and final full band thing of the year at The Cornerhouse on Sunday. Finding it pretty hard to get excited about playing my own stuff at the moment, and this will be the night after a stag do I'm going to in Birmingham, but maybe it'll be good. Maybe I'll be in that over tired state where I start saying funny things. We're practicing tomorrow so I'll know more then. I got given a black Santa hat with Bah Humbug on it, so I might well wear that.

Look at this I saw in Tesco - the least worthwhile piece of censorship since they decided to blank out the word "ass" in Two and a Half Men. Especially as they've not covered up the title on the spine.

The Cambridge Weekly News seems to have dropped its horoscopes. You'd think they'd have mentioned that last week. I'm not sure how I'm going to cope without my weekly guilty crutch. I'm not sure even I'm pathetic enough to check Russell Grant's site. Well, maybe this once. His daily scope suggests that a new romance will start for me tonight. Seems unlikely, unless it's with my television. To be honest, at any point this decade seems pretty unlikely. Though that's only a couple of weeks actually isn't it. The weekly one is all about work. That's always disappointing. If I was writing horoscopes, pretty much every one would say "If you're single a new romance will start very soon (if you're really not fussy it will be with someone whose name begins with P), and if not everything will be great indefinitely". Where's the harm? It's not real, why not be nice? Ha, that reminds me of when I used to work for a popular sms based question answering service and told a whole series of people that they'd meet their next boyfriend just outside Cambridge station at times I was likely to be there. Didn't work.Dan and I went to see Kevin Devine on Sunday (my third trip to The Borderline in just over a month - they seem to have suddenly started putting good things on again) and it was really lovely. I seem to have been going to a lot of brilliant things lately.

We went to Funland in The Trocadero beforehand in an effort to recreate the drum game heroics of Tokyo, but they didn't have it, so I destroyed Dan at Streetfighter II and then Tekken 6. And then I destroyed a series of people from around the world at Tekken 6. There was a fair crowd (or, more likely, a queue) by the end. Eventually we just had to go, but if it hadn't been for the gig I'm pretty confident I'd still be there now.

I can't quite remember the name of the support guy. Something about socks. He was ok, but I found his beard more impressive than the songs. It was a good beard mind you. Kevin Devine's beard wasn't quite so good, but he was a cut above. I've not seen as powerful a solo set by anyone in ages. I'd probably only heard about half the songs before due to gaps in Spotify (I've almost completely stopped buying things - it's a bit naughty really), but I was rapt the whole time. He seemed like a really nice guy too - he even brought mince pies for the crowd. I love The Borderline - things always seem to turn out well there.

I did a short set at The Cornerhouse last week as part of a cabaret thing. The night itself was really good. A couple of comedians who, incredibly for a local show, were actually very funny, a band, and me. It must be really hard being a comedian, especially at a low level - it doesn't matter how funny you are, if the atmosphere isn't quite right then people are pretty unlikely to laugh. As one of them said to me after it was all over, with only a hint of bitterness - it doesn't matter how shit a musician you are, everybody will still clap at the end. I then told him about the gig I once did in Newmarket Library. Anyway, I played badly again. Well, I felt uncomfortable and communicated it to the audience, and then they felt uncomfortable and that made me feel more uncomfortable. My confidence appears to have disappeared almost completely. Not sure what to do about it. Anyway, I played You Won't Break My Heart, This Place is Dead Anyway and Watertight. Ho hum.

So, I got persuaded to give The Mountain Goats another go, after they didn't really impress at End of the Road last year. I'm very pleased I did - there were loads of technical hitches when I saw them which ruined the moment, but I don't think they really had a chance in a big echoey tent anyway. The music is upbeat and not amazing in general, but what sets them apart are the quite unbelievably dark lyrics. For example they appear to have a whole album about a married couple who begin to hate each other so move to a new town to try and make a new start, and end up drinking themselves to death. And they say I'm depressing. It's genius though - as the music is so jaunty, I reckon 90% of people wouldn't even notice what's going on. You have to admire that.

Anyway, I managed to have one fairly relaxed week, but this one's been pretty intense again, and wasn't helped by beginning with a game of squash that very nearly killed me. I'm still not moving particularly well. I've never been quite so exhausted. I'm playing the guy again on Tuesday. I nearly followed it up by seeing Ralph McTell, but had to go back to work. It's a shame, because while I can't stand Streets of London, he's done lots of really rather good stuff, and seeing him play the theme tune from Tickle on the Tum would leave me one less ambition.

On Tuesday night I finally managed to see Manchester Orchestra, after the UPS induced misery of missing out when they last played. It was worth the wait. I'd not been to Heaven Under The Arches before, and the journey was made easier by the revelation, earlier in the day, that Trafalgar Square and Leicester Square are, in fact, right next to each other. Does everyone's knowledge of London just consist of a series of 100m circles around tube stations? Anyway, it's an ace venue built, as the name suggests, under a railway arch - the stage is nice and high, and the sound is excellent. The support band were called Talons, which led to a bit of confusion, because someone had looked them up online and found a totally different band, that they were looking forward to seeing. 

I sympathise with people who have to share names - that conductor guy who pinched mine before I was even born is winning the last.fm profile picture battle - if you fancy going and voting the old one of me back, that'd be ace. And someone tried to sell me a £1m yacht complete with mooring in Spain today because my email address is the same as another (evidently richer) Paul Goodwin's email address apart from one character. It was a good conversation. I replied (as I always do when people email me about conducting/buying houses in the Chicago area/German art galleries/buying houses in the Reigate area/attending geology conferences in Melbourne/the British Handball League thinking I'm someone else) saying "I think you've got the wrong email address", and he, brilliantly, replied saying, "sorry. Would you be interested in a boat anyway?" (it made me think of the toaster out of Red Dwarf). I asked about pricing, and when it turned out to be £1m said it'd take me a few weeks to raise the funds. We'll see where it goes.

I digress. This particular Talons were a doubly befiddled instrumental post rock type act from Hereford who were really quite enjoyable at the time, but I don't know how far out of my way I'd go to see them again. There were two guitarists too, one of whom was pretty amazing, and one of whom seemed to mostly be there because the rest of the band didn't want to speak to the audience. A lot of the tunes seemed to be a series of riffs that didn't really join together very well, but a couple of them (mostly when they let the guitarist take the lead) were very good.

Manchester Orchestra were brilliant. Their second album is one of the biggest sounding records ever I think, and, somehow, it was even bigger live. And, due to some weird cosmic coincidence that does make me wonder if I am the centre of the universe after all, they did a brief cover of one of the more depressing Mountain Goats songs that I'd been listening to all day. I'm not hugely familiar with their first, but there wasn't a song I didn't really enjoy. The keyboard player/second drummer guy was really going for it, even when he didn't have anything to do and I'm debating growing a massive beard like the singer. It didn't even matter that they didn't play my two favourites for some reason, and the show ended really early, I think because there was a club after. I assume there must have been anyway because there was a toilet attendant, and there is no way that it would be worth his while sitting watching a crowd of mainly students with hats, massive beards and no money for tips flood a urinal for 3 hours. I actually felt sorry for him by the end of the night and gave him a couple of quid in exchange for half a piece of blue kitchen roll. I kind of like this recent trend for London gigs finishing early - there can't be many better feelings than sitting on the 11.15 with a Maccy D's and a can of Red Stripe, having watched a great gig, knowing that the train will only stop at a couple of places and you'll be in bed by half past midnight rather than 2am.

On Wednesday night I went to London again to see Dar Williams at The Borderline, who I've gone on about more than enough on here over the years. There were various minor celebrity spots beforehand - Zac Efron was giving a brilliantly insincere interview outside the premiere of Orson Welles with the backing of a crowd of screaming girls (though I guess we only heard him rather than see him - we did catch a glimpse of the leading lady, but I dunno who she is) and (apparently) Ed Giddins and some minor TV presenter pinched the spare chairs round our table at the pub while we were waiting for Andy. I was a bit worried about the gig, because I've not bought anything that Dar Williams has done this century - she started getting a bit polished and writing about "issues" a bit more often and heartbreak a bit less often, but her first two albums are two of my all time favourites, and that puts quite a lot of pressure on a live show. The support act was a Proper Support Act - perfectly acceptable I guess, but completely unmemorable. However I did notice she was Canadian and that her surname was Hanson. I wondered which of the brothers she was in a previous life. Looked most like Taylor. I do often wonder how they find these people though. I know at least 3 Canadian singer/songwriters personally who are streets ahead of her. Are there people who aim to be ok, but completely unable to upstage anybody so that they can get the decent support gigs?

I needn't have worried about Dar. It was really, really, really lovely. Even the songs from later albums that I wasn't so keen on were great played solo. And we got Iowa and If I Wrote You (turns out I have been getting the chords right...). Those, and The Babysitter's Here made me well right up - that seems to be happening a bit recently, mostly, it seems, when I see people that I liked way back when. If we'd have got February it would've been perfect. As brilliant as a lot of the songs are, the other great thing about Dar Williams is that she's absolutely adorable - so clever, enthusiastic, and so still caring about saving the planet. If I was 10 years older, and 5 times as attractive...

I'm catching her up though - yesterday was my birthday. We knocked off work a bit early, went on a bit of a pub crawl, and I managed to win a game of chess for the first time in ages. Didn't do so well at pool. Did do some excellent quiz machine work. 32. That sounds like an ok age actually. Like an age a real person would be. Surely it can't be as rubbish as the last few, though I suspect say that every birthday and New Year. Hmm that reminds me - I still haven't managed to see a number plate with a 32 on.

I've been watching Later with Jools Holland because The Decemberists and The Low Anthem are on it. They'll have to be pretty bloody good to be worth sitting through that Annie Lennox and David Gray duet. I feel a little bit dirty. And oh wow, Corinne Bailey Ray was just awful. Blimey. Come back Dar Williams' support act, all is forgiven.

So I was a bit concerned that I wouldn't end up doing anything extravagant this week, but rest easy - my friend Andy had a spare ticket to see England play Australia at Twickenham on Saturday. The transport there is a bit ridiculous because everyone goes from Waterloo on incredibly crowded trains, and Twickenham station empties out directly onto a moderately busy road. Eventually the police just gave up and stopped the traffic. It's an impressive stadium though when you get there - much better than Wembley I thought.  

Also, before the match began, they had a girl suspended from a balloon and an old guy in a big coat with a flag. There were some people dressed as zebras too but I couldn't be arsed to take a picture of them.

I don't really care all that much about rugby, but it's dead exciting when you're there - they put so much effort into trying to get the ball just a little bit further forward, and Jonny Wilkinson doing his thing was something I didn't think I'd get to see. Good day.

Andy had been to a Big Lebowski party the night before as The Stranger, and, for reasons that still aren't entirely clear to me, was keeping his moustache on.

Despite that, it was my week's worth of facial hair that got the abuse from a couple of semi-friendly Germans we met on the tube after. I'm obviously a born victim.

I was back in Barkingside before the match and saw this Ilford Recorder newsstand that made me laugh on a couple of levels. But mostly the way the mention of their virtual motor show looks as if it's a clarification of the headline.

On Friday lunchtime I went to see a Boo Hewerdine gig at ARU - they have a free concert every week and apparently the music students get credit just for going. And the only one that I know still didn't show up. This week's show is by a theremin virtuoso. I'll not lie to you, I'm tempted. Anyway, Boo was really good (despite not playing 16 Miles, and not that much off his new one), though gigs in theatres seem a bit wrong to me. Give me a shabby room with a wooden floor and no seats any day. Or the Union Chapel.

On Thursday I got to sit on the roof of a triple-parked narrow boat and watch the fireworks on Midsummer Common, which were excellent. Much better than last year. Though I had had an amount of mulled wine by the time they started. My favourites were the ones that filled the entire sky with gold dust, and the ones that consisted of two concentric blue circles, the inner one appearing about 5 seconds after the outer one. Clever stuff. I took some sparklers along but there were plenty there already, so I still have them on my living room table. I'm trying to decide if it's tragic just having a little sparkler party in the garden on my own or if I should save them for Christmas or something. I bloody love fireworks.

I played a few songs (specifically, Wasted on the Young, A Stone, and Closure) at The Cornerhouse on Sunday but I didn't enjoy it. Just when I was feeling a bit better about playing too. Andy and Cat Green Bike were both great though (I've always wondered what a zither was - they sound lovely), so it was good that I went, and we managed a decent amount of quiz machine milking - turns out Trivia for Dummies 2 isn't such a bad game after all. God, to think of all the time I've wasted not playing it over the last couple of years... 

It's been another fairly busy week. On Wednesday we went to Warwick for a medieval day. I know! Once we'd been kitted out with tabards (robes), belts and coifs (the bit of chain mail that goes over your head, though ours was made of plastic or wool or something rather than metal) we started off with a small amount of archery (after listening to a few tall tales and a long and graphic description of how they removed an arrow from the young Henry V's face after the Battle of Shrewsbury), which I've done a fair bit of before so my technique is quite good, but it didn't seem to help me a great deal with the hitting of things with arrows. Chris managed to shoot a stick in half, which was quite impressive (if somewhat lucky), though I managed to rattle one.

Next up was falconry, in which we learned that the owl is a stupid and nearly blind bird, that a surprising number of English phrases come from falconry (fed up, boozing, hawkers, under the thumb), and that falcons aren't as heavy as you'd think and can fly very quickly indeed.

When the birds were fed up we went and did some swordfighting. We split into pairs and learnt a choreographed fight. I was on the losing side. At the time it felt like it must have looked pretty impressive, but watching the videos I took of the other guys I suspect it didn't. I've still not seen the video of me. After a slightly embarrassing pub lunch, during which the people of Warwickshire did a sterling job of pretending that a bunch of idiots badly dressed up as knights was a perfectly normal sight, we put on not especially knightly helmets and got on to the main event, the jousting.

I'd not ridden a horse since I was small, and a lot of the group never had, but the ones they gave us obviously knew exactly what they were doing, as they tended to just do what they were supposed to, whatever you did. Consequently I'm now convinced that I'm an excellent horse rider, even though I didn't seem to be able to get my steed (who was called Mircale) above a trot (or even to stay at a trot for very long). An animal after my own heart. We started off trying to spear rings with our lances, then moved on to the quintain (a model knight on a pole that spins round when you whack it on the shield), then combined all that together in a little competition, and then had to bash one of the instructors on the shield as we rode toward each other. It was an amazing amount of fun, but I've still got a big bruise on my arm from holding the lances, and today is the first day that I've been able to make my knees touch. 

Pretty much as soon as we got back I hobbled off, John Wayne style, to The Portland to see The Wave Pictures. It was a slightly unusual line up for a gig, as they were acting as a backing band to both of the other bands that were touring with them, and the singers from those other bands occasionally joined in, which means that there were 3 acts in a row consisting of the same 5 people. I'm not sure it really worked. There were also an awful lot of guitar solos from the main Wave Pictures guy - I wondered if it was part of the agreement for The Wave Pictures acting as a backing band that at least 30% of that time would be guitar solo. The identically lined up act I enjoyed most was Stanley Brinks, which is the new stage name of the odder brother from Herman Dune, and, maybe not surprisingly, reminded me a bit of the odder Herman Dune songs. Really charming.

The Wave Pictures themselves were a bit of a disappointment. The songs on the latest album either sound like slightly less good imitations of existing songs of theirs, or don't have whatever it is about them that I liked, and they played even fewer of my favourites than last time. On the other hand, at least the drummer looks a bit more like Jurgen Klinsman again. I guess bands have to move on, but I think I'll wait for the greatest hits tour before I see them again.

On Friday I went to the open mic at the Folk Club and had a nice time. Oddly, a question about the Battle of Shrewsbury came up on the quiz machine - I wish I'd listened more carefully to the crazy archer man. It was less busy than normal, but still somehow managed to overrun, and I ended up going last, which I never much like - I get always the feeling that everyone would rather be going home. Anyway, I played a new song called "Wasted on the Young" and "Muscle Memory". Sounded pretty good to me.

Last night was the last ever Broken Family Band gig, and was fancy dress. I'm not really a fancy dress fan but I gave it a go and went as the Phantom of the Opera, i.e. black tie, gloves and a mask that was a bit too small for my face. The mask was held on with loads of double sided sticky tape, but it fell off about halfway through, which left me just dressed in black tie and looking a bit of a fool, but at least able to move my face... 

Chris had got a surprisingly good value werewolf mask from Sainsbury's and looked much better than I did. Especially when he was drinking bottles of beer through the mouth. The gig itself was a bittersweet thing - absolutely brilliant, but during every song I was thinking "this is the last time I'll hear them play this" and feeling sad. I was really pleased that they played "The Perfect Gentleman" which I think is my favourite of theirs - the first time I heard that was the moment that I realised that they were something special. I don't think there will be any other bands (that I'm not in) whose first and last gigs I'll be at. I'll miss them.

Last week was pretty busy. I wish I'd used the extra hour to get some more sleep instead of going "aah well, the clocks go back, I'll stay up an extra hour" on Saturday night.

On Tuesday we did a bit of quizzing at The Empress, which seems to have developed an urban farm in the beer garden, and came a point and a half away from the unusually big prize. I could've won it for us if I'd been a bit stronger in my resolve about who the short-lived Pope of 1978 was, and if I'd been a bit more careful about what the Oxford reserve Boat Race team are called. Oh well - 2nd out of 35 isn't bad, and I wasn't a huge amount of use on any of the rest of it.

On Wednesday I (along with most of the rest of Cambridge - there can't have been a pub within half a mile of Highbury and Islington tube without someone I know in it) went to Islington to watch the Broken Family Band's last London show at the newly refurbished, and apparently Relentless, Garage. We got there just in time for Chris T-T, having had a pint or two (and an unsuccessful game of Blockbusters) in the Hope and Anchor, which took me back to when I was naive enough to try and book gigs, and people were naive enough to say yes. He was great (despite no "Tomorrow Morning") and silenced the room by starting with an a capella song about the ancient trees that got cut down to make way for the M1 (it was better than it sounds when put like that). Unfortunately, the London crowd being a pretty ignorant bunch in general, the chatter soon started. I got a bit cross with them, as much because they'd have probably liked it a lot if they'd given it a chance as anything else, but I still really enjoyed it. The Broken Family Band were just brilliant. Could well have been the best time I've seen them, though I suspect I say that a lot. They played a greatest hits kind of set, which is the perfect thing to do on a farewell tour I guess, and it was so nice to hear some of the songs from back in the day. I got a bit emotional, so God knows what the last ever gig is going to be like next week. I went for a drink with a couple of The Pony Collaboration and some other guys after in the only place open on Highbury Corner at 11pm on a Wednesday and ate the dirtiest chicken I've had in a long time from the only place open in Finsbury Park at midnight on a Wednesday before (just) getting the slow train home. Which, for some reason, had a jazz band jamming with some choir boys on it. And as if that wasn't odd enough, they'd set up right by the loo.

I realised on Friday night as I was walking to The Junction to see Frank Turner, eating my fancy fish and chips from that new place on Mill Road (not bad, but your hands stink of fish afterwards) that it was going to be the first full waking hour since getting off said slow train that I wouldn't have been sat in front of a computer in the office. I got in about halfway through the first support act, Beans on Toast, who I'd seen when Frank Turner played at The Loft a few years ago, and really not liked. I think I must have softened my stance on well meaning but not very bright folk-punk since then because it wasn't the least good thing I've seen in ages - I even quite liked some of it. Though I'd not recently seen David Thomas Broughton last time. In fact it wasn't even the least good thing on the night, that dubious honour going to Fake Problems, who while they could play very nicely (as all Americans who make it over here can - the guitarist who looks like Tommy from early Third Rock From The Sun was particularly great I thought) had such rubbish songs that I started wishing the sound would get worse so that I couldn't hear the words. I've not been sure where I stand on Frank Turner recently - it's seemed to me like all his stuff for a couple of records now has been about how him and his friends are just playing music to have a good time and it doesn't really matter if they make it big because they're having a good time along the way and you shouldn't waste your life doing things you hate, just have a good time (fine if you come from money...). But he sings it all with such conviction live that you can't help but have a good time, so maybe he's on to something (certainly a lot of people seem to like it). That, coupled with his band being approximately 20 times better than when I saw him in January (though the bassist was still trying a bit hard to pretend that playing bass is actually a difficult thing to do) made it a properly storming, uplifting, manic grin-inducing, time. Really, really enjoyable. I met some guys in the pub after who'd seen me supporting Mark Morriss the other week and recognised me, so I had a few drinks with them and posed for a photo or two (get me! The best thing about it was they couldn't remember what I was called) until Mr Turner turned up and they had to go and talk to him instead. I'm just being an arse - that's not really what happened at all. Good times.

On Saturday I went to London because we ended up with some tickets to Green Day at the O2 Arena from work. I thought I'd make a day of it, so went down at lunchtime to meet an old uni mate at Piccadilly. I was late due to being let down by the transport network for the first of many times that day (they thought it'd be a laugh to stop all the southbound lines except the Piccadilly from Kings Cross, which meant the ENTIRE WORLD was trying to fit on the 3 trains an hour they could be bothered to run). He didn't answer his phone for a bit so I took some photos.

That demonstration was right in everyone's way. To misquote Chris T-T - war's bad, well done, have a biscuit.

When we did manage to meet up and circumnavigate the march we went for a few drinks and some noodles, and I took delivery of a "luck in love" charm like the one I'd that I'd failed to get when I was in Japan. I think it actually says marriage on it, but beggars can't be choosers and all that. And, frankly, for all I know it actually says "I hope you get an incurable degenerative disease". 

During the journey to the O2 I got the angriest I've been in a long, long time. I stupidly forgot to check exactly how much of the Jubliee line had been shut "due to investment", but, assuming it wouldn't be pretty much the whole bloody thing I got the tube from Oxford Circus to Green Park so I could catch it all the way to the venue. Of course, pretty much the entire bloody thing was shut. "Oh well" I thought "I'll just get the Piccadilly back to Piccadilly Circus and work my way down". Forgetting that the Piccadilly Line was still having to cope with the ENTIRE WORLD on its own. An hour, several kicked walls, and only 3 unboardably packed trains later I managed to force my way on to one to complete a journey that would've been a 5 minute walk if I'd known. Where's that London Underground song on youtube... Chris had (quite rightly) gone up to the box when I finally made it to the O2, as well as having a go at blackjack in the VIP Rocksino with the 50 Rock Dollars we got given on going in. I was a bit peeved that I didn't get to play, but it was vaguely my own fault and it's not really so much fun if you're not playing for real money anyway. And now I have 50 Rock Dollars to spend on something else. Maybe a 30 Rock box set.

When I finally did make it up there was a giant rabbit dancing on the stage, a table full of food and a fridge full of free beer. I'm not convinced about corporate boxes at gigs, but, to be honest, of all the massive sell out bands that there are, Green Day must be right up there. There are 6 of them now, including a part time sax player (if I was a big Green Day fan from the early days that'd be like a dagger in my heart. Or my ears), and it seemed more like a pantomime than a gig. But it was no less fun for it.

I'd heard bad things about the sound in the O2, but it seemed fine to me - I guess it helps when you know the songs. That said, other than the classics (of which there were a fair few), the highlights of the gig were probably when they got people out of the audience to be the band for half a song, when the singer (Billy Joe Armstrong is it?) dressed up as a nun,

and when he got a water pistol and started shooting the crowd, then upped it to a hose,

then a power toilet roll shooter thing,

then a T-shirt bazooka. Also they played the Benny Hill theme. That was pretty good.

I left halfway through the encore (I'd heard Basket Case, which was the object of the exercise really) in order to get to Kings Cross for the 11.15, leaving extra time to allow for the fact that the Northen line couldn't be bothered to stop there, and made it with a good 3 minutes to spare, only to find that, seemingly for a laugh, they'd moved the 11.15 forward 3 minutes. Maybe my Japanese charm actually says "you shall have nothing but grief on public transport". Still, Rishi and James from Karmadillo were on the train I did eventually get, so it was more entertaining than the earlier one would've been. Especially as I'm reading the stupidest book I've read in ages, which is about a woman who gets a telepathic connection with a guy because she gets some of his blood in a transfusion. Maybe I should write a novel - you don't seem to need to be very good. Except I'd just spend years getting it exactly how I wanted and everyone would read the first 2 pages and say they didn't like the typeface.

I'm sure you've all seen it already, but I recently discovered this on youtube and find it much funnier than I would have expected to.

..

The light in my kitchen has been on the blink for about two weeks and I keep forgetting until it's dark and I want to cook. It's quite good fun because it flashes on and off so it looks like you're cooking in slow motion, but you do have to carry boiling pans of stuff around the house so that you can see how it's coming along. The situation has resulted in a couple of pretty spectacular meals though so I think I'm going to keep things as they are. Also, how are you meant to tell which kind of neon tube you need? I've never figured that out. Also the washing up looks less scary in the dark.

I played at the Folk Club on Friday night, supporting Heidi Talbot, John McCusker and Boo Hewerdine, and had a very nice time. It sold out (I'm not sure I've been involved in a sell out gig before) which meant that there were a big lot of people watching me. They were queueing all the way down the stairs during the soundcheck - I've never seen anything like it. As ever with folk audiences it was almost impossible to tell how I was doing - I'm pretty sure I could've been stood making fart noises with my armpit and there would've still been the same amount of polite applause, but a fair few people came up and said nice things after. For my part, I thought I sang and played well and my in between song talking was working fairly nicely for once, but I forgot the words for a bit at one point and sang the second verse of Radio Silence twice (I've never ever known that happen either - maybe it just happens at sold out gigs). Nobody seemed to mind, but like I said, how would you tell? Setlist: You Won't Break My Heart, Watertight, This Place Is Dead Anyway, Radio Silence, The Ghost of Paddy's Night Past, So Finally a Love Song, Edinburgh, Soaked to the Skin. 

I didn't get to see quite as much of the main act as I'd have liked due to being stuck outside the room, and restless, but they make a lovely noise and John McCusker is quite incredibly good at the violin and, that rarest of things, tasteful with it. It was a treat to see someone as important as that in such a small room. I got a copy of Boo's new CD which I'm enjoying listening to right now - there are some songs on there that I've been waiting for for years.

We went to another, much better, conference in London last week. They gave us lunch, the talks were fairly interesting and the free bar at the party (in the O2 Arena no less! I'd not been there before - it's very big and has a Nando's) didn't run out until 1am. It also had weird robots made of security cameras who were doing strangely hypnotic gyrating pole dances. They looked a bit like the clones from Star Wars. The only downside of the whole event was that I'm not useful enough for anyone to want to talk to. Real People actually do seem to spend their whole lives either trying to network each other to death or embroiled in pissing contests - who knew? It's pretty depressing, and another reason why I'll never amount to anything. Still, that whole Docklands area will be pretty nice if they ever finish building it - I was particularly impressed with the ornamental massive cranes they have. I was also pretty impressed that our hotel served breakfast from 4am until midday. You'd really have to work at missing that.

The spare time I've had had been spent watching telly and making a better version of "Ball and Chain" than the one that appeared on the Edinburgh ep that I did a few years ago. I was a bit worried about watching Antiques Roadshow on my own, as half the fun is guessing the value of the pieces, but it was fine, How I Met You Mother has reached a point that I've not seen before, while still being hilarious, and I've been enjoying Emma (I think because the actress who plays the title role looks a tiny bit like Drew Barrymore) - it's the only one of Jane Austen's books that I didn't totally love, but maybe I'll try it again. It's going to be a pretty close run thing between having another CD ready and reaching my self imposed Scars selling target for making another CD I think. Though actually maybe it won't, as I don't have any more gigs sorted out and the only effective way of getting any more seems to be to wait quietly for them to fall into my lap.

Right. Time for Masterchef: The Professionals. I think they should have a round where they try to prepare Michelin Star standard food in a kitchen where the lights are strobing. I reckon I'd be in with a chance if they did.

It's been a hectic week or so, largely spent in London... On Wednesday we went to that pub quiz where you can use mobile phones to find out the answers again and came a respectable third, beating The Sunday Times and Hardeep Singh Koli in the process. We came a cropper on the spelling round when they produced what I reckon is the only word in the English language that is spelt differently to how I (and everybody) thought. What are the chances? Minuscule I reckon. With a U it turns out.

On Thursday and Friday we were at probably the only internet conference in history at which the WiFi didn't work. Well, apart from the same one the previous year... It was a bit disappointing on the whole, and rather than give me ideas and inspire me to new levels of achievement or whatever, it made me despair once again that I've accidentally ended up working in the same industry as these people. The presentations were also more foul mouthed than the average punk rock gig which was a bit embarrassing. Just so you know, it seems the new geek phrase for "a lot" is "a shit tonne" which doesn't quite make sense to me. I'd have called it "a generous tonne" or at least "a reasonable tonne". And if something is bad, it "sucks shit". Also, I'm pretty sure that the woman from Facebook was either a robot, or had been hypnotised and will come to in a couple of years and it'll turn out she's never heard of the internet and can't even speak English. 

Anyway, the after party on the Thursday was pretty good because the supposedly limited free bar took coffee tokens (and, it turned out, the covers of the book that the coffee tokens came in) in lieu of beer tokens. Which is just as well, because a small bottle of Beck's was £4.50. It was already pretty bloody late when we left the club and I, in my infinite wisdom, decided that I wanted to go to a casino. I'm sure it has nothing to do with watching "21" the other day. There should probably be a rule about never going to casinos when you actually think it's a good idea... I managed to offend the dealer by saying "I preferred the other dealer" when my winnings started to dwindle immediately after they swapped. She said in a very efficient sounding Eastern European accent "You are losing because you are playing incorrectly, it has nothing to do with me." Sigh... Good times though and I had a nice chat with a gaggle of French waiters on the night bus home (I wonder what the actual collective noun for a group of French waiters is? I'm going for either "an indifference", "a snootiness" or "a getting off to piss in the street at Leytonstone"). I also got to meet my nephew again the next day, who is clearly the best baby in the world - he can sort of walk and keeps asking what things are. He was very interested in my bright red Hiroshima Carp T shirt. I hope he becomes a fan.

On Saturday night I went to see The Pony Collaboration. I know I say it every time I see them, but they really are lovely. You can't help but grin like an idiot when they play - I don't think there are any "local" bands that even come close. Get their new album, it's dead good. Dave did a really good set beforehand with Sam on drums, which was oddly punctuated by some drunk guy yelling out his support for the plight of Roman Polanski between songs. Not sure what that was about really.

Yesterday I went to The Borderline in London for the first time in a few years (I used to go there all the time until it got taken over by Mean Fiddler and immediately stopped booking any decent bands) to see James McMurtry. It felt so nice going there again, and it's such an awesome venue. Small and sweaty with a really high stage and unconvincing tex-mex decor that hasn't changed since the first time I went. I reckon if I got to play at The Borderline then I could give up without feeling like a failure. Anyway, the support act was Otis Gibbs, who's like a low rent Steve Earle, right down to the massive beard, and even a few borrowed lines, though none of the songs were near Earle standard. He was cool, as all older American guys are, and had some good stories, but I'd had enough by the time he finished.

What's odd about James McMurtry, or my following of him, is that I only actually have 2 albums, both of which are great, and both of which date back to the early 90s. I don't know why I've not filled in the gaps but it means I'm at a slight disadvantage when it comes to knowing the material. At the gig I saw in January he only played one song I knew, and the same thing happened last night ("Too Long in the Wasteland" which was surprisingly rocking, but I'd have preferred to have seen "Levelland" again instead, or, even better, as well), but I still absolutely loved it. Even more than last time. As much as I like The Luminaire, I have so much history with The Borderline (The Frames, Dar Williams, Jolene, Oh Susanna!, Jay Farrar, Angelou, without even thinking about it) and the fact that it's a smaller room makes it more intense. Much like with Steve Earle, you watch him for a few minutes and you know that he's the Real Thing. It also hit home again just how much better Americans are at playing music than British people. These guys normally just play some bar and grill on Wednesday nights in Austin and I bet there are hardly any bands in this country who are as effortlessly tight, or have such great guitar sound. And as for the songs... Let's just say he's obviously a very clever guy. I hope he comes back soon.

I'm trying to watch Superbad on my big new telly, but I can't hear it because the police helicopter monitoring the progress of marauding Luton Town fans along Newmarket Road is making a right old racket. What a game! Cambridge went 2-0 up, and things were looking good, but as soon as Luton had a man sent off we knew full well it wasn't Cambridge's day. It happens every time. Even so, conceding 4 goals in half an hour to 10 men is pretty poor show. It was very exiting though, and good to see a real football team with more than 30 fans for once. It was also fun to watch the special police camcorder division following the Luton fans around all day - I guess they're making some kind of souvenir video...

I had a very nice time on Thursday supporting Mark Morriss from The Bluetones. He's a very funny man, and, it turns out, pretty good at cryptic crosswords. I thought I played pretty well and the crowd were quiet and clapped at the right times. Can't ask for much more than that. I've been a bit down ever since about not having anything else organised, but I'm sure I'll forget about it again soon. Setlist: Watertight, Muscle Memory, This Place is Dead Anyway, The Ghost of Paddy's Night Past (formerly known as Opportunity Cost), Edinburgh, So Finally a Love Song, Soaked to the Skin. It was a treat hearing a few Bluetones songs too, especially in such an intimate room.

So, the last day of End of the Road... We started out watching about an hour of comedy, the highlights of which were probably Isy Suttie because she's cute and Robin Ince reading from some crazy books. I'm not sure in what way Ben Goldacre is comedy, but his lecture about drug companies making up conditions to sell pills was fairly interesting. Also the surprisingly ubiquitous Darren Hayman did an amusing ukulele based song about a relationship from the point of the crocodile on a Lacoste shirt.

When our knees could take no more of sitting crossed legged on the pavilion (I'm still not completely sure what the definition of a pavilion is - does anyone know?) we went for a walk in the forest, spotting The Leisure Society on the weird little stage,

and playing a game of wood and rope hoop-la. Ciaran was knocked out in the preliminary round, and then Andy soundly thrashed me in the final by managing to get a hoop on something at only the 15th attempt. He was pretty pleased with himself.

We got some tasty sheep's milk ice cream (I double scooped and tubbed up the chocolate) before watching the first real music of the day in the Big Top - The Tallest Man on Earth (he's really short - get it?). He was good for a while but it got a bit hard to tell most of the songs apart, probably because I didn't know them. The last one - King of Spain or something - was great though.

Ciaran was extremely excited about seeing Bob Log III, even though nobody had really got it last year when he played, so, in the absence of much else at the same time, we did that. He's pretty crazy - he plays really fast blues guitar while wearing a space helmet with a telephone mounted in, through which he sings nonsense lyrics, generally consisting of "Bob Log's gonna get ya" or "Bob Log likes to party" or "Bob Log's gonna get ya and make ya party with Bob Log" through, while playing a drum and cymbal with his feet, and wearing a gold catsuit. It was, in fact, really good fun this time, and made more so by an extremely drunk group of guys who were doing weird crab dancing, and secretly shooting footage with an old style cine camera not very well hidden in a wine box.

When he was done we wandered over to William Elliot Whitmore, who was kind of boring, but looked very cool

We saw Jason Molina, the singer from Magnolia Electric Co., last year, and he had a nice voice, but wasn't really gripping, and, despite there being a lot more going on, I thought the same about the band really. All I can really remember about them is that they played the first proper guitar solo that I'd seen all weekend, and actually looked like musicians are meant to. Those are both very large plus points I suppose.

Steve Earle was next, and I made sure that we were right up the front because I've not seen him for a good few years, and solo acoustic things aren't ever really going to work at a distance. The first real gig I ever went to (other than Richard Marx) was Steve Earle and The Dukes at Shepherd's Bush just after "I Feel Alright" came out, and I still consider it to be one of the best things I've ever seen. I've been wondering recently if music these days is generally less good than it used to be or if I'm just less easily impressed. I think the answer is, at least partly, that I used to see Steve Earle a lot more regularly than I do now. It was really special. He's just done an album of Townes Van Zandt songs that I've not heard, so there was a bit of material from that (Pancho and Lefty was brilliant), as well as a lovely one that doesn't feature on it called Rex's Blues. I'd heard it once before, when Earle sang it as a tribute at a solo show I went to a couple of weeks after Van Zandt died. It must be pretty good if I still remember it really clearly more than 10 years on. Maybe I should listen to more Townes Van Zandt. That song, combined with the fond stories he'd been telling about his friend (and how obviously upset he'd been at the show when I first heard it) made me a bit emotional, and when it segued into Fort Worth Blues I had to spend pretty much all of that, and the next song, attempting to wipe away tears without anybody noticing. I think the list of singers who've made me cry is up to 5 now, but I'm not totally sure. Other than one song from a recent album, that I didn't much like, I think everything he played other than Van Zandt was from El Corazon or earlier. Perfect. I can't overemphasise how great I thought it was. He made pretty much everyone else who makes music look a bit silly. There's an authenticity about him that makes acts like (for example) The Low Anthem, look like cheap imitations. It feels like he's from the last generation of "real" songwriters (Guy Clark, Townes Van Zandt et al). I can't imagine anybody my age ever reaching such legendary status. 

Nothing was really going to top that, but Neko Case was alright. The banter was good, even if the songs are a bit samey (and I knew quite a lot of them from the one album of hers I have), and she's got a great voice and band. I got tired after a while though and went for a walk to get a coat and more beer.

When I got back I watched a bit of Richmond Fontaine, because I'd heard they were great, and I'll be checking them out further when I remember, because it did seem like they were. I was suffering slightly from post-Earle depression and the feeling that the whole festival was winding down (the crowds had been noticeably thinning all day).

I'd heard a lot about the headliners, The Hold Steady, but not actually heard them, and was pleasantly surprised with how much entertaining they were. An odd looking bunch though - the lead singer was an even shorter George out of Seinfeld yelling a series of one note songs about partying with young women in Minnesota. Still, I guess it shows there's hope for us all.

I watched until a couple of songs before the end and went to get some more jerk chicken (and, because they were running out of that, a generous helping of curried goat) before trundling off to bed. 

We packed up and rolled out bright and early the next morning, stopping off at the Little Chef at Popham, which is the one that was done up by Heston Blumenthal. It does a very nice breakfast - pretty standard line up, but high quality ingredients all the way. The black pudding in particular was excellent.

After getting back to Barkingside and cleaning up a bit, Severine and I went back into London to see Okkervil River again at the Scala. I was knackered, and wondered if it was a bad idea, but it was excellent again - not overly different to the End of the Road set (except we got Westfall) but I loved every second. I hope they come back soon. The support act, Wye Oak, were ace too - a girl on guitar, and a guy playing drums and keys at the same time.

It was a brilliant weekend. End of the Road has to be the best festival, in terms of music and food at least, in Britain, and when the weather is perfect and the company is good, I don't see how it could be beaten. Except maybe by having Steve Earle play for twice as long.

I was told to put this picture up the other day by Derren Brown, but I forgot.

A few of us went to see the world premiere (!) of "'Sno Angel, Winging it", a film about Howe Gelb's tour with a gospel choir last night at the Arts Picturehouse, followed by a very entertaining Q&A with the man himself and the director. The film itself was excellent, and really, really made me want to go on a little tour again. Or at least play a bit more. Fortunately I've got a gig with the guy from The Bluetones at The Portland tomorrow night to either satisfy that a bit, or put me off playing again, depending on how it goes. I wasn't really familiar with Gelb's work, but I think I'll check it out now - he's very cool indeed.

I spent most of the weekend actually doing some mixing and stuff (I'm aiming to get a short thing done by the end of the year so I can start on a new proper one - I've got some new songs coming that I think might be ok. I'm sure I won't), and watching the now weekly Red Arrows display from my window.

There was a Vulcan bomber too (very big, and very loud) and there were WWII planes on Saturday during the football - everyone sang the Dambusters theme as they flew over. It was pretty great.

Anyway, more of End of the Road. We were up bright and early (and, because it was camping, hangover free) on the Saturday for a breakfast burrito (nice, but I find the juxtaposition of unheated salsa and hot potato/bacon mix a bit weird) and a wander until The Leisure Society came on at midday. They were perfect for a sunny lunchtime - poppy and cheerful (though, 2 ukuleles? really?) - but I'll not be investigating further I don't think. There was just time for an unsuccessful wishing well hunting expedition before Darren Hayman, who was pretty disappointing to be honest. I really loved it last year when he played Hefner stuff (not that I knew any of it) but the new songs aren't really my thing. They don't seem as poignant as the older stuff and I'm not sure they're even especially clever. Maybe I'm just not especially clever.

We left about halfway through to go and see Motel Motel who had impressed on the CD on the way, and they had some moments of crunching brilliance (essentially whenever the overly full of himself nasal singer wasn't singing - the other guys are all ace).

When they'd finished we went back to the main stage to give The Low Anthem another go, and I enjoyed them much more, not least because they played "Charlie Darwin" really early on and we left after that to go and watch The Boy Least Likely To, who I liked a lot, despite their outrageous tweeness and George Michael cover.

The Broken Family Band were next and were excellent - one of the top 3 sets of the weekend I reckon (and easily the best thing up to this point), I still find it odd that a "local" band (even though I know full well they've outgrown that now) are one of the best live acts around - I'm pretty gutted they're stopping at the end of next month.

We sat in the sun for a while outside the small tent listening to First Aid Kit (they sound great on paper - teenage Swedish sisters singing in harmony, but in practice sounded like they were trying a bit hard to me, admittedly at a distance, through a tent) before going to check out Malcolm Middleton, who I've heard a lot about over the last couple of years but never seen. He didn't sound as miserable as I'd been led to believe - less Cohen, more Ballboy. I'd like to see him somewhere smaller (or be nearer the front) because the sound wasn't great (though it was generally much better in the Big Top than last year).

After some pretty amazing jerk chicken we suffered through Alela Diane to get position for Okkervil River. To be fair, any given minute of her is pretty good, but I was digging my fingernails into my hands after a couple of identical songs about how big mountains are or something, and there's no excuse for playing Matty F. Groves in this day and age - when I am king it will an offence on the same scale as Streets of London. Still, I enjoyed it more than last time I saw her.

Anyway, it was worth it because we were right up the front for Okkervil, and they were absolutely fantastic. So much energy, enthusiasm, and great, great songs. Lyrically I think Will Sheff is way ahead of pretty much everyone else out there (though if anyone thinks different, I'd really like to hear who is). The beer was flowing nicely by this point and I did a nice lot of yelling.

Fleet Foxes were up next on the main stage and the thought of watching them for an hour and a half was actually making me angry (Severine did watch them and said they were very boring and didn't play the two songs she liked until the end), so we went to see Efterklang, who'd been bumped up the bill a bit becaue The Horrors pulled out. Now, granted, I was a bit drunk, but I thought they were amazing. So intense, and so different to anything I could ever imagine making. I've listened to the albums a bit since and didn't like them so much, but live I was completely blown away. They're playing in London with a symphony orchestra next month - I don't know whether to go, or if it'll be ruined by unrealistic expectations.

We saw a bit of Charlie Parr in the small tent, who was a hell of a player, but I'm not into blues really, and then stumbled across Robin Ince leading some comedy round the library round the tree. I was really quite drunk by this point, but I'm pretty sure it was very funny indeed. Especially a rambling story about how jellyfish don't actually attack people from Leeds on account of not having a central nervous system. And a man dressed as a lion doing some dancing. Lion dancing. See? See?

There was still time to accidentally see Darren Hayman again in the small tent, followed by Motel Motel again (much better at close quarters because you couldn't hear the singer so much, though you could still see him unfortunately - he has one of those faces...) before we stumbled back to the tent, talking about how good they'd be if they got a different singer, and collapsed.

It was a good day. I was hoping to fit Sunday into this episode too, but I have to go out, and it would've made it very, very long. One day I'll catch up with life again.