good to be back

As you'll have heard, Israel's air-strikes yesterday killed more than 60 civilians, including 34 children. Faced with the inevitable outrage, Israel announced last night that it was calling a 48 hour halt to bombing so that the remaining civilians could vacate South Lebanon.

No confirmation or details yet, but The Guardian are carrying a news ticker update right now which reads:

LATEST: Israeli jets bomb south Lebanon despite suspending air attacks for 48 hours.

I really hope that's not true. If it is, then are we are talking a war crime?

hugely frustrating

A hugely disappointing outcome in the Rome talks yesterday, made all the more bitter because we'd been led to believe in recent days - first via Kim Howells and then via 'sources close to Blair' - that Britain may indeed be moving towards a more even-handed understanding of the Israeli-Lebanon crisis. That we should have come out of the talks having frustrated attempts at brokering a ceasefire - via a bit of semantic wrangling over the word 'immediate' - is another source of shame to add to the list of foreign-policy woes. To see Margaret Beckett, who used to be a politician of real substance and integrity, reduced to this is but a minor irritation when stacked up against the knowledge that, two weeks after the fighting began, we are standing back and watching rather than doing something about such large-scale and calamitious conflict. Minds are inevitably cast back to Sarajevo or Rwanda.

In the meantime, are Israel getting anywhere? A correspondent in today's paper - Gordon Anderson from Glasgow - runs through a list of popular movements which have survived attempts to 'destroy them' with military action - the list includes "the FLN, the Vietminh, the Vietcong, the Mujahaddin, the IRA" and points out that the West is getting no further with Hizbullah, Hamas, or the Taliban. "Resistance movements invariably arise from a sense of injustice and are neutralised only when the injustice is resolved", he points out.

In The New Statesman today Charles Glass - who was kidnapped by Hizbollah in 1987, incidentally - quotes former CIA agent Ray Close, who in a recent open email wrote that:

"One of the definitions of madness is the repetition countless times of the same action, always expecting a different result. For more than half a century, the Israelis have been applying the tactic of massively disproportionate retaliation to every provocative act of resistance attempted by the Palestinians, expecting every time that this would bring peace and security to all the people of the Holy Land. Every single time they have done this, it has backfired. Every single time."

I'm not sure that I know enought about the history of the region to endorse that without hesitation (three key things we must not forget: Israel has a right to exist, it has a right to secure its borders, and a right to defend itself), but there's little doubt that its response has been disproportionate and there's no doubt at all that its actions won't do anything to promote stability in the region. That the US neocons are once more imagining a domino effect simply beggars belief. (Sidney Blumenthal thinks they're thinking along the following lines: "Israel's attacks will demolish Hizbullah; the Lebanese will blame Hizbullah and destroy its influence; and the backlash will extend to Hamas, which will collapse. From the administration's point of view, this is a proxy war with Iran (and Syria) that will inexplicably help turn around Iraq"). Today, incidentally, Hizbollah have fired over 150 missiles at Israel - the most since the war started.

What now, then? The Guardian leader is pretty coherant. We all know that the US foreign policy of the last five years has systematically burnt almost every diplomatic bridge with the Middle East, so negotiation - the only way to bring about a peace settlement, assuming that we even convince our government and America's that that is necessary - is absurdly difficult. The US won't talk to Iran (and in fairness, would be asked impossible questions about nuclear proliferation if it did) but not all diplomatic routes to Damascus are entirely closed, and "what Ms Rice needs to do is cancel her trip to Malaysia and return to the Middle East sharpish, and not just to Israel. The US has to end its policy of blocking diplomacy".

As for Beckett, so disappointing so far, she must go to Tehran. Jack Straw did it repeatedly but so far she's shown no inclination and shows every sign of cow-towing to US policy. Time to change that for the sake of peace.

As the leader puts it,

"No country can expect to face attacks from outside, as Israel has done, without reply. But Israel's reply has been completely disproportionate. This is Olmert's war, largely about the new Israeli prime minister establishing his political credibility, needing to demonstrate he is as tough as Ariel Sharon. He may have miscalculated. Britain should not be party to Olmert's folly."

Update: This is how Israel's Justice Minister, Haim Ramon, interpreted the failure to reach agreement at Rome. He told Israel Army Radio today that "We received yesterday at the Rome conference permission from the world ... to continue the operation, this war, until Hizbullah won't be located in Lebanon and until it is disarmed".

The New Arabia

It's so easy in these times to get very upset and depressed about the situation in the Middle East and the uncertain implications for the well being of the world as a whole. The Iraq fiasco of 2003, and the seemingly terminal decline of it as a functioning state ever since, acts as an open wound in the very heart of the region. At the same time, Iran - a youthful and proud nation - is very much at a crossroads in its development, yet at the moment it feels that it is cornered by a hostile world.

Internal angst involving politics, the role of religion, womens rights and its relations with the West give a confusing and sometimes alarming impression to visitors and foreign powers alike as to the path which the country is set to take. The established Israeli policy of 'might is right', unleashed on many of its neighbours, and the regression - perhaps in part as a result of this - of a number of nations into a state of near feudal paralysis breeding extremism, poverty and despair, seems to make these apocalyptic visions all too prevalent in our current imaginings of the region.

Amidst all this turmoil, positive news is hard to come by. I have been fascinated therefore with a recent BBC Documentary series aired on the World Service which toured some of the often overlooked Arab states to get a feel for them and report back many positive things about what the future may hold. The series visited Dubai in the UAE, Oman and Qatar. All these states in different ways are using their wealth - primarily gained from oil and gas extraction - to expand and diversify their economies.

In the case of Dubai, which has solicited massive foreign investment, as well as using much of its own money, to transform a patch of desert into a modern city and transport hub, their efforts are well publicised. However, I was particularly interested to hear about the path being plotted by the government and people of Qatar.

Whereas Dubai wants to be seen as a Financial centre, Qatar - assured of the massive gas reserves which it is now selling around the world in liquefied form - is establishing itself as a seat of learning in the region. If Qatar is known at all in the West at present, it is most likely for being the base for the Arabic satellite television station al-Jazeera; a station which first rose to prominence during the second Gulf War and has since gained the respect of many journalists and media analysts throughout the world for its professionalism and its non-compromising and often controversial news output. The station, it is worth noting, is also soon to launch a Children's channel. Its makers hope that instead of simply showing cartoons, it will give watching children the opportunity to learn, and to learn how to question. The al-Jazeera Network receives its funding from the Emir of Qatar, Sheik Hamad bin-Khalifa al-Thani, who sees the channels as part of his plans for a parliamentary democracy in the Gulf state. It is free to criticise the Emir, and also – notably - other Arab governments.

Qatar is making impressive strides towards a liberal, Islamic and yet politically plural society, not least with the establishment of what is known as "Education City" on the outskirts of its capital Doha. The aim of this mega-campus of learning is to invite foreign universities to open up branches and to export their methods of learning. Unlike in traditional Arab education, classes are mixed and two thirds of the soon to number 8000 students are women. Teaching methods are a fusion of Western and Middle Eastern. Similar models of democratic forms of higher education are being established across the Middle East, most notably in Oman and the UAE.

As you might expect, traditional elements in all of these societies object to some of the reforms taking place. There is a tradition of tribalism which has hindered free elections, but this is being countered by the general will to move at suitable pace towards democracy. In Qatar every citizen now has the right to vote in upcoming elections and anyone can run for office. Further, north Kuwait has also recently held local elections where women could vote and stand as candidates.

The aim of a number of states in the region seems to be to build a framework of a more liberal society, but also to provide the know-how of how to make it work. A highly positive and encouraging move, and something which you may be forgiven for thinking is almost entirely lacking in a place like Iraq, where a system has been imposed without the gradual introduction of democratic institutions and facilities. The adjustment period in that nation's case is proving to be very traumatic indeed.

These Gulf States, which are currently and rapidly diversifying and exploring ways of introducing a progressive education system, want the legacy of their vast oil and gas wealth to be used to benefit their future generations - not simply to live in benevolence, but to contribute to an Arab Renaissance whereby Arab ideas and inventions are once again helping to shape the course of human history.

[Blogging by Dan]

impossible wisdom

I read the most wonderful sentence in the book I'm reading - Black Swan Green by David Mitchell - this morning, which is my new mantra in the face of everything:

"Me, I want to bloody kick this moronic bloody world in the bloody teeth over and over till it bloody understands that not hurting people is ten bloody thousand times more bloody important than being right."

haircuts and beards

Two things I learned today:

1. I hate having conversations with barbers. While I'm having my hair cut, I mean.

2. Pick your post-office monkey carefully.

I had to queue for about fifteen minutes in the post office earlier today to get my passport renewed, and as I approached the front of the line and observed the staff behind the counter, it occurred to me strongly that the four middle aged staff, kind expressions all, would be much more efficient than the lad on the central counter. Something about the hoxton fin, set jaw and vacant expression. So naturally I got him and presented my documents. He looked at my application forms. Fine. He looked at my new passport photographs. Fine. He looked at my passport itself, specifically the photo in the back, and frowned.

Lad: do you have any proof this is you?
Me: *I stare at him incredulously. Granted the photo in my passport was taken ten years ago but I flatter myself to think that, apart from a few natural changes, I've really not aged all that badly. Further, for the first time in about ten years I've actually just had my hair cut - this morning! - into the same style as I wore when I was a whippersnappeer. And I'm still pencil thin. It's plainly me.*
Lad: I think we'll need to get this verified.
Me: What do you mean?
Lad: By a third party. Countersigned.
Me: Is that really necessary?
Lad: You've changed quite a lot.
Me: Ten years does that to you.
Lad: *points lamely at me* You've got a beard.
Me: Yes.
Lad: You'll need it countersigned. Someone has to write 'I verify that this is Jonathan Shipley' on the back.
Me: OK. Who does it have to be?
Lad: It can be anyone?
Me: Anyone?
Lad: Yes.
Me: *looks stunned*
Lad: Oh, maybe it should be someone who's known you for more than two years.
Me: OK, then.

Dan tells me about Reading...

I'm going to Reading twice in the next week or so; once on Friday on work business, and once again next week for Womad. In the pub, stewing on our pints, I asked Dan, "so, what's Reading actually like?".

For a few minutes he looked down at his pint and said nothing. And then this was what he said...

"I know where the epicentre of new Labour, corporate, consumerist blandness lies. I know it well. It's in Reading, Berkshire.

I have found myself having the same recurrent daydream recently, where I am on the BBC2 show Room 101 and Paul Merton asks me what I would like to condemn forever to that room in Broadcasting House made famous by Orwell. I quite enjoy it really, so many things leap into my thoughts of what I think the world would be better without - SUVs, this morally corrupt and tiresome Labour government, Razorlight... but the one thing that leaps higher than the rest is the town that I grew up near, Reading. My simple but long held grudge against the place is that despite its affluence and its growing population it can’t rise above the terminal blandness and ‘middle Englandness’ it seems to have always had.

OK, a little history. Throughout the 1970s and 1980s Reading was described as the ‘average town of Britain’. Well deserved too, for had you visited this town during this period you would have witnessed the badly planned emergence of a country market town into what its leaders hoped would be a regional commercial and transport hub.

Situated nearly midway on the M4 corridor between London and Bristol, Reading did grow rapidly and succeeded in attracting businesses to central Berkshire. Hordes of the middle classes followed (my family included) and the suburbs swelled and merged with surrounding villages. The town built amongst other projects what was called the ‘Inner Distribution Road’ (or IDR for those from the ‘Ding) smashing through poor neighbourhoods and linking together larger roads in its path. The citizens of Reading could now visit their concrete Civic monstrosities - such as the Hexagon theatre - with comparative ease. Or they could go to… well that’s about it really. Since the closure of its last live music venue there’s been nowhere for a mid to large sized band to play. The arts centre in the town's south keeps a small flame burning but Reading doesn’t generally seem to be put out by it’s loss.

The town points to the fact that it hosts the Reading and Womad festivals and true enough they are long standing fixtures, but they are both located away from the town centre and you would be hard pressed to find any representation of either of them around town aside from going in to HMV to buy tickets. Womad even advertises itself as being held in Rivermead, not Reading. The music Reading likes is heard coming out of its late license bars on Friday and Saturday whilst Bouncers outside places with names like The Ice Bar and Reflex check to see if you are wearing smart shoes and an obligatory shirt from Top Man or H&M.

Argh!

Reading is rubbish… Reading is awful local radio. Jingles for ‘Reading Bedding’ and local car dealerships are built around Robbie Williams songs which then echo down the streets and in the shops.

It is bored and dissatisfied young people planning their escape, it’s a football club who plays in a shed resembling an out of town B&Q and whose torrid home games with their dire atmosphere are (ahem) bound to take the Premiership by storm this season.

Reading is bland office blocks dominating the sky line which are filled with no-name insurance companies. Reading is the ability to build yet more blandness whilst not realizing the towns’ already major flaw. Reading is ensuring its population is enslaved to the pursuit of owning every little desirable commodity bought from its multitude of retail outlets (found of course everywhere else) and filling its 4 bedroom houses above the level of the dado rails with stuff nobody needs. Reading is the uncomfortable mix of new highly paid IT workers and their families mixing (or not) with the working classes of the west of the town.

Reading is a rip off, Reading is unfriendly, Reading is in a rush to purchase and then to get home.

There is thankfully a resistance movement to the all encompassing blandness, though. Small bands of the resistant hang out in some of the very few independent bars. As you enter one of these you are given a knowing smile as if you too have survived the street fighting outside, made it in and are amongst friends now. I remember the Friends Solidarity Centre and café Iguana in the town being like this. There is then perhaps hope.

I wonder that if John Betjeman was alive today he may be inspired to write something like;

Come friendly Hezbollah rockets and fall on Reading!
You can start maybe with Reading Bedding…

Sorry Reading, I wish you well but you really are the pits."

Thanks Dan!!

library blogging 2 (by Vic)

(Tramp is sitting at a table, scratching his grizzled beard with a weatherbeaten hand. He is reading "The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People")

library blogging (by Vic)

Kid: Mum, can I get a book out?
Mum: Yes, of course. What is it?
Kid: It's a poetry book called 'Pets Pets Pets'
Mum: Oh really? What's it about?

still running the world

Jesus Christ, have you seen this - the transcript of Bush and Blair caught live on tape today:

Bush: Yo Blair How are you doing?
Blair: I'm just...
Bush: You're leaving?
Blair: No, no, no not yet. On this trade thingy...[inaudible]
Bush: yeah I told that to the man
Blair: Are you planning to say that here or not?
Bush: If you want me to
Blair: Well, it's just that if the discussion arises...
Bush: I just want some movement.
Blair: Yeah
Bush: Yesterday we didn't see much movement
Blair: No, no, it may be that it's not, it maybe that it's impossible
Bush: I am prepared to say it
Blair: But it's just I think what we need to be an opposition
Bush: Who is introducing the trade
Blair: Angela
Bush: Tell her to call 'em
Blair: Yes
Bush: Tell her to put him on them on the spot.Thanks for the sweaters it's awfully thoughtful of you
Blair: It's a pleasure
Bush: I know you picked it out yourself
Blair: Oh, absoultely, in fact I knitted it myself

And I'm cutting before Bush starts talking about Syria...

How does the chorus to the new Jarvis Cocker single go again?

dog blogging

Me and Nat took a canine friend of ours, Gatsby, out for a walk at one in the morning the other night. It was the first time I have ever walked a dog, I think, unless you count holding on to a dog's lead - his name was Jack - for a few minutes during a holiday in Wales when I was a child. Gatsby is a pretty big dog, too, and I am a notorious weakling, so I was satisfied to discover that I was capable of administering a decent grip on the hound at all times, even when he became animated at the distant sight of a black shape crawling across the black grass up ahead. I held firm and led Gatsby into St. Anne's Well Gardens, where we held our position while Natalia went to investigate. Having pulled rank, I walked Gatsby back over to a safe distance and found that the object of his attention was a small hedgehog. And looking up I saw another retreating into the distance.

a hedgehog, yesterday.

Soon we were joined by one of those groups of teenage boys who perpetually hang around parks at one o'clock in the morning, and in the light from someone's mobile phone we examined the critter, who, neglecting to roll into a ball, was clearly a pretty tough character and not too intimidated. Well, I hope not. While we, gregarious from drink - we'd spent the evening in the pub - chatted to the kids (all cooed over the dog and one took his wallet from his pocket to show me a photo of his own), Natalia bent over and lifted the hedgehog's two front feet, gently, as if he were a wheelbarrow. I stroked his needles and thought of the stiff twigs and bristles on an outdoor broom. It would be in keeping with the bucolic nature of the scene if I could then report that he ambled gingerly off, but in fact the animal reached a pretty good pace as he scuttled away, leaving us wondering why we were all there standing in a big circle, our conversation finished.

Dogs - and hedgehogs - are excellent spurs for random conversations. And blog posts.

on the stereo

Currently liztening to:

1. The Young Knives - Loughborough Suicide: Easily the best thing the thrilling 'Knives have done to date, this is just tremendous; an elegant, caustic little slice of small-town ennui which occasionally splutters into The Jam-style fury. The lyrics marginally edge it over the tune, with Henry spluttering "I'll never go down fighting" while House intones "Well, it's cold cold cold and I think I'm gonna die in here / considering Loughborough suicide, which I'm definitely going to do, this year / And if you take a look outside then the answer to your question is quite clear / that you may as well leave because there's nothing else to do around here". When the guitars briefly erupt into a kinetic little riff half way through something physical happens and I want to punch the air. Ace.

2. Lily Allen - Little Things: Apart from the luminous 'LDN', my favourite Lily Allen song so far, from the first wistful lines ("Sometimes I find myself sitting back and reminiscing / Especially when I have to watch other people kissing") to the way she alternates between sassy wit ("Drinkin' tea in bed, watching DVDs / when I discovered all your dirty grotty magazines") and girlishness ("the first time that you introduced me to your friends / and you could tell I was nervous, so you held my hand") - it's lovely. Best of all, obviously, is her voice, which is unshowy yet demonstrative, and totally convincing, especially when she sings lines like "I know it sounds lame but its so true". It is.

3. Midlake - Roscoe: Dan is loudly proclaiming Midlake's 'The Trials of Van Occupanther' as record of the year so far, and he mightn't be far wrong - it's a super little record, all beguiling harmonies, soft-rock piano riffs, buzzing synths and bucolic calm. It may seem lazy to pick the first track on the album as the best song, but it's really beautiful. Clincher is the escalating harmonies and the line "Whenever I was a child I wondered what if my name had changed into something more productive like... Roscoe", which triggers a little cascade of shivers. Soft rock need not sound like The Feeling.

4. Sol Seppy - The Bells of 1 2 LP: Another Dan-discovery, via last month's Wire Tapper, this is a lovely, insular record. You can test the water by downloading a track here. If you can't be bothered to do that, I'll just tell you that the album is strange and beautiful; acoustic folkiness switching with churning Velvets guitars, the odd glitchsome beat and some ethereal, rather gorgeous vocals. And Sol Seppy mainwoman Sophie Michalitsianos is kind of, erm, pretty, too. And stop looking at me like that. I would have said the same of the Young Knives if it were true.

5. Jarvis Cocker - Running The World: chiefly here because it proves that Jarvis can still do it, rather than because it's streets ahead of the other stuff I've been listening to this month (honorable mentions to Quarterstance, Tapes 'n Tapes, Herbert, Infinite Livez and Plan B); it's much as you'd expect, really - lots of keyboards, neat guitars and a het up Jarvis on fine lyrical form, claiming that it isn't cream that rises to the top in life but shit, and that the "cunts are still ruling the world". Neat, and right. You can download the song here if you're minded.

agents of peace

It's not like we expect world leaders to bring about instant change, to suddenly intervene in a positive way. We know from history that civil wars, border disputes, tribal rivalries and religious squabbles are ludicrously hard to heal; so no-one expects of George Bush that he will be capable of sorting out the current situation in Lebanon. His track record and reputation in the Middle East make that a comical notion. But we might expect, at the very least, a measured statement, something which demonstrates that, even if he retains a clear sympathy for the Israeli side of the equation, he has an understanding of the situation and a desire to do what he can to alleviate the tension and prevent more needless suffering. Surely?

And yet this is his statement, stunning in its bone-headedness, when asked how he saw the situation yesterday, "My attitude is this: there are a group of terrorists who want to stop the advance of peace. Those of us who are peace living (sic) must work together to help the agents of peace". Canada's Stephen Harper, meanwhile - with whom Blair spent yesterday (miffed at Bush cuddling up to Merkel perhaps?) - goes a step further. "I think Israel's response under the circumstances has been measured", he said. There is no argument that the Israeli soldiers should not be immediately released, and the actions of Hezbollah obviously need condemning in the strongest terms. But Israel's ludicrous threat to turn the clock back twenty years, their actions in destroying the economic infrastructure of Beirut and killing many civilians along the way are violently dispropportionate and excessive. Any conception that this Israeli government is an 'agent of peace' must surely now be dissmissed as a fantasy.

guardian linking to sources

Perhaps the Guardian have been doing this for a while and I have missed it, but I just noticed that in today's article on the fact that 82% of polled Israelis apparently would endorse the assasination of Hamas leaders, the paper has started including links in the main body of the article. Generally speaking I think that this is an excellent idea and a valuable way of acknowledging sources and verifying statistics. They only do it twice, and in a rather understated way, but my prediction is that we'll see a lot more of this in months to come. Cool.

SM / Pavement rumours

Well, I don't believe a word of this, but I'm still upset about the decline of Sleater-Kinney, so I'm using it to cheer myself up. According to some gossip doing the rounds on the gossip thread at the Sonic Youth website:

"i just got out of the sonic youth show at bonnaroo (im in the press/media tent) so we have internet capabilities. Stephen Malkmus just did Expressway to yr skull with sy as the encore. also backstage, not to start rumors, but i heard malkmus talking to mark ibold and saying 'man we should get back together, we shud get back together and do some shows'"

I'm such a Pavement geek that I get a kick out of Malkmus just being on stage on with Mark Ibold again (Ibold is playing bass for SY since Jim O'Rourke left), so you can imagine how I feel about the prospect of a Pavement reunion. I'm sure it won't happen, but just think of it...

There's a new SM track up on Stereogum, incidentally. It's practically unlistenable. Yay!

oh no!

Damn. You have a decent week and a really nice Friday night. And then you get home and discover that Sleater-Kinney just split up. Fuck fuck fuck.

more on trident

Sorry, more copy and pasting from the paper:

According to the Guardian today:

"The government must explain the purpose of a British nuclear deterrent, something it has failed to do so far, a cross-party committee of MPs says in a hard-hitting report on the future of the Trident missile system published today.

"The most pressing threat currently facing the UK is that of international terrorism," says the Commons defence committee. But witnesses to its inquiry - the Ministry of Defence refused to give evidence - overwhelmingly argued that "the strategic nuclear deterrent could serve no useful or practical purpose in countering this kind of threat".

The MPs say they heard no evidence that Britain faced a current or impending threat from any established nuclear weapons state, and it was not possible to identify future threats with any certainty.

[...]

The committee says: "Before making any decisions on the future of the strategic nuclear deterrent, the MoD should explain its understanding of the purpose and continuing relevance of nuclear deterrence now and over the lifetime of any potential Trident successor system."

Any decision to keep nuclear weapons, must be made "only after a full public debate ... It must not be made in secret"."

Yup.

kicking labour when they're down

It's been a while since Dan has left a comment on my blog telling me off for using too much material cribbed shamelessly from The Guardian, so I thought I'd take advantage of some articles in the last couple of day's papers to string a few points of interest together. Firstly, it's not at all surprising to see a bunch of letters taking that idiot Blair to task for his utterly inane article the other day, something that braggard Neal Lawson has been doing via Compass (click here for Andrew's thoughts on that) doing so, incidentally, with none of Catherine Bennett's panache and style. In her column today she writes:

"It is the best of times, but is it also the worst of times?" Which hubristic Blair ghostwriter decided to paraphrase the opening lines of A Tale of Two Cities for the benefit of Guardian readers this week? It seems hard to believe that it was the Blair ghostwriter who, concluded the same piece with the challenge: "If there's a better idea, let's hear it." Nor, for that matter, does it seem likely that the Dickens fan would have contributed felicities such as, "they didn't want less contestability", or "the creativity of the frontline".

Aside from its absolute determination not to discuss, mention, or even accept by implication the existence of war in Iraq, the most striking thing about Blair's article was surely its lurching unevenness of tone. One minute the prime minister was in brainy mode, aligning the achievements of his administration ("it is the best of times") with those of the American and French revolutions, and wearily regretting his critics' habit of "looking back in anger", the next he was reverting to vacuous, conference-speak ("Michelle, a mother of four from Oldham"), or switching to the dead language of Thinktankish ("truly enabling, not controlling"), or making his point in the livelier, chatshow demotic of "flunk" and "dump". Presumably, whichever committee was responsible - it would be too worrying to think that this display of mental confusion was Blair's own unaided work - could not decide whether it was best to appeal to Guardian-based critics in a familiar, one-bien-pensant-to-another sort of way, or to challenge these awkward customers, once and for all, to bring it on if they think they're hard enough.

But that still leaves us with the problem of "contestability". What can it be? Plainly it is a good thing because it is listed along with consumer choice and diversity of provision as something that - though deprecated by his critics - people Blair respects (the voluntary sector, the National Consumer Council) want more of. It is a word that appears to be borrowed from the inscrutable world of Gordon Brown, or insurance - where, I understand, it refers to the conditions under which the insurer may contest or void the life policy. It seems unlikely Blair was talking about that.

So we shall have to guess at his meaning in the context of an article about renewal. Could "contestability" translate as the potential for the provision of a public service - education, say, or healthcare - to be contested, in the sense of competed, or bid for, by rival providers? Which is to say, privatised? At any rate, if there is a better definition, let's hear it."

Maybe the interested reader should take a look at this, at this point. I think it might be contestability in action. Happily, plenty of people have seen it, which is why Patricia Hewitt has just issued a statement saying that the advertisement in question (the govt has been discovered placing an ad in an EU journal inviting companies to begin "a competitive dialogue" about how they could take over the purchasing of healthcare for millions of NHS patients) does "not accurately reflect government policy", and indeed, "contrary to reports in some newspapers, there is no question whatsoever of 'privatising' the NHS".

Right, we'll remember you said that, Ms. Hewitt.

Elsewhere, it's enormously satisfying to see Labour getting a right good kicking in Blaenau Gwent and being told, quite properly, that "You take people for granted at your peril". If you had told me in 1997 that one day the constituency of Nye Bevan and Michael Foot would vote out Labour I'd have called you a lunatic. If you'd have told me I'd be glad to see it happen I'd have said you were a total lunatic.

But I'm not - they got what they deserved.

time for plan b

I've read a few reviews which marvel over the lyrics on the new Plan B record, particularly his jaw-dropping last verse on Sick 2 Def, so instead of adding to the hyperbole by expanding, I've just typed out the first half of the verse in question as a demonstration of the guy's talent. Maybe you have to know the song to really get the pattern, but even so some of the phrases are tremendous. I'm not sure that the whole album is of a standard comparable to, say, Skinnyman's 'Council Estate of Mind' or one of Dizzee's efforts, but when he's on form then his rapping really soars.

You can hear Sick 2 Def on Plan B's Myspace page...

"The last verse is just as bad as the first,
but compared to the second, yo, it's definitely worse,
cause it's about a guy getting chauffered in a hearse.
Let me do what Nas did and tell this shit in reverse.

The hearse brings the corpse back to the morgue,
the guy from the morgue undresses the corpse,
the embalming fluid goes back out, the blood goes back in,
body goes back to hospital where it comes alive again.

The paramedics walk backwards like an Irish dance,
put the wounded man back in the ambulance.
The ambulance's engine turns back on
and its lights flash, the siren plays his favourite song.

The guy goes back to the exact spot where they found him
and the medics and the passers-by go back where they came from,
'til eventually no-one surrounds him
and the blood pours up him rather than down him.

The man then falls upwards, back on his feet,
stumbles towards a dark figure on the other side of the street,
he walks into the blade, that cut his belly,
then he holds his neck, which was bleeding already.

He removes his hands so that you can see the cut
and as the knife undoes the slice, it closes back up.
He unsays the words he said - which were 'what the fuck?',
and unscreams the scream from the first initial cut..."

Is it just me, or is that pretty terrific stuff?

chichester on a friday lunchtime

Here a few more photos from my new camera. The sun being out is so much of an incitement to take photos; suddenly everything and everyone looks lovely.

the lake house

Agh, busy day today so just time for a bit of cut and pasting; Peter Bradshaw's film reviews in the Guardian are a pretty reliable good read, but his review of The Lake House, which sounds like a particularly inane time-slip love story, wherein Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock live in the same house two years apart but manage to communicate by writing grafitti on the walls for each other to find in the future, is particularly good. It doesn't sound like a film that would hold my attention and it certainly didn't hold Bradshaw's. Before long his mind is wandering....

"There's only one problem with all this lovelorn loveliness, and it's not the plot-holes. Philistine non-romantics, male and female, will see it right away and be obsessed with it all the way through the movie. If you were corresponding with some sweet soul two years in the future, you might well find yourself writing: "Mmm. Yeah, Jane Austen's Persuasion is your favourite book? Oh wow; gosh you've had an unhappy love life, me too; yikes, your relationship with your dad was tough, yeah, me too, hey that's sad, I wish I was there to comfort you properly, NOW TELL ME WHAT THE LOTTERY NUMBERS ARE GOING TO BE. I'll hit the jackpot and leave half the loot in a railway luggage locker for you to pick up in two years' time! Trust me!"

As Keanu and Sandra simpered away to themselves up on the screen in their little 84 Charing Cross Road nightmare, the alternative version unspooled inside my head. Keanu scores a double-rollover lottery payout with Sandra's six numbers and immediately heads off to Acapulco with his secretary, forgetting all about Sandra. She opens up the luggage locker at Grand Central Station, wherein she finds nada. Furiously, Sandra prevails upon an ex-boyfriend, a theoretical physics major, to design and build for her a time machine. It is in this remarkable device, on the top of which helicopter rotors are attached, that she lands on the beach where Keanu is canoodling. She pulls a gun and forestalls Keanu's excuses by busting a cap in his duplicitous ass. Credits. Sadly, all we get in this existing version is slush. What it needed was a bit of realism."

Full review here, but you've just read the best bit.

"a full and frank public debate"

I love that phrase. It makes my life so easy. When I hear a politician say that he wants the nation to have "a full and frank public debate" about something, I know intuitively that I have a moment or two to remain calm, gather my senses and relax. Because in a matter of seconds I'm going to be very angry indeed. Politicians only ever ask for a full and frank public debate when they know that they are going to do something anyway, and hang the consequences.

Of course, because I am angry every time I hear this phrase, this means that I am very angry a lot of the time, and it's getting hard to know what I am even angry about now. Am I angry this morning that, for instance, the likes of Geraldine Smith MP are agitating for a wholly unnecessary further restriction on the Abortion Act? Very possibly. Am I angry about Gordon Brown's announcement that he is committed to replacing Trident, Britain's independent nuclear deterrant? That sounds quite plausible too. Or am I angry because John Reid is considering importing a varient of the US's ridiculous 'Megan's Law'? It could be that instead.

This is getting ridiculous.

- 88% of abortions take place under 13 weeks, 60% under 10 weeks and only 1% after 20 weeks, mostly among the 'very vulnerable'.

I know, let's legislate against that vulnerable percent.

- According to The office of the children's commissioner, Claire Phillips, "Introducing a version of 'Megan's law' in the UK would do nothing to help parents keep their children safe from sex offenders. In fact, it could increase the risk of sexual abuse from strangers as offenders could be forced 'underground' after being released into the community, making it more difficult for authorities to monitor them. And it could encourage vigilante activity within communities.

"We are concerned that a version of Megan's law could detract from the fact that children are most at risk from people known to them. We would prefer to see more efforts directed in this area with further emphasis on early therapeutic treatment for the victims of sexual abuse."

- Meanwhile, don't worry about Trident. Granted, Michael Meacher - worried that Parliament won't be consulted - has tabled a motion calling for a full parliamentary vote on Trident (which has been signed by 122 MPs, including 93 from Labour), but I'm sure this government would never try to bypass the House in this way.

From today's Guardian:

At prime minister's questions in the Commons yesterday, Mr Blair was challenged by Labour backbencher Gordon Prentice to give MPs a vote on Trident.

Mr Blair responded: "There should be the fullest possible debate on this issue. I am sure there will be."

The fullest possible debate! Woo-hoo. So long as it's also frank, I think we'll be OK.

This government sucks.

me in the sun

I've just got a new phone and can finally - due to a freak improvement in the signal I pick up - actually make and receive telephone calls now; a massive plus, when you think about it. I can also, I note, take pretty good photos with the built in camera, as evidenced by the shot below, which, yes, is almost totally ruined by the fact that I am standing with the sun right behind me. But you can't have everything.

Note the pub in the background. I had just walked straight past it on the way home. With the sun out and everything. That's right, you heard right.

Straight past.

young knives and the immediate in brighton

I think I've probably written enough about the Young Knives recently, but I saw 'em live again last week and they deserve another brief mention, because it was a very different set. It goes without saying that they were terrific, but a few bullet points for things I didn't cover the last time I raved about them....

- After the crowd-pleasing, punk rock set at the Great Escape a few weeks ago, it's good to see the Knives offering up a more varied and balanced set tonight; it's not until around half an hour in that we start hearing anything that's already been released officially - yet the first bunch of songs; 'Part Timer', 'Dialing Darling' and 'Current of the River' all sound super; raw, aggressive and tight.
- And when they do get to the hits... 'Rumour Mill', 'The Decision', 'Weekends and Bleakdays' and 'She's Attracted To' are all blistering tonight.
- The songs they leave out! A stunning set tonight and yet no 'Kitchener', 'Coastguard', 'Another Hollow Line', 'Kramer' or 'Trembling of Trails'. They kept back enough for another set, practically.
- And super to hear them branching out from the super-enthusiastic, aggressive sounds of the singles, too - the best tracks tonight are arguably the beautifully titled 'Loughborough Suicide' and the delightful 'Elaine', which see them wielding pretty melodies and sweet harmonies to great effect. Any fears that the impending debut album might sound samey are fast abating.
- Wow, what a great band they are.

There, I kept that quite concise.

A few words about the support band, then. The Immediate were really impressive tonight, one of those unknown support acts that leave you gaping and grinning and musing on all that is brilliant about pop music. Four young, precociously talented and soft-spoken men from Dublin, The Immediate laid on an inordinately varied and vital set, swinging about musically and swapping instruments and evoking about a dozen great bands in the process, they reminded me most of a slinky, song-led version of !!!, all processed guitars and shape-shifting drumbeats. Then they sound like Radiohead and New Order and some lost 60s psych dudes and, well, they are a band that kind of scarily do their own thing and make it hard to find comparisons. The best I managed, watching the drummer take lead vocals for a track and climb the barriers into the crowd, crooning and pointing, was a kind of 2006 iteration of Orange Juice with four Edwyn Collinses. They were great, seek 'em out before they're huge.

currently listening to...

1. Br. Danielson - Daughters Will Tune You
2. Dizzee Rascal - G.H.E.T.T.O
3. Taz - Can't Contain Me
4. Count Bass D - Drug Abusage
5. Futureheads - Back To The Sea
6. Wiley - WD25
7. Graham Coxon - R U Lonely?
8. Primal Scream - Little Death
9. Young Knives - She's Attracted To
10. Black Grape - Shake Your Money

gary hume at the white cube

I hardly ever make it to art shows, but I have been getting quietly excited at the prospect of the new Gary Hume show at the White Cube. Disappointing, then, to see it raising a sigh - if a rather beautiful sigh - rather than a gasp in Jonathan Jones's Guardian review. Yet reading it also makes me feel rather pleased that my gallery attendence has been so poor over the years; I've never identified Hume that strongly with the yba thing, or at least not so much to care about it, and I've always liked his stuff more than his contemporaries because I find it thrilling beautiful, even if it's all gloss paint and surface. Jones writes:

"Whatever emotions are teased into play didn't nourish me beyond the walk back to the tube. As with many of his paintings, the feeling doesn't quite gel. It stays in a shallow part of you and is blown away with the dust of the street. Which, you might say, is how art ought to be. But then why does it need to be so expensive, difficult to make and ostentatious? Hume confuses me. Sometimes he seems to have a direct connection with a place in the collective unconscious where giant flowers bloom. At his best, he beautifully evokes London at a particular moment. Trouble is, that moment was a decade ago."

Perhaps if I had spent my teens in Hoxton rather than Camden I'd feel the same way - as it is, unless his new work is an enormous departure, I still find myself thrilled. And Jones's description is a good one for Hume - the artist of giant flowers.

Suddenly I'm reminded of a moment on (hesitates and then says quietly) Big Brother the other night which would have been unspeakably mawkish in the hands of anyone else, but Pete, who I rather like, said that when he feels free and happy he feels exactly like a bird, and when you feel like a bird you need other birds to fly with you. But the people here, he remarked, are all cats. I know. But I am cheered for a moment by a glimpse into a mind where giant flowers bloom; I bet Pete would like Gary Hume's paintings. Then my cynical self re-enters and the flower-bearers are sent squawking from the room.

The Hume exhibition runs at the White Cube until July 1st, and my bet is on it being a good show.

accidental men

I've just realised why I've been staring, brow furrowed, at my copy of the new Primal Scream single so much over the last week or so, trying to figure out where I know the image from. Apart from the fact that it's one of William Heggleston's - the 70s snapper whose ultra-saturated shots revolutionised colour photography, as well as the man who provided the neon confederate flag on the 'Scream's last straightforward rock n' roll album, Give Out But Don't Give Up - I suddenly realise that it's the second item on my shelves featuring the shot. It's also the picture on the cover of Ali Smith's remarkable 'The Accidental'. Another reason why Ali Smith is increasingly looking - after her recent Guardian revelation that she spent the entirety of a recent Ladytron gig at the bar drinking whisky - like the most unlikely inheritor of Bukowski's rock and roll torch. Oh, well, OK, maybe not. But I'm impressed all the same. You don't get this kind of value out of Ian fucking McEwan.

Although you do if you dig back into the archives for an interview with William Heggleston, the man who single handed changed the definition of colour photography and who answers, when asked how he would like to be remembered, 'as a lover'.

From Sean O'Hagen's interview in the Observer, back in July 2004.

"Though he seems tired of talking photography, I ask him finally if there is an underlying discipline that governs his work. He shrugs. 'Let me put it this way, I work very quickly and that's part of it.

I only ever take one picture of one thing. Literally. Never two. So then that picture is taken and then the next one is waiting somewhere else.' Let me get this straight, I say, astonished: each image he has produced is the result of one single shot? He nods. And what happens, I ask, if you don't get the picture you want in that one shot? 'Then I don't get it,' he answers simply. 'I don't really worry if it works out or not.

I figure it's not worth worrying about. There's always another picture.' He makes his genius sound almost accidental, I suggest. He thinks about this for a while. 'Yes,' he nods, smiling. 'There's probably something to that. The "almost" is important, though.'"

half a bottle of wine is nothing

Shocking news from the Daily Mail today - Keira Knightly, it seems, drinks half a bottle of wine every night!!!! Shock horror!

Sorry, doesn't everyone?

in praise of catherine bennett

The advent of Comment is Free, and blogging in general, actually, has made it very easy to criticise journalists, especially those who specialise in opinion pieces; while the talents of Laura Barton or Lucy Mangan are much praised online, the likes of Jackie Ashley or Madeline Bunting seem to get it in the neck constantly. For that reason it's really not all that surprising to find the odd journalist taking a potshot back, and quite understandable in the case of some critics, who really have to put with up the most tremendous abuse. But the only re-dress of balance which I am intrested in is the appreciation, when deserved, of truly superb writing and in the world of comment writers by far the most luminous in recent months has been the wonderful Catherine Bennett, whose writing is dense, unpredictable and brilliant. She's been on hilarious, unstoppable form recently.

Take her brilliant, acerbic skewering of Prescott a couple of weeks back, for instance.

"Luminaries of New Labour, that most enlightened hammer of sexual and all other forms of discrimination, are defending a man whose lewd approaches to a junior colleague - it will be obvious to almost any other employer or employee in the land - should make him a candidate for immediate suspension. Not to mention an enormous compensation claim on the part of his secretary. A private matter? In a lap-dancing club, perhaps. But this was the civil service. Aside from the choice of locations, a sexual connection this rudimentary, bereft of any romantic trimmings, so closely resembles unpaid prostitution that, given Prescott's public position, the abuse of power more than justifies the public interest. At what point, during this administration, was the propositioning, at work, of subordinates, redefined as an irrelevant and entirely personal peccadillo?"

On macho-blogging, where she (rather unfairly) picks out the Euston Manifesto lot en masse for particular criticism, she is similarly brilliant. Again, her eye for detail and style is unmistakable. Wonderful.

"Today, it is one of the more useful services - some might argue, the single valuable service of the political blogosphere - to afford interested women a similar glimpse of what respectable middle-aged men do when they think themselves unobserved. For although their ranks are penetrable by women, it is obvious, from the prevailing tone of the entries to political weblogs, that most members of the Grand Order of Bloggers believe themselves, no less than any freemason, or member of the Garrick Club, to be addressing male members of a male-dominated community, in which female partners are comedy figures known as "the wife" (or "Mrs Fawkes", or "Mrs Ablution"), breasts are "mammaries", and fellow members can be depended on for companionable chit-chat about music, fallen arches, barbecues, rambling, weights, wanking and all the other subjects that exercise Gary, Steve, John, Dave, Eddie, et al, in the watches of the night."

Week in, week out, her writing is brilliant. Bravo.

great escape day two!

Oh, I'm overdue on my Great Escape updates, aren't i? This isn't because I'm destroyed by a weekend of relentless gig-going, it's just that I'm currently in Edinburgh - my second favourite place in the UK - attending a conference, so am a bit behind with my blogging duties. Day two, then.

For which Vic, master-planner extraordinaire, must get all the credit, having decided quite sensibly to take control of the schedule and boss us into being organised. Her plan worked a treat. We started at 6.30 at the Spiegel Tent, where we were promised 'spiky girl/boy rock and roll from Australia' in the shape of The Audreys. Question one, then, posed from on-stage. "Erm, so did anyone come here expecting a spiky rock band?". The Audreys' biography, it turned out, had been written "by someone on drugs", hence the mislabelling.

As it happened, the Audreys were instead a highly accomplished and musicianly acoustic pop band, dabbling in folk, country and other gentle musings of a romantic nature. Consisting of drums, double bass, violin and understated guitar, as well as joyful vocals, they were very skilful and doubtless very good. But y'know, not my kind of thing, if you get my meaning - although I'm still feeling emotional about the death of Grant McLennan so it's probably the right time for a wistful Australian pop group to try me out. And they were incredibly Australian, as both Vic and myself noted; the singer, particularly, with her lilting accent and perma-smile, looked constantly delighted to be performing for us. She doesn't understand that we like our pop stars melancholy over here. Good stuff, generally, though, and a nice, easy introduction to the evening and a convenient way to begin to emerge, blinking, from my hangover. Their myspace page is here.

The next step was to run across town to the Komedia, where we met up with Anne-Sophie and Sam, for Mistys Big Adventure. Now, in order to explain the tremendously restorative nature of seeing this band, I probably need to explain that by the time we had dashed up there, my meagre half-pint of beer sloshing round my stomach and my hangover still pounding at my temples, I had promised Victoria that I would never drink again and expressed sincere doubts about my ability to get through the night. One glass of water later, and two songs by Misty's, I was grinning like an idiot, shuffling my feet merrily and laughing with delight at the band's brilliantly inventive, irreverant shtick. It was Pete Ashton who turned me on to Mistys, but it took me seeing them live - as it did him - for it all to click for me. They're stupendous; Grandmaster Gareth deadpan centre stage, his long hair tufting out from beneath a black hat, scowling and ranting, while all around him merry chaos explodes - a rhythm section so spot-on and tight they might as well be Blockheads, a guitarist playing lovely, odd trebly riffs, two gorgeous girls on saxophone and trumpet respectively, and, well, a character - the Erotic Volvo, no less - dressed in an enormous red suit with about fifty blown-up blue gloves stitched all over it. Dancing. Punching the air. Parading through the audience. It's like seeing Eamon from British Sea Power crossed with Barney the dinosaur. And just as much fun.

But Mistys, despite the air of cartoonish chaos, are no novelty act - like Dury and his Blockheads, who is the most obvious reference point, Gareth is a genuinely intelligent and original songwriter, and his lyrics, indeed his whole act, is genuinely subversive, whether he's embarking on anti-Dubya rants, singing acapella about 'peodophile priests', or in the magnificent set closer, which sees him narrating the story of a pop group. "Hang on a minute guys", he announces, mid song, before telling the rest of his band, "I've got a great idea. I'm going to go down to the record shop and buy a load of post-punk records. And then we can listen to them, and rip them off. And make a ton of money". It's chastening watching someone like Gareth, for whom (I suspect) fashion and money mean nothing in comparison with originality and integrity, because he exposes the dearth of ambition and purpose in so many others. He is relentlessly focused and his satire is razor sharp. His songs, meanwhile, are joyful, beautiful and hugely enjoyable. A massive plus. Myspace here.

Feeling hugely invigorated we dashed out into the rain and over to the Ocean Rooms, where we found, well, a long queue for the Young Knives, meaning that we missed the next band on our list (Ladyfuzz) but did get in in time to see the sophisticated and well-executed indie rock of Battle, who are a young band clearly on the brink of a break-through. Their sensitive, impassioned rock is nothing new - equal parts Cure and New Order with lashings of emo-style indie, but they inspire a mini-bout of hero worship from sections of the crowd. They're at their best by far when they abandon the heavy guitars and play with unusual rhythms and keyboard washes, although the flipside to that is that when they do, their influences are most clearly exposed. But they are powerful, intense and bright, and doubtless some people's idea of a very good thing indeed, although not really mine. Worth keeping an eye on though. Give 'em a try here, via myspace.

Which brings us to the night's headline band and - frankly - the reason I snatched up tickets for the Great Escape the second the line-up was announced. The Young Knives have been my favourite new band for ages but I've never managed to see them live before, although I know most of their set-list off by heart - this despite the fact that they've only managed a couple of singles with decent distribution, and somehow (so far) failed to capitalise on the popularity of bands like the Futureheads. The reasons for this, it is soon apparent, are both complex and easy to understand.

Firstly, the energy thing. When you see the Futureheads, or Maximo Park, for that matter, both get their kick from the enormous amount of energy they put into their show. That energy has done much to invigorate indie rock in the last year or two (and has done a lot to inspire, I suspect, the likes of the previously-flat-live Franz Ferdinand to raise their game in recent months). And their skill is channeling that energy so skilfully, using it to add texture to their songs without losing control of them. Yet with the 'Knives, the energy is the song, and losing control is part of the attraction, allowing that demented energy of theirs to run free. Considering the complicated, varied nature of the Futureheads' material, it's remarkable that their songs are so beautifully rendered in a live setting. Conversely, it's amazing that the Young Knives manage to make studio records as energetic as they do, because it's in the savage energy of their live set that the songs clearly belong. They are an absolute riot in the flesh, in other words.

And they're extremely loveable, too. Although you could probably excuse the Young Knives of having listened to a post-punk record or two, Grandmaster Gareth, you'd be mad not to appreciate that they are ploughing their own furrow. It's obvious from the moment they walk on stage, looking less like pop stars and more like middle-managers in a county town bank. The singer is wearing braces, for christ's sake. And while the songs obviously owe a lot to Adam Ant and XTC, amongst other influences, they are so peculiarly singular and brilliantly inventive. And it's frightening how many songs sound like hits, from the show-stopping 'Decision' through 'Coastguard' and 'Weekdays and Bleakdays', with it's marvellously delirious 'hot summer, hot hot summer' refrain, round to the awesome take on 'Rumour Mill' which closes the set. New single, 'She's Attracted To', features Henry boastinghng, adding ferocity each time he repeats it, that while 'you were screaming at your mother, I was punching your dad'. The song eventually erupts in a rare flash of guitar pyrotechnics from Henry. "Oh, I could do that all day", he said afterwards, before jerking his thumb at the House of Lords (his brother and the Knives' bassist). "He doesn't like it". The House wrinkled his nose up and shook his head, distastefully. "It's a bit show-offy", he agreed.

The interplay between the two is one of the best things about the Knives live, actually, whether it's Henry calling House "fatty" after the second song, or the delightful moment when he introduced a song as 'this is another one for the House to sing'. The crowd cheered wildly, bringing an immediate response of "Fuck off!" from the singer, outraged that we'd rather hear his brother sing than him (nonsense, of course). "Is anyone sticking around afterwards?", Henry asked, after one song. "Cos I am. And I'm gonna drink you fuckers under the table".

But the best thing about the Knives is the songs, the songs. I've not seen a set from a new band so full of killer melodies, humour, eccentric imagination or downright punk rock energy in, oh, ages. They've already made the best two singles of the last year, and are presumably fashioning the best album of 2006 as we speak. Who would bet against their being the best live act of the year, too? Not me, mate. Their myspace page is here.

Postscript: the photos. I've decided I'd like to learn how to take good gig photos, as literally all the ones I've taken with my new camera are in some way out of focus. I'd given up by the times the YKs came on. But since Friday, where I finally proved myself incapable of taking decent shots, I've finally read the manual and worked out, I think, where I'm going wrong. All in setting the camera up the right way, I hope. So I'm posting this as a reference point so that I can look back in a month or two and see how far I've come. Go and follow the link to Pete Ashton's blog above, if you wanna see how it should be done!

The Young Knives

Ladies and gentlemen....

The best band in the UK right now. Wow. Just got home from seeing them. Woooooooooow.