Been to so much recently, that I've hardly had time to keep up.

Waiting for Godot was on at to Royal Theatre. Looks impressive but is not a good venue. The acoustics are bad and the seats are uncomfortable. Still, it was Ian McCellan and Patrict Stewart on one bill, with Simon Callow and Ronald Pickup thrown in for good measure. What can I say, really. The cast made the occasion. The play was funny and engaging, even if it makes no sense. The set was wonderful. Seeing Mr X and Magneto at the same time, though, what more could you want? Well, apart from comfortable seats, that is.

Show of Hands. Yep, great. Barn storming, folkie-inspired, throw some politics in. They really filled the hall (Sage one which is famously hard to fill, being cold and antiseptic). Heard about them many times before, but as it happens, never seen them or heard any of their stuff. Good introduction, this was.

Swing Out Sister, finally — not my choice, not really my sort of thing, but I am a music junkie, and always willing to try anything. Besides which, they were fun in the 80s and compared to SAW were a relief. Live, they were great. The music is upbeat, engaging, entertaining. The band were fluent and the night really, erm, swung. They started off with two of their big hits (Surrender and another one I forgot the name of) which seemed curious; as well as these, they had a few stand-out songs, although even on the more pedestrian numbers, it was all very listenable and enjoyable. The encore was the inevitable Breakout — "when you've found a good thing make it last" — Swing Out Sister seem to have done this, and I'm glad.

I used to listen to the Chumbas lots. They bestrode the 80's and the 90's particularly as a live band; they were constants on the festival scene. They consistently produced wonderful pop records, danceable and wonderful, underpinned with an anarcist heart and strong political message which always seemed at a counterpoint to their lightness of their sound.

Unfortunately, I was really busy in the 90's and never saw them live, which was a pity; so I was a bit surprised when they turned up in the SAGE programme; why not, I thought.

Turns out, in the mean time, they have transmogrified into a 4-piece acoustic folk band; the harmony and lyricism of "homophobia" has ceased to be a standout and become their mainstay. As in the past, they retain their ear for catchy tunes, a strong sense of humour and lots of politics thrown in. The acoustic band seems here to stay; an 8 member electric bank is just too expensive in this day and age.

I'm kind of sad to have missed them in the first incarnation; but I'm really glad to have seem them in their second. They were wonderful and I enjoyed every minute, even if I could have done with a bit of dancing.

Turns out that I have not actually been inside the Tyne pub before, although I walk or ride past it more or less everyday. Nice place inside; has a slightly mid-west US feel, with a long bar, high stools and a Budwieser neon sign. Fortunately, the beer bears little resemblence to the US counter-part, and they've put coat hooks under the bar, which means your jacket doesn't great trambled when it falls of the back of your chair.

There were 3 support acts on; all three were pretty poor at promoting themselves and I didn't pick up the names, although the last one sounded improbably like "The Courgette Sisters". First, up where man, woman, two guitars, nice songs. Fluent and organised, there were fairly good, although perhaps moving toward the inoffensive end of things. Second, were a strange four piece who mixed flamenco, blues and folk; sometimes successfully, sometimes less so. When they got going, though, they banged out a fair rhythm. If they can get over the occasional tendency toward complexity for the sake of it, they will be great. Finally, the aforementioned Sisters. Good stuff, nice voices, but they didn't dazzle me.

The main act, Elliot Brood, have been billed as Death Country. Actually, this pretty much covers it; the songs are country inspired, all acoustic instruments, but then with fuzz on top. Add in the occasional metal chord change and you have it. Pretty good as it happens, lots of opportunity for headbanging and general dancing around even if, by this stage, I was falling asleep in my beer. It was helped by the atmosphere; quite a few Canadians who were probably a bit surprised to find their band playing over here in a small pub. Often the best kind of gigs these.

Grace Jones wasn't my choice but I thought "what the hell" and went anyway. We were sitting up in the Gods close to the stage but vertically way above it; odd, but I quite like these seats; they are quirky and strange in the otherwise antiseptic, boring Sage hall one. She put on an amazing performance; the musicians were wonderful, accurate and precise, totally co-ordinated. Watching the choreography of the show was incredible. The stage had been marked up and organised with gaffa tape, everything in it's place; even the exit route for the "spontaneous" stage invasion was carefully marked out and free of wires. At the end of ever song, she rushed off stage to the dying chords, changed costumes, while keeping up some off-stage audience banter. And the music? Started off quite funky, got more rock as we went through. I only recognised a few songs including a strange version of Love is the Drug (with a clever laser effect, shining down onto her sparkly hat, like a wearable mirror ball). The grand finale was Slave to the Rhythm sung while rotating a hula hoop.

Richard Thompson was, as always, wonderful but the total opposite. Three people on stage, with a projected backdrop; wonderful guitar playing, lots of humour in between. He was playing "1000 years of music", taking songs from, well, the last 1000 years, skipping over centuries at a time in the first half. The second half went decade at a time. A great night of music, I thought.

Last night was Arlo Gutherie, in Durham. I've not been to the Gala before, but it was a welcome change from Sage (where wouldn't be). It's a small, discrete theatre, but warm and welcoming inside. The show started with the somewhat strange "Landermason": I quite enjoyed them; they were technically adept (perhaps too much) and their arrangements were novel and quite interested. That said, one of my friends, Gerry, described them as "absolutely awful". A bit harsh perhaps. Arlo, on the other hand, just came on stage, played guitar and told stories. He played and spoke with the fluency of someone who has been on stage all his life, the songs were straight-forward, honest and moving. The stories in between were very, very funny and often took us back through the 20th century, talking about figures who have become mythological in some ways now but who were just guys travelling around the US, singing songs, trying to make ends meet.

Outside the theatre, it was a normal friday night in Durham, lots of people walking around, slightly drunk. There was a woman busking outside, playing Wonderwall on an acoustic with a small amp; seemed appropriate somehow.

Just read the news that John Martyn has died, so soon after I last saw him. Not a surprise, as he hasn't been well for years. I've seen him so many times over, though, and will miss his music immensely; recorded he was great, live he was incredible.

Finally watched Blood Diamond this weekend. It was good actually, kind of an adventure flick but with an attempt to show some of the reality of the blood diamond trade. Of course, along side the brutal killing, child soldiers and arm chopping, Leonardo DiCaprio and Jennifer Connelly added some standard holywood magic to the whole affair; three stylists between then, made sure that hair was never out-of-place. The black African lead managed to achieve his apotheosis in the end by wearing a suit and talking to Americans (who could ask for more?). And, of course, there was a dramatic love interest to set it off. Still, it wasn't anywhere as bad as it could have been. It did help to raise child soldiers up the agenda, it did describe how the diamond market works (or worked as it's all different now, honest) and it was actually quite interesting. Critically important, there was no warbling in the background from Celine Dion which is guarenteed to improve any movie.

All in stark contrast to Carla's Song which I also saw; a simple, elegant and well-told story and some excellent performances. One of Ken Loach's more cheerful films with Robert Carlyle in his golden period, I greatly enjoyed it. If Ken Loach really wanted to change the world, he's spice his films up a bit, like Blood Diamond, to sell to the US market, get the message in under-the-wire. I'm glad he doesn't.

I finished Exit Music this morning. I've been reading Ian Rankin's novels for nearly a decade now starting, perhaps ironically, just after leaving Edinburgh for London. I still think Black and Blue is the best, although Tooth and Nail is my favourite. I heard Ian Rankin say once that as he'd just moved to London and was feeling miserable, he's inflict the same onto Rebus. As I was hating London also, I emphasised greatly with the book. Also, it's got a keystone cops, comedy car chase at the end. Both author and detective moved back to Edinburgh fairly shortly afterwards. I never did, although I did leave London.

The last book is good and a suitable ending. Like many of his more recent books, there is a random, unresolved element to the plot. But it's exciting, page-turning and a suitable finish for the series.

Having said that, it's probably a good thing that it's coming to an end. The books got lots of moody, black and white shots of Ian Rankin, with readers notes and meaningful questions about the use of metaphor for reading groups. Doesn't detract from the novel, but is, really, deeply pretentious.

Been looking forward to Jolie Holland for a while; I think her records are superb, from the Be Good Tanyas onward. Her strange, wierd vocals seem to work; Mexican Blue is stunning song, which leaves me lost everytime I hear it.

I guess this is a lot to live up to. Last nights gig missed by a mile. The support, who's name I forgot, was poor; nice voice, but the songs were crap, and the performance shambolic. This was replicated by the main act; she treated the audience like they were the wall-paper at her own private practice session. The band spent lots of time talking to each other; they had to tell poor jokes while she tuned up, which took ages. And she needed it; the first three songs were played with an out-of-tune guitar, that was mixed up loud enough that you couldn't hear her voice anyway.

God knows, I'm not a performance fascist; I like things relaxed, I don't mind raw and I'm not a technical freak. But a live performance is just that — a performance; if you can't be bothered, then you shouldn't be there.

John Martyn has been around for donkey's years. Sometime, in the 80's he decided that enunciation was for wimps, and he started to sing like a wookie. More recently, he's lost a leg, put on enough weight that resembles Jabba the Hutt (two star wars, references in one review; hmmm). He must be passed it now.

John Martyn started off as a folkie, more or less invented trip hop along the way; his music is mesmeric and beguiling. In his prime, he could take the stage on his own, with his Les Paul and fill the entire room, entrancing the audience. I think he was the second musician (not including the pub blues bands that were the stable of my youth) that I ever saw live. I've seen him from the North to the South of the country; Solid Air graces my mp3 player at great regularity; in many ways, he has been a critical part of the music that has changed me from the time we got our first record player, to the washed out, muso, gig junkie that I am now. He is passed his best now, but he's made up for his own lack of mobility with a band, to fill the sound that he used to. This tour is the Grace and Danger tour; the music was sad and heart-breaking at points. Solid Air itself has been lent new immediacy, for me, with the loss of a good friend to suicide earlier in the year.

This was one of the most moving gigs that I've been too for years; I was left silent till the day after (unusual for me). One of the best gigs of the year.

It's all gone a bit mad since October. I've been to so many gigs that, combined with the start of term, I haven't really had time to write them all up.

Stephen Stills was my first gig at the City Hall; cool venue inside, dramatic, good looking, comfy seats. The sound is pretty poor though. I was sitting a way back, but on the balcony and right at the front of it so the view was excellent. Being at the gig made me feel young; it's rare that I am in the lower quartile of the age range these days. There was an element of homage about the whole thing; there were two old hippies in the front row who clearly got stoned to CSN (or maybe Buffalo Springfield) when they were young and were going to cheer regardless. But, it was a good gig. His voice is a bit wavery with age — he murdered "Change Partners" — but his guitar playing was generally wonderful; I think I preferred the acoustic half to the electric, but both were strong. It was all a bit dad rock, but it was still good.

Erik Mongrain I've not seen or heard before, but he's made a splash on YouTube. This was in the same series as the Bob Brozman gig that I went to earlier in the year; their advertising is still chaotic. It was 10 quid to get in, but half price because I am on the mailing list (which I don't think I am, all although I tried to be). The venue was in North Shields. The box office phone was redirected to a random office somewhere, and never answered.

Gig was great through. Erik's clearly a technical genius, playing intricate, complex music uses both hands interchangably to make music — he strums with his left hand, fingers with his right. All very guitar hero stuff. He's also quite shy, and retiring. He often described what his songs were about, but the descriptions were usually incomprehensible; regardless, there was a wonderful meditative feel to the evening. You could listen and relax and let the music wash over you.

I hope the series continues, because they've got some great players. But, if they advertise so badly and carry on making it hard to get tickets, it's not going to. Enjoy it while it lasts.

It's been over 10 years since I last saw Bob Brozman; in this time, he's lost none of his prowess, and learnt a fair few new tunes. I think he's got more rhythmic as well.

He's a difficult musician in many ways; he changes rhythm a lot, his sense of humour is continual and a little strange; his musical tastes are getting to define the word eclectic. But, he's also engaging, entertaining and exciting to watch. It was a superb gig; I would be a fool if I left it 10 years again.

It was a strange gig also; I was faced with a difficult choice: Bob Brozman, a house party or a combined barbeque and eurovision night. In the end, I know that I made the right choice. What was interesting though, is that this is the first gig that I have been to for ages on my own; since I have moved up north to Newcastle, I've had the fortune to meet quite a few people with similar music tastes. Actually, I really enjoyed being solitary; that I was exhausted added to it; I almost slept in the interval; I became totally engrossed in the music, and lost a sense of self.

I'd not been to the Buddle arts centre in Wallsend before; but they have some stonking gigs coming up. I shall be there for more I think.

Last week, I saw Toumani Diabate at the Royal Northern College of Music. My experience of the Kora is a busker who plays in Manchester at times; he's pretty good actually. In concert, though it becomes a different instrument. The music is actually fairly repetitive, but the pieces generally play in cycles, flowing rather than jumping following one theme, then moving to another a note at time. As a result, it's hypnotic rather than exciting and lulls the audience. He only played four numbers (before the encore); I think that like many people, I was surprised to find that this had taken well clear of an hour.

The one negative part of the night was the accompanying blurb; this suggested that the audience should stiffle any sneezes or coughs and not open sweets during the performance to maximise everyones enjoyment. I mean what a load of po-faced nosense; like the SAGE, it's obvious that the RNCM is a snobbish, uptight venue but this is really taking it too far. Music is to be enjoyed, engaged in, not worshipped with great reverence. When I rule the world, I will find the idiot responsible for this statement, and string them up publicly, in front of an audience, to whom I shall allocated bubble gum, packets of crisp and low velocity, high volumn sneezing powder air rifles.

Rachael Unthank and the Winterset at The Round was the an entirely different experience. A small intimate venue anyway, they were playing on home turf; their mum (the two main singers are sisters) was in the audience. The venue is odd — basically someone's put a roof on the gap between two buildings. The sound proofing isn't too great; you could hear music and people walking upstairs, but this makes it more personal and engrossing. The music was wonderful; like much folk, and Toumani Diabete it's often hypnotic. Their arrangements are remarkable, often highly melodramatic, and very innovative especially when compared to more traditional folk. I think, we were lucky to get tickets; I'm not sure that they will be playing a venue that small in future or will sell out quicker than they did.

Wish she hadn't done the gag about Hexhamshire though; it was about a misheard lyric; I won't repeat it. I've had the song (Fareweel Regality) running through my head for the last week; now it will be associated with an alternative version instead.

Saw the Doll's house at the Northern Stage this week; it was well done, had some nice gags in it. But basically, it was dreary, long-winded and rather dull. I didn't like any of the characters, the central plot device was silly and I just wanted it to end. Right at the end, it perked up a bit, with the patronized woman, spreading her wings and starting anew; but, this felt unbelievable, and it makes no sense spending two and a half setting the scene for 5 minutes of excitement. I can see that the play must have been revolutionary at the time, but it now is only of historical interest.

Battle of the Planets, on the other hand, has little plot, doesn't really make sense, and is generally daft. But it's full of 70's haircuts, the animation is exciting and the score is wonderful. Added to this a chief baddie who wears red, thigh-length boots, a villanous cackle and the most fullsome pout this side of page 3 and you have a winner. The Doll's House has probably helped to change our world, redefine the relationship between men and women, and has last a 100 years. But BofP was more fun to watch and at 30 years old ain't doing bad either.

I have finally finished reading the Night Listener. I've always had a fragmented relationship with Armistead Maupin; I keep on getting half-way through a book, then stopping. I borrowed More Tales of the City from a friend, for example, and was half-way through reading it, when I found the copy I had bought 3 years before and then stopped. In that case, I had moved house in between and it got backed at the bottom. The Night Listener got caught by my move from Manchester. I've tried to start reading it again several times, but mostly while travelling; I think it's been around the world at least twice. For some reason, I picked it up a few days ago, and read the second half in two days. My conclusions: it's great, nicely paced, gentle and engrossing; the writer-writing-about-a-writer plot only annoys occasionally.

To celebrate my success in finishing it, I picked up Atonement, as I have stalled on this several times. Hmmm. Well, less good here. I still couldn't care less about Bryony's adolescent playwrite prentensions, nor understand why it needs so many chapters. Worse, I've read these chapters four times now. I should hire the film, but it's got Keira Knightly in; an actor that you can see through both metaphorically and physically.

I've been looking forward to the second season of Northern Exposure for a while; unfortunately, the music has been replaced with elevator musack. Moreover, as well as the music being badly chosen, it's been mixed poorly, at bad levels. It totally breaks the suspension of disbelief, making it's very hard to get involved. Very poor performance, indeed.

All a bit mad, having been on the road for a while, so just a quick review here. When he started, I thought he was well past his best; probably because he was singing in a strangulated falsetto when we got in.

Anyway, this turned out to be wrong; he was just warming up. The singing got better and the guitar was wonderfully rhythmic. Afterwards we squeezed into the little hall for Monica Vasconcelos, who played mellow jazz, and samba tinged music. Good voice, excellent band.

And all for 7 quid, in the cheap seats which I quite like. No complaints there.

Went to the biscuit factory yesterday for the first time. On the whole, it was pretty good, and I enjoyed it. Most of the stuff in there was wildly too expensive; they had a lovely mirror, for instance, with a carved wooden frame, but 700 quid is just too much for something that has a reasonable chance of getting broken.

One of the things that amused me, though, was the artists' statements. They seem to be required these days; people appear to judge art by what the artist is thinking rather than what they can see. I guess that they are teaching the writing of these personal statements in the art colleges nowadays; one thing that it is clear they are not teaching is grammar—in some cases it was terrible (okay, I hear you saying, maybe the pot is calling the kettle here, but blogs are quick written not studied).

These statements varied from the pretentious to the prosaic—with more of the former. A selection of my favourites (or paraphrases from memory) with my translations were:

• the individual instintively views the piece from many different angles and viewpoints (translation: it's a shiny mirror and looks pretty in the lights).
• the latest series explorers the artists emotional response to the weather on the bleak moorlands of Northumberia (translation: hell, it's windy up here).
• "I dislike personal statements as they force the artist to move from the abstract and ambiguous realm of the medium, to the concrete realm of writing" (translation: I'm a painter! I like painting; I hate writing).

My favourite statement, though, was short and simple. It went

"Emma (I think this was her name) generally paints from the local environment. She paints from what she sees. She likes to work on location wherever possible as she enjoys the interaction with passers-by".

Wonderful; if she had replaced "enjoys the interaction" with "likes to natter" it would have been perfect; frank and to the point. The paintings were good as well.

Lions and Lambs — three interlocking stories, over the theme of war and the media. Well done, entertaining, and a light touch. Rather too earnest too eager for me. Lacking a bit in humour

We own the night — a cops and robbers flick, with added family drama. Not a bad film, although felt rather like Cagney and Lacey on steroids. Good performances all around, lots of brooding silences and a fortune spent on blood bags.

Beowulf — finished it off. Looked great, some wonderful hacking and slaying. Story was a variation of the original with (as noted previously) added masturbation gags. Turns out that the story was adapted by Neil Gaiman; explains a lot.

L'auberge rouge — a black, murder farce. Big ensemble cast, lots of fast dialogue, and pretty well done. Not nearly as good as Juno, but the best of the lot.

Juno — missed the first five minutes of this, so watched them as well, and then let it run on a bit. Strangely, it's been Japanese filtered on the way back; that is no swearing, no sexual references or, indeed, to any bodily functions; head-lopping and guns are okay, but sadly Juno is short on the latter.

Four and a bit films in one flight — well, I am tired and all the of the padding in my cushion has gone, and everything from my knees to sacrum is aching. And my shoulders and neck come to that.

Watched Enchanted, some of Beowulf and almost all of Juno.

Enchanted — a reverse fairy-tale, like a live action Shrek. Not bad, actually, kept me going for a while.

Beowulf — blood, guts and some serious beef swilling. Definately aimed at the adult market, containing at least one mastubration gag. Would probably have watched it, but the it was a bit dark and I couldn't hear the dialogue over the plane noise, so I stopped half way through.

Juno — a comedy about a teenage pregnancy. This was by far the best of the bunch. Quirky, funny, and beautifully acted. The whole thing is done without sentimentality (just like Enchanted, er...), but the characters were still wonderfully endearing.

I spent too much of the film trying to identify two of the actors (from the daredevil and spiderman films as it happens). Yeah, well, I'm on a plane and ache all over.

Not been to the Northern Stage, at least not for a show. I used to get food there sometimes, but it's expensive and the portions have got smaller.

Went to see Static last night. Strange thing — it was a cross between a music commercial, a mystery story and a tragedy. It's mostly about a woman coming to terms with the death of her husband. The side-plot is that he is deaf and the story of how he looses his hearing.

It was pretty good actually. I was dubious at the beginning; they used a lot of short sentances to the audience to set the scene which I found rather disjointed. But the story started to run after that. The "innovative staging" failed to detract from the story, the music was quite fun and the twist at the end worked pretty well. Worth going to see.

Never seen him live, so thought, why not. Basically, he was okay. He has a substantial back catalogue, and is a powerful songwriter. But ultimately, he's not a great performer. He's witty and engaging, but neither his singing or guitar-playing is particularly fantastic. I found myself waiting for one of the big hits, and then being slightly disappointed by it; Golden Brown is needs more than a strummed acoustic.

Black Gold is a documentary about the coffee trade. It's conclusions are not perhaps the most astonishing in the world — the coffee industry makes lots of money while most of the producers, particularly in Ethiopia, are not doing nearly as well. Still, perhaps, these are points that need making again and again. The role of the WTO and the trade policies of the first world are, perhaps, less obvious.

The documentary seems to have a got a new lease of life, more or less entirely due to Michael Moore. Unlike his work, or Supersize Me, Black Gold lacks a comedy turn to keep the interest going although the main protagonist, Tadesse Meskela, is engaging and charismatic.

The music and cinematography are both wonderful, though, making this a clear and compelling film. Well worth a look.

Been a long time since I have written anything here. I have been out since October, but I guess I've just been busy.

Pan's Labyrinth is a remarkable film, with the only negative point that I suspect the rest of the Christmas fayre will be downhill from here.

The story manages to mix a fairytale with the real world story of life under fascism. The two stories intertwine in a way which is a benefit to both. The imagery of the fantasy part are deft and visually stunning. The violence, pain and bravery of the real-world wonderfully acted and moving. Topped of with a beautiful score, the film couldn't have been bettered.

Richard Thompson — excellent as always, sold out the Sage again.

I've realised now why I prefer his solo shows to his band shows. As he sells out, he always plays big venues like the Sage which are, basically, horrible. To enjoy a band gig, you need to stand up and dance; failing this jigging about from side to side would work. The best band gig I went to was in Edinburgh; half way through I went to the loo, then spent the rest of the gig standing up at the back and had a great time.

Throw out the chairs!

Last week I went to Dave Cowan's leaving do. No idea who he was, but he decided to get Jess Klein to play. Kindly, he decided to open up the gig to the public which included me.

Jess was excellent again, better than the Cluny I would say. The gig was in the Black Swan centre which I've not been too, and the sound is far better than the Cluny with it's odd shape.

Had a talk with Jess afterwards; I'd had a few pints by this time so I wittered inconsequentially. Ah, well, I guess that she is used to it.

Well, I was not quite right. Hero does have a story, and it's reasonably engaging, although seems to be an allegory which says that the end justifies the means. Visually beautiful, well, yes, got that bit right.

Lots of art this week. First Blowup, being shown to mark Antonioni's death (he was the director; fraid I'd never heard of him). Not a bad film. Wikipedia says that it "does not follow a conventional narrative structure", which I interpret as it not having a plot. Most of the plot seems to involve unlikely situations which allow for lots of strange angles and artistic shots, with 60s stylism to the fore. Still, the shots were very artistic, which was fun in itself. It's not aged well, but it's an interesting historical view.

The Alvin Ailey dance company played at the Royal Theatre. It started off with a dark and meaningful dance about something, backed with orchestral music and then moved towarded a more dancable (er...) gospel set which got everyone tapping. The dancing wasn't the best I've seen; the acrobat dance wasn't that acrobatic, the grace was evident but not excellent. But it kept me happy for the 2 hour show (with two long interevals!).

24-7 is another Shane Meadows. More engaging than This is England, but with similar territory. Bob Hoskins as a likeble boxing coach, with a dark ending to keep up the griity realism. I like Shane Meadows; although his films have a dark edge, he's got a great sense of humour which is never partronising, warm to his subjects.

Going to watch "Hero" now. Based on previous similar films, I suspect it's going to be visually beautiful without much plot.

This is England is a classic British film; set sometime in the past, funny and full of gritty realism. It's beautifully shot, evocative and moving; although, it's about a bunch of violent racist skin heads, there is no real black and white (er, if you know what I mean). The film is warm and engaging.

I guess, though, I was always going to be a sucker for this. How could I not be moved? It was set against the backdrop of the Falklands, unemployment, Thatchers England. It was set against part of my childhood, set against my political awakening.

So, I didn't enjoy, but I am glad to have been. It's important to remember that time.

So, I am sure the world is waiting to know what I thought of it; actually, it's very good. Although it is long, it does not feel flabby like the last book. It is by far the darkest of the books, with familiar object and characters dying off left, right and centre — it's clear that she does not want to leave any possibility of a follow up. The plot is fast and thick. As previously, she starts fast, then slows for the middle, then speeds up again. I though that she managed to tie up all the loose ends rather well, with her rapid style mostly covering up the technobabble (or whatever the magical equivalent is).

I'm glad she's managed to pull it off. With the combination of Harry Potter and Northern Lights, we seen two epic serials released. I am sure that they will be read for many generations to come, but only we will be lucky enough to have had the anticipation of waiting for the new books as they arrive.

The Mouth of the Tyne festival was excellent as always. I didn't get to see as much of it as I wanted, but I saw some great Blues (Stax Brothers), an excellent French jazz band who were fabulous, the Blockheads who were stonking. Finally, I got to see Courtney Pine again — I've managed to miss him for the last 15 years, so it was particularly irritating that the rain made me miss some of this.

Went to see Into Great Silence last night. It's a film about a bunch of monks who don't talk much; so the entire film is meant to engender a feeling for the contemplative life. The filmmaker has gone to lots of effort to make it peaceful and relaxing, while not too dull. He uses lots of wacky angles, film, video, even super 8 by the look of things. On the whole, it worked well; only a few people left, although someone just behind snored through half an hour of it. I thought it was overlong at over 2 hours.

I was rather moved by the serenity of the monks, by their enormous sense of peace; they were also deeply worrying. There are only a few pieces of dialogue: one was a reading which was rather rambling gibberish about the trinity; the other was a interview (although the film claims to have no interviews) with an old monk. He was a deeply serene individual. However, he claimed not to be scared of death as he would be closer to God and that, moreover, there seemed no purpose to living for those without God. It's just a hop, skip and a jump from here to think that if death brings you closer to God getting there faster is a good thing, and that if people without God have no purpose in life, then they might as well not be alive. Even within this most gentle part of Christianity, we can see the ghost of the crusades.

I first went to see Paco Pena years ago at the Corn Exchange in Cambridge. I've managed to miss him ever since, mostly because there was something else on at the same time; this time it was Bo Diddley who was playing. He has sadly had a stroke and the concert was called off. It's an ill wind, as it mean that I got to see Paco instead.

The last time I saw him solo. Now he has three guitarists, two vocalists, a percussionist and three dancers. Flamenco is arrogant, brash and melodramatic; Paco Pena's show lived up to this. The music was wonderful though, and the dance astounding.

I have to be honest and say that I prefer the music: the stage lights were quite bright (I was sitting at the edge of the stage, directly in the path of from lights from the other side). After a while, my eyes got sore. And I missed the intricate and flamboyant playing of 15 years ago; we only got a single solo piece.

Still, this is to be a curmudgeon. The night was wonderful; the music compelling and exciting; the adrenalin made my knees go weak. I hope that it's not another 15 years before I get to see him again.

Went to the Green Festival in Leazes Park at the weekend. The weather was great — cloudy on day two, but still nice and warm.

I like the Green Festival. It's easy to be cynical — 100s of Geordies saving the environment by swilling beer out of plastic glasses. But it's got a great feeling to it, relaxed and comfortable. And this year, the music was better than last year.

Amusingly, at one point a drunk guy decided to go swimming in the boating lake. Got an enormous crowd. Slightly depressing for the musicians; you spend years learning to play, getting songs and rehearsing and then get upstaged by someone drinking too much beer and cavorting in algae ridden lake.

Bit late to be writing this, as both gigs where a while back.

I've never heard to Simple Kid but Dan suggested the gig, bought the tickets and then found that he couldn't go. Which was a pity because it was a great gig. Simple Kid looks like a hippie Bjorn Borg. He writes catch songs with driving drums underneath; he's actually a pretty good guitarist as well, playing some fine solos. The obvious comparison is Beck, but you need to throw in a slice of Glen Tilbrook and Jimmy Page as well. His show is solo, with a laptop playing backing tracks, images, and sometimes lyrics. Strange set up, but it worked well. He has a great sense of humour as well, which really made the night.

Groove Armada on the other hand, I've written about before. They were great live, excellent music, funky light show. If I were to make on criticism, it was that the didn't turn it into much of a live experience. Even one "hello, Newcastle, let me hear you!" would have been good.

The crowd was a bit brusque. to be honest, and it was full sardine time inside the venue. It's good for music to be a shared experience, but this was a little too much. So a good gig, but sort of a once a year experience.

Last night was James Burton at the Cluny. It was one of those "last chance to see" experiences, as he's getting on a bit now. So I was not sure what to expect.

The support band were dreadful — acoustic, electric and double bass. The bass player slapped his fingerboard a lot, with the resultant dull thud being all you could hear. The other two were more tuneful, but didn't appear to listen to each other. Rock-and-roll has to be in time or it's nothing but awful.

The second band were much better. Tight, together and with a sense of performance. By this stage, though, I was getting a bit nervous. Where was James Burton? Well, eventually he came on. Not that the flames on the telecaster work that well now to be honest, but James himself is still a strong player. Flash when he needs to be, tasteful when not. Above all, he is a side-man — he is not there to attact attention, but to support the song, to reinforce the rest of the band and to entertain the audience, which he did all evening. The support should take notice.

Of course, I paid a price. I got home at 11:30 — I've been up since 5 and am in an airport. I feel terrible. I guess it all boils down to what Gerry said — most of the audience didn't have to get up to go to work the next day, having retired some years before.

Just watched the last of the second season of Hamish Macbeth. I won't say what happens as I know Dan reads these pages sometimes; he loved the previous DVD which I introduced him to, and I can't spoil the surprise. Two episodes in a row. And like before, they had me in tears. Fantastic stuff.

It's midnight now, and I'm away for easter. I promised to not take a computer with me. I'm left with no choice. So, I better stop typing and watch the last episode of the season. The thumbnail has Lachie jr, dressing up in drag, so I guess it's a funny one.

Went to see the wonderously named Devon Sproule last night at the Cumberland Arms. The venue was wonderful; an old fashioned boozer, comfortable, with an open fire and an equally open view over the post-industrial view of the Tyne, nestled in the less than salubrious surroundings of the Byker Bridge: the pub predates the bridge, it seems.

The gig room is small, closed and deeply personal, painted in red and wood. My legs were cramped for the whole time, because if I stretched out I would have kicked the stage mic stand over. It suited Devon Sproule down to the ground. The gig was gentle, intense and personal. Her music is lyrical, her guitar fluent and her voice delicate; there's a slight tendancy toward being little girlish, but it wasn't overwhelming. In the second half, she was supported by bass, drums and later pedal steel, but Devon managed to cut through none-the-less. When the room got hot, the fire escape doors got opened; I listened to the music while watching the British buses and trains rolling past. I like to think that, perhaps, the music bleed out over onto the bridge, and caught a few people who wondered where it all came from.

One of the best gigs that I've been to for a long time, at a perfect venue. I'll be back there again, thats for sure.

Busy weekend! I watched Gattaca last night also. I have to say, that I was unimpressed. The story was contrived, unbelievable and with a cheesy "human nature conquers all" happy ending. The design and direction was quite interesting, lots of angles, single colour-washed shots, with 50s or 60s stylism everywhere, except that it's all been done before from Brazil onwards. The film has a big message hidden within it — hidden in the sense of crassly stamped over the entire enterprise, with a sense of moral self-importance rarely seen outside of Star Trek.

Music's good though.

Finally finished Life is Beautiful last night, which I started last weekend, and have on rent from Amazon for nearly a month. Very strange film; how did anyone come up with a slapstick holocaust film? It was wonderfully acted, funny and adept. The story is compelling, sad and, of course, beautiful.

I found the second section rather disquieting. The concentration camp was basically clean, the inmates reasonably well-fed. Just occasionally, the gas chambers and slag heaps were thrown into your face. I didn't find it exploitative at all, though. So, perhaps, the disquiet comes from the subject matter. I guess, bringing humour to the holocaust allows the audience to think of it afresh.

Saw Thea Gilmore and Erin McKeown in the Sage, hall 2 on Friday. We were sitting in the seats which seats behind the stage — strange, but I quite like it there, because you are very close and can hear the sound outside of the amps. Apparently these seats are renowned amoung performers, for giving the audience a good view of their backsides; it's not actually true, as the angle is too acute.

The evening was truely excellent. I've never seen Erin McKeown before, but she is well worth seeing. She's a much better guitarist than I had gathered from her recordings, and has a fine pair of lungs also.

Thea Gilmore, on the other hand, I have seen before. The last gig, I remember, was wonderfully well but together, with strong, lyrical songs. All this was still present but, I think, she has been practicing her voice, which was richer, warmer and stronger than I remember. She closed the gig with an acapella song, which I don't think she would have pulled off before.

The gig seemed to have sold out. It's nice to see talented people do well, but it's also has an unfortunate side: next time, she may well be in hall 1. All of the intimacy and warmth will be lost.

I just listened to the archive hour on radio 4. It's an odd programme: sometimes it's dreadful ("in 1950 there was some obscure entertainer on the radio who was dull then and is worse now"); sometimes it's excellent.

Today it was about the Falklands invasion with recordings of the Island radio. The Falklands conflict was as enormous political event of my childhood, and I have many conflicting feelings about it. But the invasion itself involves a civilian population, with a few soldiers, at the end of military invasion they could not hope to stop. The archive hour described the events in a simple and straightforward manner, leaving the drama of the recordings to tell the story. The broadcaster showed extraordinary bravery, speaking to his children, then hoping for a return of the Islands to their peaceful state.

Jolie Holland's latest recording has been hitting pandora recently. When she was in the Be Good Tanyas, I used to find her strange, wandering phrasing curious, but on Springtime Can Kill You, it's compulsive listening. She seems to wander through her lyrics, producing music which is melancholic and lazy. Mexican Blue stands out for me; the lyric is elegant and personal, and melody simple, and the orchestration minimal. It's unclear what makes this song so compelling but it's there no the less.

It's turning my into an obsessive. I must have listened to it 20 times in the last two days — more if I include the times when I was working the chords out. Pandora is bad for your health.

This was the first time I have been to the Cluny. It's a good venue, being a converted warehouse. The main pub section is open, but warm in feel, although having so much brick around is a bit noisy. The food was good, although as I'd already eaten well at lunch it was overly large.

As I've said previously, I first heard of Jess Klein on pandora, and was lucky enough to see her tonight just a few weeks later. Dressed in black, set against the light, she seems small and vulnerable on stage; the effect accenutated by her guitar, a Gibson J200 I think, which is huge; the soundbox dwarfing it's owner. Her music, however, belies this image. Although, some of her songs are quiet and gentle, quite a most of them are belted out, her vocals strong and clear, the guitar strummed with fervour of a busker. Put on top of some melodic, and well-paced songs, it makes for a compelling performance. She's not the best lyricist in the world and, perhaps, overuses the power of her voice but, in general, she's well worth seeing.

Chris Knight, I have never heard of before. The introduction told us that he was from Slaughter, Kentucky. He gobsmacking accent confirmed this — I have a bizarre image of him swapping stories with a bunch of geordies afterward. Chris likes to sing about bad things. He got married at 16, and 18 and 21, his various wives gave birth in many bad situations, and he's killed a lot of men. Still, you could feel the anticipation in the audience; we waited patiently all night for it and eventually, we heard what we had all been waiting for and Chris called the audience "y'all".

Well, this might all come across a bit negative, but I enjoyed a lot of his performance, it just went on a bit longer and got a bit familiar.

I've been totally obsessed recently with Pandora; basically, they have defined a feature set for music, attributed this set to a library of music and there you have it: theme-based, personalised internet radio.

I've discovered some many new musicians this way. Ani DiFranco is playing at the moment (who I knew before). But Melisa Ferrick and Erin McKeown I'd never heard of before. Jess Klein, I am probably going to see at the Cluny this week.

At times, you think that talent is a rare thing, but, then, there are so many people in the world, there is a continual stream of excellent, surprising and exciting music and art being produced. The traditional media has limited us massively; we get to hear so little of what is available. It's not really a surprise that the various social networking sites have been such a success.

Perhaps it's a bit daft of me, expecting too much, but I'd hoped for some quality entertainment over the Christmas break. I have to say, I was most disappointed by the general quality of the TV.

I was looking forward to the Ruby in the Smoke, which the BBC dramatised; I'm a great fan of the books. Somewhat inevitably, Sally Lockhart was played by Billy Piper, who appears to have become the BBC standard feisty hero. She was okay although, perhaps, a bit old (Sally is 14 in the book). Julie Walters was excellent as always. In general, the film I think lacked over the book. They cut out too many of the incidental details which provides the books it's richness. The sense of the Sally fighting against society was lost. One thing they left in, was the death of Mrs Holland. I always thought this was weak in the book — the lead baddie , randomly decides to kill herself, in an act of desperation. Why didn't she kill Sally?

Speaking of Billy Piper, the Christmas special of Dr Who was excellent. Sharp action, witty dialogue and an entertaining baddie.

As for films, there was nothing new. The best were Unforgiven, and Pirates of the Carribean (terrible ending, pointless special effects but entirely sold by Johny Depp). Ah, well, maybe the new year will bring something better.

A new James Bond has happened. Hard to have avoided this with vast amounts of plugging going on; the BBC News appeared to turn into the advertising wing of the Bond machine for a week.

Went to see the film in the Vue cinema in Worcester. Fairly horrible place, lets be frank. When you come in through the door, you are assaulted by a wave of fat smells from the popcorn and ice cream. The foyer is actually quite tatty now, despite the fact that it's relatively new.

An initial feeling of relief, sitting comfortably in the cinema seats (the Vue has got this bit right), is soon blown away by the assault of the 30 minute pre-film advertising and "Copyright is theft" propaganda. Finally, the film starts. Sadly the advertising doesn't. James Bond driving his Form, using his Vaio, phoning on his Sony Ericsson. It's got to the point where it totally disrupts the flow. Combining it with the new, darker, more serious Bond makes it even worse — the new film has a sense of self-importance about it, which is totally punctured by the adverts.

It's not all bad, though. John Cleese is no longer in it, which is one hell of a relief.

What a weekend of culture! Simon and Rina came up from Friday, with the plan of going to see something called "Cairo Nights" or the Farha Tour (I was quite sure of the relationship between the two names). Basically, an evening of belly dancing. Rina's idea and I'm game for anything.

There were some delays on the way (Simon and Rina got stuck on the road, and I walked round in circles for a bit, as I'd not been to Northumbria Students Union before), so we got there a bit late. Rather disappointingly, instead of belly dancing when we arrived, there was a fat guy with a belt-line over his belly button and finger cymbals on stage; clearly, Newcastle is the place for middle-aged, post-op, transexual belly-dancers, I thought. The rest of the evening was pretty good, though. Nothing I haven't seen before — we did get belly dancing later on, and men-in-skirts rotating very quickly, and the bloke in a two men wrestling costume. And the fat bloke with fingers cymbals again. But it was actually a really good night. Most of the seats had long gone, so we just stayed at the bar cause there was lots of floor space there (like anyone is going to believe this), watching and dancing to the music. Highly recommended.

Saturday, we went to the Baltic which, I admit, is becoming a bit of a traditional thing when people come up to visit. I've seen this exhibition before: some of it very strong — the John Lennon tribute in the stairwell; some of it less so — the cartoon of the guy having sex with a dog (or sheep, there was some disaggrement on this topic).

I've been to that particular exhibit before. In general, I go to the Baltic often enough to see most of the exhibits, but not often enough to see things twice. I actually enjoyed seeing things twice.

Finally, this afternoon, I went for a bike ride and was feeling a bit pooped afterwards, so I watched Goodbye Lenin, which I've had for a while but not watched. Marvellous film. Very funny, poigniant, and set against German reunification. Humour, sadness and history — well, I was always going to be a sucker for this film, but it was put together very neatly, nicely directed and with lots of internal references which reward the audience for its attention. Always useful when you are tired after a bike ride.

There were two strange things about the film though. Firstly, I have a clear memory of Barry Norman reviewing it on the Film programme — but I can't have because it came out in 2003 well after he left. Was it another similar film I wonder. The music drove me mad as well, as I recognised it, but didn't know where from. Actually, it was the same composer as Amelie, and it's very similar. It worked well, but the sense of recognition was a bit distracting.

Been watching season two of teachers. Entertaining, funny, slightly bizarre and with lots of jokes about sex. Hardly a surprise it was such a success, although I never even heard about it at the time it came out.

Not sure watching a programme about a bunch of malcontent, alcholic obsessives worried about the pointlessness of their own lifes was such a great idea though, not at the weekend anyway.

The motorcycles diaries is the film of Ernesto Che Guevara's travels through South America. The story moves from it humerous and engaging beginning to its poigniant and moving finale. The film is wonderfully acted, beautifully scored and delicatly directed; it's filmed against astounding geography and a historical background more stunning still.

I've spent too long recently re-reading, re-watching. Who could wish for better than the Motorcycle Diaries to break this habit.

Read one of the Thraxas novels at the weekend. I'll say up front that they are good novels — funny, well-plotted, slightly bizarre — but they are not as good as Martin Millar's main novels which he seems to have stopped writing. A great pity.

Why was I reading this though? I've read them before, so there is nothing new to gain. I think that there are two reasons. Firstly, I seem some of Thraxas in myself. He's surrounded my amazing happenings, but can only rarely see it. My job is a bit like this. Looking back on the research I have done, and the changes that have happened in my life time is stunning. Like everything, in collapses into mundanity while you are actually doing it. The second reason is that I was fairly tired and hadn't slept well. Under such circumstances, you need something tight enough to interest you, but light enough to not demand too much thought.

It's a pity really. A few years ago (well, six or seven years ago), I went on a holiday on a boat. I was miles away from anywhere and trapped with no where to go. So I read a history book (E.P.Thomspon's, the Making of the English Working Class). I got 2/3's of the way through it, and have never finished it off. For such things you need a clear mind. Perhaps, I should go on another holiday, miles from nowhere.

People tend to look down on TV serials as compared to films; I think it's the notion that good art must be weighty and large. There are occasions, however, when you see a serial that really is astonishing. I've been lucky recently to see three of these. Some night, I shall watch all fo these in a row. To confirm the prevaling opinion that all scientists are trekies, the first one was "Sarek" from Star Trek—The Next Generation. The high point is that it allows Patrick Stewart to be terribly actorish on stage. It also features a bar fight and Wesley Crusher getting slapped my his mother; he could have done with more of this.

The second was a Hamish Macbeth episode that mentioned earlier, called "Wee Jocks Lament". It has everything that makes the series great — humour, sadness thrown together in a bizarre way.

Finally, and new to me, I saw "Aurora Borealis", which was the last episode of the first season of Northern Exposure. I've not seen this one before — I don't know when I started watching the programme. It's a masterpiece though. Three subplots tied together deftly and one of the most strange dream sequences of all time. Highly recommended.

Don't quite know why I ordered this DVD — I guess mostly because it's a bit of a cult classic and I wondered why. On watching, it became fairly obvious. It's gots lots of wobbly, hand-held camera moves (sorry, this still make me travel sick, even if they are cool), loud and occasionally intrusive background music, some cartoon segments. The premise is an old one — what if things were slightly different, pick your own alternative ending.

As a film, it's not bad; it's quite watchable, even exciting at points, but in the end, I felt that I was watching a music video rather than a film. It has become a modern, cult classic — I doubt that it will become just a classic.

I've seen Billy Bragg before, but never at a gig that I've had to pay for. He gives value for money, it has to be said, and played a good long set; he still can't sing, and it still doesn't matter that much.

The stand out performance, though, was the support which was Seth Lakeman; I've rarely heard such an intensely rhythmic band, and certainly not one playing on acoustics. Be looking forward to seeing them live at a smaller venue.

Wasn't sure about this one. It was an entertaining watch, I suspose, although I've got to a point in my life where I find Jack Black irritating rather than mildy amusing. Still, John Cusack is charismatic enough to rescue most films, it's full of pretty women and has some wonderful songs in the soundtrack which have been moldering in the dust of my record collection for too long.

Strangely, reading the credits, I noticed that the executive producer was Alan Greenspan. Good to have strong support on your side.

I've only ever seen the last five minutes of this film about a decade ago. I hadn't realised that it was written by Meera Syal. Great film; funny, with nice observed social commentary and a few bits of the bizarre. It feels slightly dated now, but seems to improve with age; it now reminds me of history as well.

After that, I watched the X-Men 1 film; perhaps a strange choice; it shares one thing, though, with Bhajee on the Beach which is an excellent ensemble cast. I think I prefer this sort of film to the big star vehicle which is too common these days.

I've seen John Renborn a number of times, but never Robin Williamson. Had seats in the front row, so it lacked the coldness that you normally get in the Sage. The music was beautiful and melodic, but the gig as the whole lacked enough variation. John Renborn did one Booker T number, for instance, which was fast and the audience went wild. Robin Williamson provided some good chat between songs, although he played far too many instruments; his sound was a bit ropey as a result.

At christmas, the stand out film for me was "The Shipping News". So I bought the book. Immediately after this, I mentioned the film to a friend; his response was "don't bother with the book.

Actually, I quite enjoyed it; there is less Hollywood-ism (i.e. the lead characters arn't good looking); the book has more time to meander than the film, which it benefits from. I find it a little overly stuffed with metaphor and similie, which at time jarred a little; othertimes, it was highly effective ("the sky was bruise grey"). Combined with her tendency to use verbless sentances ("The smell of sea damp and paint") gives the book a slightly breathless feel.

Generally recommended. Particularly, as it has lots of short chapters, which makes it good for reading in the bath.

As have others, I said in the past that I don't really like country music; more recently, I realised that there are bits of it I do like, so I try to remain open minded. I happened across the Dixie Chicks "Home" album; I remember they had a lot of hassle over Gulf War II, which is why the name stuck, so I gave it a listen.

It's great; there's some fast and furious bluegrass playing, so pop songs, some delicate ballads. And one or two rather crap love songs. Ah well. Interestingly, all the stand out songs, for me anyway, are covers. I've worked out one, Top of the World. Funnily enough, the middle section has the same chord change to a very bad, slow, folkie version of "Little Red Corvette" that I used to play poorly many years ago.

Got the second Hamish MacBeth DVD today. Bit irritated to find it short one episode; ho hum. Watched Wee Jock's Lament; excellent episode. It mixes humour and death, killing and repentance, and throws in ghost sub-plot. In lesser hands, it could have been cheesy on a stick; but it's so lightly done that it worked; the ghost appearances really freaked me out, the pain of the loss touched me, and the laying of Wee Jock's stone had me in tears. Did the BBC really never repeat these?

I'd totally forgotten about the upcoming John MacLaughlin gig; in got tickets on the day of the gig. Glad I did. He was playing with Shakti — mellow, acoustic (well except for half the instruments), Indian.

If you'd only heard him recorded, you might feel that a John MacLaughlin gig is to be impressed, rather than entertained. The speed, fluency and virtuosity of the performance is astounding; but on record, you wonder whether there is more. This music needs performance, though; live, the flurry of notes blends, the music Star breathes; it's hypnotic, engrossing, compelling and, frankly, exhausting. I came out with knees hardly working.

I was slightly irritated by the formality of the setting of the music, though: the introductions were Hollywood-gushing; a 2 hour set with no interval was bladder-bursting.

I got the metro home; bought a ticket which I didn't need as the SAGE tickets count; took till two thirds of the way across the river toward Gateshead, before we realised we were heading in the wrong direction. Senility approachs

Well, two gigs, and one night of extreme technqi-ness, had left me tired, so I spent the weekend doing very little; more vids.

I'm trying out online DVD rental and managed to get hold of a copy of the first season of Hamish Macbeth. I was a bit nervous: when this came out, I thought it was great, and I didn't want to find out that my memory decieved me. Sure enough, it was fabulous; funny, tightly plotted, closely observed, cynical and black.

The rest of the weekend has involved stupid quantities of Star Trek — also good, but continually spoiled by the tendancy for the script writers to want everything to turn out swimmingly. And, of course, Wesley Crusher who is as irritating now as he was then.

Thursday night was Salsa Celtica at the SAGE. They're a large band which combine, obviously enough, Salsa and folk. They were absolutely amazing; the two forms of music blended naturally; perhaps, this is not so surprising as they are both hard core dance music. Rhythmically, the mix was better than melodically; I wasn't sure about the Northumbrian pipes which are difficult instruments. The chanters are nasty to tune at the best of times.

This was also the first time I've been in hall 2 of the Sage. Much nicer than hall 1; oddly, though, despite having a dance flour on the lowest level, they choose to lay out seats right at the front; get up and dance guys!

Graham Coxon played the Newcastle Students Union last night. I felt nice and old; seemed terribly loud. Had a great time, though, bouncing up and down near the moshers at the front. Very talented guitarist, excellent band. I think he lacks as a front man: I always liked a bit of repartee, myself. Also, you have to wonder how long his disaffected youth lyrics are going to work. Noticed that James Taylor Quartet are coming up soon; I'll be there.

Future generations may call it a DVD session, but to me they are still vids. And I've watched quite a lot this weekend.

On Saturday, I went around to Dan's; he'd plugged his stereo in and projected the image on a wall, which worked well. We watched some Frazier, which I haven't seen for ages; it was good, the dialogue was fast and furious; sadly, for the authors, perhaps, the funniest thing was Daphne's old boyfriend, and his unfortunate attempt at an English accent. Only Dick Van Dyce ever said "lov-er-ly". After that, we watched Serenity. The cinematograph was good to watch, some reasonable fight scences and lots of very beautiful actors; ultimately, though, I didn't care about any of them.

The stand out vid, though, was today; I watched Sleepy Hollow. I didn't know it was a re-working of a fairy tale, Great film: Tim Burton's visuals were stunning, Miranda Richardson was outrageously evil and Johnny Depp's cheekbones were incisive as always.

I've been listening to Groove Armarda a lot recently; their "Love Box" CD is phenomenal. The stand out track is "Think Twice". I was surprised to learn that the vocals where by Neneh Cherry. I remember when I first heard "Buffalo Stance" and, then, later "Manchild" a decade ago. It was great to hear her rich, sultry voice again. It draw you in; its warmth envelopes you; removes you from immediate.

Listening to a special edition of the News Quiz being played as a tribute to Linda Smith, who died earlier in the week. A sad loss — I loved her rambling style, her ear for the bizarre, her inventiveness, while she still managed to be incisive about the issues of the day.

Watched Breakfast at Tiffany's today. It was great. It only feels a little aged, mostly in the styles and some of the attitudes, but the core of it remains. Audrey Hepburn is stunning and George Peppard endearing — you want him to succeed — although you keep expecting him to pull out a cigar, smirk at the camera and say "I love it when a plan comes together".

As it happens, he gets the girl, so I guess it does.

Went to the theatre for the first time in ages, to see Mike Leigh's 2000 Years. I've not been to the Royal Theatre in Newcastle before — it's quite an impressive building but the seats are uncomfortable and the acoustics aren't great.

The play was good. The father was great, being a crotchity old man of the type that I hope to grow old to be. It was rather like his earlier films; lots of middle class people, all of whom seem to have developed a particularly good line in witty repartee for no adequately explained reason.

But you can forgive anybody who can finish a play discussing the political situation Israel, with a bad pun about Noah.