I feel queasy. I got far too drunk last night while working in Telfords. Just Guinness, and bitter... oh, and that pint of lager bought by the Bulgarian mate of Baz's who is a CSKA Sofia fan who has come over to visit Anfield.

I hope the sun's shining when he gets there. Even then, parts of L4 can be quite disspiriting.

Last night was a triumph. The Hot Puppies were sharp and sophisticated. Any stiletto heel worn by Becky or Beth would be just as likely to gouge someone's eye out as titilate them. They were far better - more self assured, a little darker, and more in command of the audience - than they were the last time they were in Chester. If there are any copies of the single, Terry left [it's a strictly limited pressing for Label Fandango records] I recommend that you buy a copy.

For those of you who were there last night, Terry was the opening song of a short set that tossed around elements of Duane Eddy, Patti Smith, the Breeders and Duran Duran. Fucking great, edgy pop music, in other words!

They're delightful people. They were even good enough to give me one of their t-shirts when I realised my terrible fashion faux pas for the night. It was Armistice Day, and I was wearing an Automatic t-shirt resplendent with the words 'I Love Germany' printed on it.

Oops.

I'm very respectful of Armistice Day. Both my grandads served in the Second World War -- as did most people of my age's grandads, of course. We're the last blood link to that generation. Ava will grow up never having known anyone in the family who fought in the Second World War. That might diminish her respect and gratitude for what they sacrificed. I'll do my best to not let that happen.

I played The Last Post as my last piece of music last night. The looks of bemusement - even annoyance - on the faces of most of the punters betrayed their ignorance for what that piece of music stands for. They've forgotten already. In this day and age, that's terrifying.

Maybe I'm more sensitive to that piece of music. My Grandad Walton was the Viceroy's bugler in India. I grew up with a battered bugle sat on the hearth in our lounge. I never heard my grandad play it, though.

Other than the Last Post, the rest of the music went well. It was a bit more - how did Soundhog put it? - err... challenging than normal... but I still kept the dancefloor full[-ish!]. Apart from the drunk as a skunk girl who shoved me - forcefully - and gave me earache for playing "loads of shit music. Why aren't you playing what you normally do - like the Strokes, and all that?"

It's funny how people can reduce you to one song, or one band. If you don't play it / them, it ruins their night. I asked her to be broadminded and told her that if she was patient something she would like would come along soon enough...

She shoved me again and told me to "Fuck off!"

That's the end of me being rational with drunken harridans, then.

I can also sense some storm clouds brewing over Telfords. I can't say too much here; but what I will say is that when making certain decisions, know your limitations, and trust those people you know how have the requisite expertise and know-how.

British Nuclear Fuels don't employ green grocers to advise them on safety issues, do they?

The picture to the left was a delightful surprise from Iolo who won demo of the week a fortnight ago. He painted this cartoon for Ava as a gesture of gratitude. It's by far the best, unsolicited thing that anyone has ever sent me.

Ava will have to fight me over who gets to hang it on their wall ;0)

There's still lots to tell you about; but I'm on Ava duty now, so it will have to wait! Back to the top of the page...