Update From Crime Central

Hell Everyone

I say that advisedly - some of you may be unwell, or abroad. Bad news in the East Midlands - Nottingham is the most crime-ridden city ever, worse even than Prohibition-era Chicago and ancient Gomorrah. The mayor of Nottingham was on the radio this morning decrying statistics and think tanks in general but hey, the damage is done. Mud sticks, especially when it's stapled in place with a bullet. I am more sceptical, as the people behind these figures are Reform, one of those insane think tanks that thinks selling the NHS and BBC is a good idea. I am inclined to disagree with that, but then again, I'm not planning on walking round Hyson Green in a flourescent shirt any evening soon.

Yucky TV on Sky yesternight - it was called Inside a Bullet Wound, and involved 3D recreations of famous injuries. It's like something off TV Go Home come to life.The second TV nightmare of the week so far, though. Eurovision was on Saturday. James' mum Beryl came down and we all gathered at James's place for dips and cold cuts surrounded by bunting, balloons and the flags of all nations. It was actually very enjoyable and we all got a golden opportunity to be snide at the expense of our European cousins. Blake was especially withering and gave no-one any points at all (did I mention that Beryl had made score cards?) until Lithuania's entry, which was six men in suit and tie singing "We are the winners/ of Eurovision" to the tune of "Ner-ne-ner-ner-ner-ner" from primary school. And the papers wonder why people vote UKIP. Finland's excllent death metal monster winners Lordi local town is now granting them the signal honour of naming a street after them in Lapland.

The man from Sky arrived to install our dish at 8am on Sunday and was drilling within the half hour. That's insane. It's an unexpected thing to be asleep, resting after the previous evening's evening of Eurovision excess) to hear the phone go.

Me - "Urgh... hello?"
Voice - "Mr Burgess?"
Me - "Erm... yes?"
Voice - "Open your door, duck. I'm outside with your dish"

And that was that. My sleep gone I at least had the consolation of satellite TV by 9:30am. Also having a man drill holes outside at 8:45 on a Sunday is excellent for provoking the neighbours, especially the ones at no31 who keep stealing my parking place with their bloody taxi. Eat it, tossers.

A big dinner later I was ready to hit Crime City (formerly known as Nottingham) to see The Brian Jonestown Massacre at The Rescue Rooms. They were OK, but I can recommend the support act, some lovely Canadians called The High Dials. Very good they were and also, as I said, lovely. I ran into their singer as we were leaving and said that I'd enjoyed their set and would look out for their stuff. I know bands like this, because I did. He said thanks, buy our stuff, and then asked me about where I was going and told me he knew Leicester becasue his grandma was from there and it was as far from the sea so you can get and it has a good rugby team. Wow. I know nothing at all about Saskatoon, or even really Montreal where they were actually from. Another one to add to the list of nice Canadians I have met, which is actually all of them. It must be something to do with the Queen.

I am sat at the BBC again, surrounded on all sides by teenagers having MSN converations with eachother across the room. Christ sakes. I hate kids. I went to Mosh recently as a case in point. We know the regular DJ, and usually me and Nick can get what we want played. I got Talking Heads's Once In A Lifetime a little while ago, and cleared the dancefloor. Could we resist the 12" version of REM's Stand? Answers in next week's edition. Last time though it was some guy in heavy glasses who played just that little bit too much Oasis for comfort, although it was end oif term at both universities, so he can be forgiven for playing to the crowd. Well, I didn't know anything at all when I was 18, and know even less now.

They all look so gormless and pretty - 18 and on top of the world. It's not our place anymore - the DJ played Mulder and Scully, and I was forcibly reminded that some of these kids were about 11 first time round. I thought it was rubbish then, but they were probably too busy with Furbies and Key Stage 2 SATS to notice it at all. It's all retro indie now, and I suppose so is most of my record collection. Now, to put it in context, I can guarantee that when we first hit the Fanclub in 1997, brimming with youth and spunk and pith and vinegar, there were a bunch of 25-year-olds who saw us dancing joyfully to Size Of A Cow and thought exactly the same thing.

They are all now 33.

But there are major advantages to entering the very earliest stages of middle age (don't be ashamed). Trying to pull in the rarified atmosphere of evening classes instead of some LOUD club, or the ability to buy material goods. These beautiful dummies settling into their halls of residence are still healthy in body from home-cooked meals and healthy in mind from the recent mental exercise of A-Levels and arguing long into the night at house parties about, y'know, life, and stuff, before heading off to the spare room to put their still new and shiny bodies through some more exercise. Wait until three years worth of living on £10 a week has taken its toll.

Good night, and good luck
Dougal