Brexit: political hooliganism

They called it the English disease. Mindless rampages through foreign lands, for no purpose other than cause chaos and injury, often to themselves.

Where once there were drunken skinheads in designer clothes with dubious far-right leanings, now the choice of dress is tweed, lager has become warm ale, and the violence is in the rhetoric rather than the physical deed. Two world wars and one world cup, indeed.

The battleground is narrower - the European Parliament in Brussels, and the meeting rooms where the leaving negotiations will take place - but the recruiting grounds are the same. Those flags at England games with towns that never or seldom appear in the football results on Final Score... I'm fairly confident that they have MEPs (democratically elected!) whose purpose is to make themselves redundant and not actually fight for their constituents.

Perhaps a similar solution could be employed by the EU - ban England from European competition for five years.

Developing the parallel further, the close season jaunts to the other side of the world provide a bit more cash, but it's nothing compared to the ease and variety of trade available on the doorstep.

Now where's my Premier League-branded innovative jam?

The 211 team World Cup

The latest FIFA idea of incoming president Gianni Infantino is to expand the World Cup to 48 teams. An already bloated tournament would then become even more stultifyingly dull.

So to hell with qualifying. And with it, forget four year cycles - this can be done annually in about six weeks.

There are currently 211 members of FIFA with men's teams. (Ladies, you can have your own personalised insane tournament later.)

This proposal harks back to the original cup - the now maligned FA Cup.

First, we need a couple of pre-qualifying rounds. The bottom 70 teams by FIFA ranking are drawn at random to play, winners progressing to the second pre-qualifying round.

The 35 match winners are joined by the next 61 ranking places, making 96 teams. Another draw, with the 48 match winners progressing to the first round proper.

The top 80 ranked teams join the party, from here a seven round straight knock-out competition (128-64-32-16-8-4-2)

What's not to like? Don't worry about the fans - FIFA don't really care for them anyway, except for the cash. Corporate sponsors can fill the stadia with competition winners.

TXFM

Dublin - and further afield through the wonder of the internet - is soon to lose one of her radio stations. TXFM, we hardly knew ye.

It's barely time since it regenerated from Phantom 105.2 - a slightly longer process than the Doctor, but the interim weeks effectively being a Spotify play list called "Now That's What I Call Indie Rock" wasn't too painful.

For me, it has soundtracked breakfasts, the occasional time working from home, innumerable car journeys around Dublin's suspension-jarring streets and just being there in the background.

Aside from the initial shakes of the trying-too-hard breakfast show with Joe and Keith - I compared it unfavorably with Mark and Lard's ill-suited stint on BBC Radio 1 in the 90s (which I loved!) - I've rarely been disappointed with the presenters or the music played. NB: Joe is great in the afternoon, opening my ears to hip hop that passed me by.

I've been fortunate enough to have my dulcet (flat) Yorkshire tones on the air a few times - Cathal Funge's Song Club has a hat-trick of my choices.

With this in mind, and thinking back to when BBC 6 Music launched with a public vote for their opening track, I have wondered whether there will be any notable song - or programme of songs - played before closedown.

For obviousness of title, either The Beatles or The Doors "The End" would suffice.

James' "We're Going To Miss You When You're Gone" - I will certainly miss having it around on FM, especially in the car.

REM "It's The End Of The World As We Know It" - over-dramatic, other independent-flavoured radio stations are available, just need seeking out over the web.

And then I remembered Belle and Sebastian "This Is Just A Modern Rock Song" - none more indie, and the song winds down to a mournful:

I count "three, four" and then we start to slow,
Because a song has got to stop somewhere.

RIP TXFM. Even if you did play too much Kings of Leon.

338 hours later

I remember the feeling when I discovered that Britain had voted to leave the European Union.

I had woken early, and reached for my phone - to see what time it was, not through force of terrible habit, honest.

"I'll just look" I thought to myself.

The Guardian's home page loaded, there was a smirking Nigel Farage, and my stomach immediately churned.

And then there was a metaphorical 'click'.

Amidst all the bombs exploding as politicians resigned, went into hiding, disavowed promises that were merely possibilities, faced the media with faces far from those of triumph, stock markets crashing, the pound sinking, arguments over who should have had a plan for this, social media filling with cries of 'what have we done?', hundreds of searches enquiring what exactly was the institution that the people had just decided to leave, newly empowered xenophobes and racists somehow believing that their vote was in fact for 'send the buggers back'....

...one bomb remained unexploded. The one closest to me and my family. The one primed under me and my family.

It's still there, ticking. And nobody can tell me if or when it's going to explode, and what will happen when it does.

And now I'm relying on Oliver Letwin to lead the negotiations? Good grief.

On the referendum

If you are thinking of voting to leave the EU, I would be interested to know your reasons why.

The Leave campaign has characterised the Remain campaign as being 'Project Fear' - although Leave were the ones to release early on a list of fifty serious crimes that happened to be committed by foreigners. This was to presumably illustrate the perceived loss of border control. And to hit the ground running with dog whistling. Although is it really a dog whistle when everyone can hear it? A dog megaphone?

So there are apparently hundreds, nay thousands, nay even millions of foreigners in Britain - Leave would have you think they all walked in, unquestioned. But consider the last time you came back to the UK after a holiday abroad. Just before you trudged to the luggage carousel, you would have shown your passport to either the local police or other officer. That is definitely a Britain in control of her borders.

And on holidays, where would you like to go in the golden days of a Britain that has left the EU? Europe itself? Yes, there'll still be flights, but how much is it going to cost? You do not need a visa today to travel - a Britain outside the EU could be punitively charged, be it individually or on top of air travel fees. Don't think it could happen? Speak to anyone who ventured abroad before the 1960s.

Say you have now managed to get yourself to France, Spain or elsewhere. Why not call home and let them know you've arrived - or better still post a picture on Facebook? Just whip out your mobile... and pay excessively once more. The EU has capped roaming charges. 'But my network provider doesn't charge me for roaming!' you protest. Free of those rules, have you ever known capitalism do something for your benefit?

I have forgotten that it is quite silly of me to assume you actually have any time off for a holiday. The EU has driven a whole raft of rights for workers. These will not magically be retained in the event of Leave. Unbound by the EU, the Gove-rnment (because that's who it will be, or heaven forbid Bullshitting Boris Johnson) will be able to repeal various acts of Parliament not so much burning red tape as burning your right to go to work without being exploited. You may argue that the EU should have no say over how many hours a week you can work, but I don't want to be on your coach as you career off the M62 flyover at Goole during your third day without sleep.

Sorry, what was that you were saying about sovereignty? The EU may make recommendations, but individual countries have to enact legislation for these. Remember the rounds of referenda that held up various treaties? Ireland in particular had a penchant for voting No a few times - and coincidentally abortion still remains illegal here, despite pressure from other countries and what the anti-abortionists would spread during each such referendum. Does a campaign of misleading fearful propoganda sound familiar? (I know Remain are hardly covering themselves in glory here either, but this nonsense sells papers.)

The most pernicious argument propounded by Leave is that the EU is undemocratic. That would be the EU Parliament, voted on by about one-fifth of the population every five years. It used to be true that it was unelected - but this has not been the case since 1979. And who has benefited from the public reluctance to embrace European democracy? UKIP, whose primary argument is that Brussels is undemocratic. Brussels has actually helped fund their cynicism - thanks to creative use of expenses by the part-time UKIP MEPs.

Yes, the EU has its flaws, but surely it is better to be in and have a chance to steer the ship to calmer waters than be outside on a liferaft without a say. Or something about tents and pissing. Interestingly, Leave cannot get their post-EU Utopia agreed - some wish to be like Norway: access to the market, still has to pay contributions, has no say on setting the rules. Others wish to be like Switzerland: secret, offshore havens, don't like tax... hang on. Or Canada: currently on fire, and climate change probably means the Scottish Highlands will soon be a year-round tinderbox.

Finally, if you still cannot make up your mind, think about Rupert. Rupert is a four-times married Australian, scion of a publisher father, cruelly forced to adopt US citizenship so he could spend more time with his money. Rupert is so generous, Dennis Potter named his cancer tumour after him. This quote is from Anthony Hilton:

I once asked Rupert Murdoch why he was so opposed to the European Union. 'That’s easy,' he replied. 'When I go into Downing Street they do what I say; when I go to Brussels they take no notice.'

Now think about what has done more damage to the UK since the late 1960s: the EU or News International. Who's telling you that the UK is full? (It isn't - fly on a plane from Dublin to London, it's nothing but green fields.) Who's telling you that migrants are only here on the take? Who's telling you that South Yorkshire Police are a fine, upstanding police force who wouldn't collude to smear innocent victims of their incompetence?

Dig Your Own Hole

I have started to make use of Spotify's offline feature, to give me something to listen to on the ride to and from work.

This week I downloaded The Chemical Brothers' "Dig Your Own Hole" - a favourite of mine at university. Listening to it today generated these random thoughts:

The album is almost 20 years old. How? *whimpers at aging*

The trouble with music today is that you can hear the words. Even the two tracks with actual singers ("Setting Sun", "Where Do I Begin") dispense with the vocals being entirely audible. Noel Gallagher sounds like he's trapped in a well with an erratic motorbike engine.

Noel would do well to make something else as one-tenth as adventurous as "Setting Sun". The next thing he did with Oasis was acknowledged cocaine blizzard "Be Here Now". Did this one track annihilate whatever creativity Oasis had? (And in any case, "Whatever" was written by Neil Innes, supreme Beatles pasticher.)

"Setting Sun" is ideal for cycling fast.

Beth Orton. Wonderful voice. *sigh*

It's an absolute racket in places, but what a glorious racket. Although the whistle on the title track can get lost.

"The Private Psychedelic Reel" is one of the best album closers.

November 20, 2015 at 02:04AM

What's this DO Note recipe do then? And why on earth am I not going to sleep?
via http://ift.tt/1lxKuuc

Question Time

There was a rumble on last night's Question Time, as populist right wing character - and QT regular - Nigel Farage, was a guest alongside popular comedian/activist/florid purveyor of lexicon Russell Brand.

The main thing anyone seemingly will remember from the set-to is Brand denouncing Farage as a "pound shop Enoch Powell." On the face of it, some zinger. Until you think about UKIP more closely.

The main financial backers of UKIP are lapsed Tories, worshippers at the font of Thatcher, who you suspect would be in the "Enoch was right" camp.

The target audience of UKIP, being bombarded with propaganda that all Britain's ills are due to foreigners - either politicians, bureaucrats or immigrants - are, due to the current economic mess, worsened by ideological austerity, people can only afford the pound shop, if they can afford anything at all. UKIP pretend that they are the answer to their problems, not bothering to say that their solution is basically the Tory party with absolutely no compassion.

Forty years of relentless lies and distortion, coupled with politicians too cowardly to confront these lies, and Britain ends up with a political party leader who could have been the antagonist in a George Formby film? Turned out shite again.

Paul Heaton & Jacqui Abbott @ The Academy

I blogged here a while ago about my first gig, The Beautiful South at Leeds Town & Country Club in 1994.

Last night was a reunion of sorts, twenty years on and 200 miles west, in a different country.

Since that first gig, I've seen Paul Heaton numerous times, either with The Beautiful South or solo. Various small and large venues across the UK and Ireland, football stadia, fields in Somerset, even a café in Manhattan.

But this promised something different, albeit familiar. No longer solo, Jacqui Abbott would be back on stage alongside him. And they had a fantastic new album to show off, which they did from the start.

The crashing opening of "Some Dancing To Do" brought the band on stage, followed by Paul and Jacqui. And then Jacqui sang and I was suddenly years younger. One of the best female voices of recent pop has lost nothing in it's absence. I once read a review about Eddi Reader saying she could sing the telephone directory and it would still sound fantastic - the same applies to Jacqui.

But there was Heaton's back catalogue to be plundered, and each song brought a flood of memories.

"Old Red Eyes Is Back" triggered the memory of being tossed around the floor at that first gig like flotsam in a human sea.

I had forgotten just how good "Prettiest Eyes" was - I don't recall ever hearing it live. (Maybe one in a big shed somewhere?) It also resonated with me much more than it did in my single days.

"Rotterdam" - I was still word perfect after all these years. Naturally "Irish stout" got a huge cheer. (This also brought to mind the single's B-side "Pollard". Do look for it online.)

"Dream A Little Dream" (yes, not a Heaton original) - Christ, I spent seven quid of my student loan on an import CD of that!

"I'll Sail This Ship Alone" was my highlight of "Welcome To The Beautiful South" - and here it was being sung in front of me.

And from further back in time, gems from The Housemartins' brief burst of glory - including my first sight of P.D.Heaton on noisy guitar for a splendid "Me And The Farmer".

As usual, Paul had plenty of entertainment between songs: the dichotomy of Tayto crisps in the thirty two counties, a tale of a Battle of the Bands competition that involved Gary Glitter, an art competition...

One of the best gigs I've been to in ages. New songs fitting perfectly alongside old songs - some of which I'd never heard live or never thought I'd hear again.

All in all, brilliant.

And welcome back Jacqui! (The blokes stood behind me were certainly happy to see you.)

Set list:
Some Dancing To Do
Old Red Eyes Is Back
Costa Del Sombre
Rotterdam
Prettiest Eyes
Moulding Of A Fool
We're Not Deep
The Snowman
Build
When It Was Ours
Dream A Little Dream
Don't Marry Her
The Right In Me
Good As Gold
DIY
Happy Hour
---
I'll Sail This Ship Alone
Me And The Farmer
---
Loving Arms
Caravan Of Love

Saying the unsayable

To all those politicians and media commentators (you know who they are) who "say the unsayable" - stop talking rot.

1) The things you are saying are perfectly sayable - obviously so as they are spewing out of your mouth.

2) People who want to say those things, already say those things. They don't need somebody to claim to speak on behalf of them - everyone in earshot has already heard them and already made up their mind.

3) The people who choose not to say those things may have conciously done so as those things are either:
a) prejudiced
b) unpleasant
c) some form of "-ism"
d) patently untrue based on personal experience, research or that commonly missing human value of "not being a dick"

It was twenty years ago today...

...Tuesday, 5th April 1994, that I went to my first gig. The Beautiful South, at Leeds Town and Country Club.

I'd bought my ticket a few weeks earlier, not sure from where - but not the T&C's box office, as I headed into Leeds on the bus not 100% certain where I was supposed to be going. Cookridge Street wasn't one of the usual places I went when in Leeds.

Anyway, it must have been the school holidays, as Easter Monday was the day before. I suppose I was a little nervous, entirely unknowing what a gig entailed. I must have had a coat, but I think I tied it around my waist - as a poor sixth form student, yet to earn the big bucks from a Saturday job at Maplin, I probably skipped the charge.

I bought a programme - another fresher mistake. This had to be stuffed into the gap between my coat and jeans, at the mercy of any spilled drink or overenthusiastic jostling. Fortunately, it survived and lived with my other gig memorabilia* for many years. There was a quiz inside, win a day's drinking with The Beautiful South. Even though I was not yet of boozing age, I entered. I completely misunderstood one question, so my liver was saved. (I'd have fallen asleep after the fourth or fifth pint in any case.)

What I remember of the T&C is that there was a rather grand staircase from the main doors, up to the box office and through into the auditorium. This was a tall, white plastered room, reminiscent of a church.

What do I remember of the gig? Not much. A few things peer through the fog of time:

1. The first song, "Minicorrect". It was rumoured to have been one of the reasons for Briana Corrigan having left the band, due to its lyrical content, alluding to S&M and abusive relationships. I already had two versions on CD: a loud, fast demo that was B-side to "Good As Gold", and the languid, string-drenched album track on "Miaow". What speed it was played at, I forget. The single memory I have is the stage lighting turning, shining bright yellow lights over the audience, absolutely flooding the place. I never again heard it played live.

2. "Old Red Eyes Is Back". One of my favourite Beautiful South songs, and judging by the human tidal surge, many other people's too. I think I went across the room at least twice - all the way over to the right, then all the way over to the left, then finally back to the middle.

3. The albino man and his little friend. There was a guy, quite old, who wore white, had white hair, and looked quite out of place at any gig. He stood stoically still, a few metres away from me. He had a friend with him, who looked for all the world like Ronnie Corbett. I saw the albino guy at other gigs - most bizarrely, Garbage, also at the T&C, but Ronnie Corbett was never with him. Perhaps he was at the golf course.

4. Encores. Being my very first gig, I wasn't entirely familiar with the concept of the encore, let alone two. I can't remember what songs were included - possibly Woman In The Wall or 36D. (The main set had closed with one of them, the other was definitely in the encore.) Fortunately, being in the middle of the crowd, and also not having to race for a bus home for school in the morning, I held my ground. A rare moment of copping on that the rest of the audience were not moving either.

5. The support act were called Frente! and came from Australia. They might have appeared in "Home and Away" at some point. They had an album called "Marvin the Album". Other than that, I couldn't tell you anything about them.

So that was my first gig. I saw The Beautiful South again at the end of the year at Hull Ice Arena - just as Carry On Up The Charts was beginning to sell like hot cakes. There were many more after that - bigger sheds in Sheffield, Manchester and Dublin, the whatever-it-was-called-at-the-time stadium in Huddersfield (once supporting R.E.M., another their big 'South v North' show), a trip to London to Islington Carling Academy, and a hastily arranged set in a New York record shop/cafe as a planned concert had been cancelled.** I've also seen Paul perform in the Leftfield tent at Glastonbury, Billy Bragg joining in with a cover of "White Man In Hammersmith Palais".

I expanded my gig going horizons beyond The Beautiful South, and I've lost count of how many I've been to in total. My first four years in Dublin racked up at least a gig per month, the rate now slowed somewhat now I've other priorities.

Still, roll on June 7th!

* A pile of ticket stubs, T-shirts, postcards and other gubbins, in a drawer, under my bed.

** I happened to be on holiday in NYC at the time, it wasn't planned the other way around. Although I once did go to Brussels to meet up with other TBS fans who were members of the List For Whoever mailing list.

Berlin Blues

Berlin Schönefeld airport. Old, decrepit, small, claustrophobic in places, due to have been replaced. My experience there today was one of increasing frustration.

The day began well, with three train journeys, each one punctual to the minute. The stress began shortly after entering Terminal A. Departures, naturally, are upstairs. There are eighteen check in desks, in two banks of nine, in an area so small you could comfortably throw a tennis ball from one side to the other without much effort.

However, in between is a snaking queue of similarly frustrated passengers waiting to go through the security gate, restricting each check in desk to a queue depth of a few metres. Matters are not helped by there being insufficient barriers to guide the security queue, so the queue of confused travellers randomly juts out into the remaining space.

Furthermore, in front of all this, the Berlin Landespolizei have three massive scanners for luggage pre-screening. Again with a long, ungainly queue.

Once through security, one can relax in a corridor that has a handful of shops and one bar. Kilkenny's Irish Pub, obviously.

As I write this, I'm sat in a small departure lounge - more accurately a slightly larger Portakabin - waiting for my flight. This is, of course, at the furthest reach of the terminal.

Actually, there's the incoming plane. Salvation may be at hand, at least until Ryanair's first onboard announcement.

The Ashes Calamity: A Theory

I have a theory as to why England are currently toiling their way to humiliating series defeat in Australia.

During the summer, in the build up to the previous series, it was declared "the worst ever Australian team" to make its way to Britain. Errant nonsense, as the 3-0 scoreline was no fair reflection of those tests.

However, England seem to have decided to properly show what a worst touring side ever looks like - particularly when it contains most of the players who have been unassailable until recently.

In a way, the haplessness is comforting. It's nostalgia for those fragile 80s and 90s teams. Winning things just isn't English, or indeed cricket.

Phantom Icons

The good folk at Phantom 105.2 have run another poll that has sorted out their Christmas playlist. This year, they wanted your musical icons.

An interesting subject, as what defines an icon? Is it longevity, a varied career or, as in many sad cases, dying young leaving a preserved image of cool an maybe a couple of decent records. (Jim Morrison not withstanding. Sorry, I can't abide The Doors.)

The countdown is underway. Here are my choices. (Damn it! Forgot about Ray Davies!)

1. Paul McCartney
He was a Beatle for goodness sake. More importantly he wrote "Paperback Writer" - a song I'm increasingly believing might be the finest recorded. If only he would stop slaughtering "Hey Jude" at huge public events. (With the Olympics and Diamond Jubilee done, we should be safe for a few years.)

2. David Bowie
The chameleon pop star. His run of 70s albums is as remarkably consistent as that of The Beatles from a decade before. Ziggy, Aladdin Sane, nicking Philly soul, the Berlin years - he was also mates with Iggy Pop, picking him up after The Stooges fell apart. Don't mention the Laughing Gnome though.

3. Mark E Smith
Curmudgeonly. Splenetic. Acidic. Pugilistic - even with band mates while on stage. The nucleus about which the myriad cast of The Fall revolve. Less a singer, more haranguing word wrangler. Holder of the Guinness World Record for use of 'ah'. Always different, always the same.

4. Paul Heaton
Quite simply, soundtracked my growing up. The Housemartins were around when I was seven years old; The Beautiful South were the first band I was properly into (take that indie scenesters!) and the first band I saw live. Also, I share my birthday with him. (Yes, and Billy Joel and Dave Gahan.)

5. Jonny Greenwood
Thom Yorke may be front man of Radiohead, but they'd be less interesting without Jonny. He's also produced several film scores, snubbed by Oscar® for "There Will Be Blood".

Random Tracks of Conciousness 27 Nov 2013

This one snuck up on me while cycling to work...

The Decemberists - The Bagman's Gambit

Music therapy

Those songs that just pop into your head for no reason. You know the ones. You're sat there minding your own business, possibly even working, then... BAM! A long-forgotten hit - or miss - lodges itself in your brain. And stays there for hours.

As and when this happens, I'll log a post.

Random Tracks Of Consciousness 25 Nov 2013

Beth Orton - Stolen Car

Tuesday: pointless

Several years ago, I came up with the theory that Tuesday is the most pointless day of the week.

Here's why:
Monday - well, you have to start somewhere
Wednesday - it's the middle of the week
Thursday - which means tomorrow's Friday
Friday - it's the end of the week
Saturday and Sunday - no work!

So that leaves Tuesday. What's the point of it?

(NB: this doesn't necessarily follow if you don't have a weekday job.)

My Key Cuts

Every Monday to Thursday evening, Phantom 105.2 has Richie and Richie, Messrs McCormack and Ryan. It's a great show, mainly because they play what they damned well like.

One feature, recycling the name of the previous evening show, is Your Key Cuts. Here a listener - or now including celebrities! - chooses two songs that mean something to them. Here's my shortlist:

The Beautiful South - Old Red Eyes Is Back

Yes, The Beautiful South. The band your mum likes. The band of 'Carry On Up The Charts' being in 1-in-7 UK homes. The band of cosy, Radio 2 friendly pop.

Except...

Paul Heaton is really deserving of more acclaim as a song writer. For nearly thirty years he has been penning sharp tales of love, pain, alcohol, politics, death, separation, sheep... from The Housemartins, through The Beautiful South and now into a solo career, he is one of Britain's finest lyricists. If anything, 'Carry On...' was an anomaly, its sustained success entirely out of proportion. (Indeed, the two number one singles he has been involved with, 'Caravan Of Love' and 'A Little Time', one first was a cover, the other was his composition but he didn't sing it.)

I was really into The Beautiful South while growing up. I know this ranks poorly in the teenage rebellion stakes, but my first gig was a small revelation. Tuesday 5 April 1994, Town and Country Club, Leeds. The nice, genteel image of the band - although go back and listen to the songs and hear the waspishness in the lyrics - contrasted with a large section the audience.

I became aware of 'NORTHERN SCUM' - the sarcastic opposite of Beautiful South - that adorned T-shirts and was chanted lustily by a crowd comprising a good number of men in their thirties and forties, who may or may not have renounced football hooliganism. (I later discovered that Heaton had hung around with Sheffield United's Blades Business Crew.)

The first song played was Mini-correct, from their newly released album Miaow. The lyric helped contribute to Briana Corrigan's leaving, being a borderline misogynistic tale of S&M in an abusive relationship. I vividly remember the whole hall being bathed in yellow as the stage lights rotated at the end of the first chorus.

About half way through, they played Old Red Eyes Is Back, that had been released as a single from previous album 0898. A story of a hopeless alcoholic, it's not the first song you think of that would cause pogoing and a tidal surge of bodies left and right across the floor.

I had been stood next to possibly the strangest pair in the audience - think The Two Ronnies portrayed by Gilbert and George - who stood impassively, expressionlessly, as chaos whirled around them. (I saw the taller one at several other concerts. He always carried a large satchel and wore a white/beige jumper.)

It may be that the surprise factor is no longer there, but I have not experienced that same burst of raucousness at a gig since.

Heaton is still writing, as acerbically as ever. No doubt the current coalition Government is providing much more grist to his mill.

Belle and Sebastian - Lazy Line Painter Jane

This is one of those songs that I know exactly what I was doing when I first heard it. I was in the car with my dad, one Saturday in June 1996. I'd just finished my first year at Warwick University and we were driving back to Yorkshire.  We were listening to BBC Radio 1, Jo Whiley I think. (Yes, she's now a caricature of herself, but back then she still hosted the Evening Session with Steve Lamacq.)

The jangly guitar already hooked me, then the vocal starts:

Working the village shop
Putting a poster up

coming from a timid, almost bored sounding Scottish voice. And then Monica Doogan comes in....

So let's see your kit for games
All the girls look the same

What the hell is that? Brilliant, that's what.

It may also be a pebble splashing into the pool of my life, the ripples still being felt years later - maybe far-fetched, but let's go with it. Belle and Sebastian are Scottish, and were on an indie label. A little later, having the confidence and curiosity (and also the student loan!) to buy indie records, I bought The Delgados' album Peloton. They run Chemikal Underground, also home to Arab Strap, half of which is Malcolm Middleton. I own none of his records, but knowing a handful of Arab Strap songs, I go to a gig of his, where I meet and fall in love with a girl, with whom I now have a daughter.

Half Man Half Biscuit - Took Problem Chimp To The Ideal Home Show

I had heard of HMHB - usually in an article that dismissed them as a comedy band. The typical HMHB clichés go: Tranmere fans, don't play on Friday nights, refused appearance on The Tube despite offer of a helicopter to Prenton Park, humorous lyrics like a Wirral version of The Barron Knights, Dukla Prague away kits...

This was the first HMHB track that I listened to, on a cover CD of Word magazine. (It may still have had 'The' in the title at that point.)

Within seconds, I was a fan. This wasn't a novelty band playing another comedy song that was a lame parody, but a genuinely funny, satirical attack on consumerism, London's Earls Court, crap DIY TV shows, Neanderthal security guards and Carols Vorderman and Smillie. Including a bloody great bass line and a bleepy keyboard.

The Beatles - Paperback Writer

As I get older, I'm becoming more certain that this is the greatest Beatles song, and possibly the best pop song ever written. Recorded in two days, as part of the Revolver sessions, in the shops eight weeks later (six in the US!) and number one shortly afterwards. That makes most modern bands look like slackers.

It's short - a tad under two and a half minutes - but it packs a lot in, including Frere Jacques behind the last two verses.

I just wish Macca had played it at the Olympics instead of another interminable take on Hey Jude.

There are more - narrowing it down to two would be difficult.

JSA not AOK

So the Irish Budget for 2014 has been delivered. Grim news if you're young - although under 5's have come out of it for the better.

One point that struck me, while listening to Joan Burton grate her way through justifying reducing the dole for young people: Ireland has adopted the same mealy-mouthed description of "Jobseeker's Allowance" as was adopted in the UK in the mid-90s.

In this age of austerity, where anyone receiving money from the Government is being ostracised - whether it be through unemployment, disability or medical problems - why haven't the right-wing restored the name "Unemployment Benefit"?

But that would admit that no jobs are available, rather than their plight being caused by ending up out of work, as businesses (and Government) race to cut costs in a self-perpetuating cycle of decline.

(And no George, the UK economy may now be - pitifully - growing, but it's from a much lower base after three years of savagery. I learnt maths at school, something that your colleague Michael is keen to put a stop to.)