* At least whoever was mad enough to let Nadia from Big Brother anywhere near a microphone ever again had the kindness to write a half-decent song for her to unflatteringly gyrate all over. I mean, it does sound like the kind of thing a Spanish drag queen might well be singing on a float at a Pride march, but I can only assume she knows this and doesn't mind.
* Every time I hear Brian McFadden's 'Irish Son' I become slightly more convinced that he's better than any other mainstream singer/songwriter releasing records over here. (With the possible exception of Il Bedingfield.) What on earth was he doing in Westlife? Or was that secretly his stupid twin? I remember him making an idiot of himself on Never Mind The Buzzcocks in a way that categorically did not suggest that he was capable of the kind of thing he's doing now. I'm amazed, and I think he's great.
* The British public is barking, but not that barking; Girls Aloud have beaten Geri to number one. Apparently it was close, though. I worry.
* Green Day, as previously mentioned, have written another song, which I believe is their first new song in about eight years. It's rather good.
* Oh, and Pete Doherty's new band, amusingly titled 'Babyshambles', were on CD:UK this week, as well. Imagine The Libertines being hit over the head with two dustbin lids until there is no discernible talent left in them and they lie sobbing on the floor. I know it's quite a good mental image but it does not make for a good sound, and it's precisely what Babyshambles sound like. Someone needs to collar that boy and explain to him that although all the drugs he's taken may have made him miss a few years, it's not *actually* still 1994.
I don't have high hopes for next month's music either; you know what the struggle for Christmas chart positions is like. So here's to January having some things really worth writing about, because I miss doing the music headlines, damn it.
Well, all right, that's blatantly untrue. But still.
I have just been to
Pikeymart Elephant & Castle shopping centre. There's one of those 'shop at the end of the universe' type shops, where absolutely essential stuff like telephone flexes and batteries nestles beside stuff that most of the world could never ever possibly want ever, like enormous ceramic cheetahs you'd find in cheap casinos, or Father Christmases with fibre-optic beards.
Today in the window there was a new lamp. The base is a pair of legs in stilettos and stockings and the shade is in the form of a corset and the bottom of a red dress. It is groundbreakingly hideous and I want it so much I nearly smashed the shop window to get at it. I'd like to pretend I'm shocked at myself, but really, I'm not.
I think we can all thank our various gods that I don't, in fact, earn my own money, because if I did that lamp would now be lighting me as I write this.
Dear oh dear. Save me from myself.