Recently I was interviewed by Sleazenation, a style magazine. At one point I told the interviewer that if Messrs Hussein, Bush and Blair all got their hair bleached and side-parted, and starting wearing eyeliner, the world would be a safer place. My contribution to the Stop The War cause. More Waugh, less War. I haven't been violent to anyone in my life, so it must work.

A glib remark, granted. And in the unlikely event of such makeovers actually happening, their unkind behaviour might not be mollified in the slightest. But at least Newsnight would look more interesting.

At one point during last Thursday's stint of the club night <a href="http://www.howdoesitfeel.co.uk/">"How Does It Feel To Be Loved"</a>, the Lloyd Cole hit "Rattlesnakes" was played. It filled the floor, in fact.

I stood at the bar and listened to its infamous chorus, smirking at the sheer nerve of the lyrics:

<i>she looks like eve marie saint in on the waterfront /
she reads simone de beauvoir in her american circumstance</i>

It then occurred to me that, while Mr Cole restricted such a reference to that one song, I'm in a <i>band</i> whose very name is taken from a De Beauvoir novel, amongst other sources.

I shall think twice before smirking at Mr Cole's estimable oeuvre ever again.

SOUTH KENSINGTON, last night. Mr S.P. Morrissey, 43, gave oral pleasure to Mr D. Edwards, 31, and divers others, on the second of his two dates at the Royal Albert Hall.

Before setting off, I quickly did a bit of web research on the support band, The Pony Club. Downloaded a few audio samples. Another singer-songwriter Irishman on Setanta Records using a band name, but essentially a solo artist. But not like Brian or The Divine Comedy. In fact, not my cup of tea at all. Which meant I could spend more time on my hair and leave a bit later.

I had bought a copy of NME to read on the tube, which apart from a begrudgingly kind review of a recent Morrissey US gig, and the gossip on Blur's current status, didn't take too long to read at all. I'm just not interested in the Henry Cooper Temple Clause and their ilk. Heard it all before, so, so many times before. Isn't rock and roll debauchery boring nowadays? Change the record, please.

I also made the mistake of taking said magazine into the venue with me, before realising that doing so was tantamount to wearing a Nazi uniform to a synagogue. So I hurled it in a corner and ran away.

I was pleased that my seat was right by the side of the stage, and at stage level, and not one of those loggia boxes, which, though more suited to the stylish, don't give one half as much of a good view. And I like to watch. Closely. Without having to brave the moshpit. So that's something to remember for anyone going to the RAH in future… get the side stalls if you can. They don't cost anything extra.

Just before the great man took to the stage, I racked my brains to remember who it was I saw at this venue last time I was here. Then I remember. It was Gene. Lately Belle & Sebastian also played the RAH. Both groups owe Mr M a certain something, I think it's fair to say.

And so on came the original and best. Up to the microphone, ready with the quips:

"Welcome to a night to forget."
"My parents are in the audience tonight … so no swearing. Leave it to me."
"Last night got some good reviews in the press. So we must be doing something… wrong. They described me as 'older and greyer'. As if I'm somehow meant to be younger and blonder."

The sound was superb, the band played well, and Mr Morrissey was in fine form, his quiff respectable, his voice soaring and stronger than ever, even doing (it seemed to me) a Harry Hill impersonation at the end of the opening number, "I Want The One I Can't Have", complete with head retracted into shoulders and stiff body movements. What are the chances of that happening?

For some reason, the set eschewed most of his 90s compositions written with the stalwart guitarists of his band (of over a decade and counting), Alain Whyte and Boz Boorer, apart from the grinding live favourite "Jack The Ripper" and a gloriously triumphant "Speedway". Instead, the set concentrated on airing five brand new songs, plus seven from the 1988 Stephen Street era, including a slightly truncated version of "Late Night, Maudlin Street". In the latter, Alain Whyte pulled off a nice take on Vini Reilly's shimmery guitar effect. For "Everyday Is Like Sunday", Mr Boorer played a banjo, giving the song a gorgeously warm and autumnal feel.

Of the unreleased songs, my favourite was the beautiful waltz number, "Mexico", which I have to say almost made my mascara run. Mr M told the crowd of his woes in still failing to get a new record deal, adding his particular disappointment that not a single UK label has made him an offer. I'm confused. I thought Geoff Travis had asked him to join his newly resurrected Rough Trade label, now boasting the likes of The Strokes. Was that just a rumour?

At one point, he introduced the band individually, including his lifelong friend Linder Sterling, who was at the side of the stage taking photos. Which pleased me no end, as I'd been listening to Ludus only the other day. She currently has a dark bob hairdo, by the way.

By way of thanking the audience for not minding being unable to sing along to all the new songs, he finished with "There Is A Light That Never Goes Out", played for the first time since 1986, and the ultimate crowd pleaser for a Smiths fan. For <i>anyone</i>. Worth the price of admission alone, as the cliché goes.

Afterwards, I gatecrashed the aftershow party, something I haven't done for years (honest). The guest passes had an extremely homoerotic photo of a topless Adonis-like boxer from yesteryear. Which looked amusing attached to all the various mums and dads and other family members of Morrissey and the band that were milling backstage. Lots of Irish accents in the air. Refreshingly few industry types. A few alternative comedians, naturally. Sean Hughes. Harry Hill. Stewart Lee, who said hello. As did Jake Shillingford. Bernard Butler chatted to Boz Boorer. Probably about guitars and alliterative names.

Morrissey himself wasn't in the throng of liggers, apparently busy talking to his family elsewhere, so I whiled away an hour in the backstage bar area drinking with members of C33X and King Cheetah, saying hello to Blossom Wright, who is currently Mr Morrissey's PA, and who used to come to Club Skinny during The Romo Days. I also spoke to Alain Whyte. Turns out he knows about my old band, Orlando. The tour manager kept telling me "that's a… really…. <i>interesting</i> look you've got there…"

And so to bed. Alone, naturally.

Philip Larkin was a miserable curmudgeon even when he was my age. Though he had being unrecognised (at the time) to blame it on. He muses on why he bothers writing letters to the few people who DO recognize his worth:

<i>"At thirty-one, when some are rich
And others dead,
I, being neither, have a job instead"</i>

I don't even have that. But I do have nicer hair than Mr Larkin.

According to Heat Magazine, there's yet another reality TV show coming up called "Fame Academy". Apparently it's a cross between Popstars and Big Brother. And the house the contestants will be in is… up the road from me. In Highgate Village, near The Flask pub, "next to Sting's house".

I had no idea Sting lived near me. In eight years of living here, I've never seen him ONCE at the 134 bus stop.

He must take the 210.

"Our appeal is getting more selective", a euphemism from the ever-quotable <i>This Is Spinal Tap</i>. Translation: we're losing fans.

More recent examples of the genre have occurred to me of late. Translations in brackets.

"We've recorded 300 new songs" (but hardly any of them are any good…)

"We had to scrap an entire album and re-record this one in a much shorter time. By doing so, we think's it's our best yet.. it's more organic, more 'live.'" (We ran out of ideas, then money, and have made our worst record yet.)

"We've parted company with our label. It was the right time to move on." (the last album didn't sell, and we've been dropped)

"We've got a Greatest Hits album coming out" (the last album REALLY didn't sell).

Morrissey talks to the NME this week.

Or rather, he's taken out a half-page advert saying "Thank you!" to the people who have bought tickets to his sold-out concerts at the Royal Albert Hall next week. Still unusual after all these years.

Meanwhile, US talk show host Craig Kilborn has <a href="http://www.morrissey-solo.com/article.pl?sid=02/09/12/0850202&mode=thread">discussed Morrissey</a> with his guest Snoop Dogg –

Craig – "Have you heard of Morrissey, from The Smiths? Do you know who is?"
Snoop – "Yeah, Yeah."
Craig – "He's good, right?"
Snoop – "Yeah, he's sharp."

"Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want" – Morrissey.

"You Can Get It If You Really Want" – Desmond Dekker.

Dickon Gets Into Reggae Shock.

The current UK Number One is "The Tide Is High" by Atomic Kitten. Originally the song was, of course, a hit by… The Paragons in 1967.

Hands up if you thought Blondie wrote it.

Well, I did, I'm ashamed to say. So by way of self-education, I've just purchased <a href="http://www.trojanrecords.com/tr%20secure/trojan/library/younggiftedmain.htm">"Young, Gifted & Black"</a>, a new double CD compilation of vintage Trojan Records hits: 60s and 70s reggae, ska, rocksteady, etc. There's dozens of Trojan compilation box sets, all beautifully packaged, but this really does seem to have all the essentials on it: Desmond Dekker, Jimmy Cliff, Susan Cadogan et al. "My Boy Lollipop", "Uptown Top Ranking", "Black Pearl", "Police and Thieves", "You Can Get It If You Really Want" and so on. Plus the original (and superior) versions of all those Shaggy and UB40 songs. And the original of "The Tide Is High". It's a fantastic compilation of great pop music. Even Morrissey would enjoy it.

I'm doing my utmost to avoid all these helpful "Happy Birthday Bad Thing" pull-out spreads and umpteen documentaries on TV.

Many articles are along the lines of "Aren't Bad Things Bad? I Hate Bad Things." And "We salute firefighters, those brave and selfless heroes. Except the ones over here who are threatening to go on strike for more pay, the selfish money-grubbing swines." And "I shall never forget what I was doing when I heard the news. I was listening to the news."

One birthday present of note:

Fosca are Number One in the charts this week.

Well, okay, we're Number One in the list of "top selling bands in the last month" at:

http://www.pennyblackmusic.com/

But I'm still delighted.

It's sixteen places above Motorhead.