Brand new dad

Well, little Alfie was magnificently well behaved in receiving guests on Sunday and Catherine Howlett and Ian and Becky seemed very impressed. Of course, after they left he squawked madly all evening, but at least he knows the value of keeping up appearances.

Kate's expressing machine seems to be doing the trick and life and love are fuller and more enjoyable.

I had a strange episode of competence on the golf course on Friday, returning a back nine of 38 to go round in 85. Seven shots better than last time and definitely the only time I've ever broken 90. Sunbury is pretty short and forgiving, but still, it's amazing what a small change in your stance can do. Thank god for the mirror behind the booth at the driving range in Kingston; I'd never have known how bad the swing was.

Spoke to John Graves today about the Tour de France. He's coming up to London to watch the Prologue and plans to go to Kent for the first stage. Initially I was only asking if he wanted to drop in for a cup of tea and see Alfie, but on the Tour website I noticed that the first stage of the 2008 Tour finishes at Plumelec in Brittany - no more than two miles from Dad's house. A mooted trip with free accommodation had John on the phone in a heartbeat. It's fair to say he's keen to go.

Tonight the Haymarket 50th anniversary bash. The free food and booze always sounds promising, but these corporate beanos are invariably thronged with pissed 21-year-old ads gimps shouting idiotic slogans at each other.

Still, our great leader will make a speech to the assembled 1,300 and then I can at least pile into the finger food and neck a couple of bottles of Sol before beating a retreat to wife and child.

In his munificence, Lord Heseltine has granted the whole company a day off tomorrow (GENOFANV, Agresso-heads), so a spot of golf in the afternoon is threatening to happen.

(Tim Henman, meanwhile, is losing in five sets to Feliciano Lopez in the second round at Wimbledon)

Kate's finding the whole mattter of breastfeeding a bit trying and tiring right now. Alfie's a bit unpredictable and, of course, prefers the much-easier bottle. I must be more sympathetic as it's so easy for me - I come to work, get a break, sleep ok - for her it's relentless and she's so self-critical, that she doesn't need any more coming from me. Just be nice.

Christ alive, is it really three years since I posted here? 2004, still clinging onto the threads of a rock dream that would never happen. Hey ho. Not the first and won't be the last.

Anyway, to the present. Alfie. My son, four weeks old today and an incomparable treasure. Just finished a week's paternity leave and now inhabit the weird, twilit existence of three-hourly feeds. Kate and I are on sleeping shifts - me staying up until 1.30am while Kate sleeps from 9.30. Then Kate takes over and sleeps on the sofa with Alfie in his moses basket on the coffeee table. I'm sure I have the better of the deal, which allows me a full six hours uninterrupted while Kate bookends the night with hastily grabbed rest. Most importantly, we have to ensure we don't spend our entire time away from each other in the service of looking after the little 'un.

If anything, though, it is the lack of attendant drama that has surprised me most. Three weeks of neonatal shuttling about offers, perversely, an excellent grouding for the rigours of parenthood. Yes, there is an abundance of washing, a liberal scattering of tissue paper everywhere and a simply staggering volume of nappies, but really - what were you expecting?

It seems parents belong in two categories: the first are the doom-mongers, forever pitching in with "ooh, just you wait" advice about the "life-changing experience" to come. Pat, sadly, is the archetype doom-monger, but in fairness to her she comes from a wholly different generation of parenting - more interestingly, I've found quite a few of these at work too, largely from failed relationships themselves; the second are the enthusers, who are happy to let you find out about the less palatable areas of the babysphere for yourself but are eager with advice when sought and offering a life-affirming touch when most needed. Witness this from Dave Evans before Alfie was born: "It is the most awesome, most fun, most loving, most scary, most tiring but most downright, undescribably incredible experience you will ever have." How true.

Nearly there...

As John Cale once memorably said as Waldo Jeffers quivered with excitement, it would be soon. [www.123lyrics.net/v/velvet-underground/the-gift.html]

Right now, I'm waiting for Hiltongrove to send me back the pdfs of the album artwork for proofing, before our limited edition UK run of the album goes to the presses. Pre-sales are going well, and with any luck we might be able to pay off the lawyer's bill it's taken us to get this far. It's not all coke and hookers, y'know?

Down under, Baria have secured a release slot for distribution, although we still don't know when that is, but the wheels, it seems are finally rolling. And with any luck, the ending to this tale will be better than Waldo's.

Where learning is an end in itself

Difficult to know what to make of Cambridge, really. There was certainly a Deliverance twang to the daytime clientele of the Man on the Moon, but as the sun went down, ghoulish young folk in black tatters and four-inch rubber soles began to mass around Norfolk St. By the time Buffalo went on, the venue was a steamy pit of hormones, and the rocky set was looking a distinctly good idea.

Buffalo were good, in fact, especially as it was, apparently, their first show. Ever. But with interesting songs and strong voices, you'll never go far wrong. They'll be at the Betsey Trotwood soon, so check out the listings.
Charlie Moore 4 got over their singer's sickness and bass player's debut with much post-rock aplomb, boosted by an eager local following.

As for us, well, new song "The Great Migration" was a highlight, two days old and sounding appropriately fresh. 'Plans to See You' gets better ever play, and the set is now, well, as good as it should be.

The Familiar Ground equipment curse struck for the third show in a row, of course. Always something different, this time distortion pedal crackle, pop and bypass. I haven't broken a string during it yet, though, or had a light fall on me, so keep watching for instalment four.

Meantime, more new songs to work on tomorrow and Thursday, so we should have the guts of six or seven tracks to record next month. Hopefully something will replace FG. God knows, I love the song but...

Sunshine and showers

Still pissing it down outside, but the odd ray of sunshine is pushing into Gasoland.

After months of negotiation, all matters Australian appear resolved and we should be releasing something out there pretty soon, probably a single of 'You Own Us' with 'Beautiful Twin' on the B-side.
And as I stood on a rain and windswept car park at 8am this morning, talking to a man in an Easycar van/mobile office with drips from the mini-awning running down my neck, I could think of worse places to be than a beach down under.

On this side of the pond, we've picked up a show at Metro on Oxford St. No date as yet, but it should be late this month or early June, as the Glasshouse show in Blackfriars has been cancelled due to refurbishment. Hm.

A few things bubbling under label-wise in the UK, but I dont want to tempt fate. As any fule kno, ain't no such thing as a sure thing.

Boom boom

Back into rehearsal tonight. Thunder outside. Rock within.

Musicchoice FC won the league on Sunday. We'll be taking the trophy on an open-topped bus sometime soon. I think they leave every hour from outside Green Park station.

Little people, big people

The National Youth Orchestra of Great Britain is widely regraded as the finest amateur orchestra in the world, and I'm proud to say that my dad has been coaching the French horn section for nearly 20 years.

Last night at the Barbican they played the overture from Wagner's Flying Dutchman, some Mahler songs called Ruckert-Lieder and Strauss Alpine Symphony and it was thrilling. Tiny people making a very big noise.

By way of contrast, I met an ex-member of the orchestra, Liam Duffy, who'd been seconded to play in the stage band. Liam is now 6' 7" and has a plastic knee-cap due to a spell at Lancashire with Freddie Flintoff and a delivery stride accident that would make Syd Lawrence wince. His party trick with the bottom of a pint glass is a big noise from a very big man. Don't try it.

...and we're back

Apologies to my reader for the break in transmission. Things have been a little hectic with Easter mucking schedules around, and sometimes you just gotta pay the rent.

So what's been going on? Well, Robin Proper-Sheppard's Sophia were superb at the Islington Academy. The rich sound of quality musicians honed by touring - from languid, dreamy beginning to shattering finale, they were never less than compelling.

Ray, it should be said, was utterly compelled and had a good chat about it with the bouncers afterwards. It was a robust, if inconclusive, exchange of views, but I think Wales won on points.

Now we're looking forward to The Garage show, with Mark back from Oz on Thursday, and our Italian film connections are moving apace.

More news soon

Toothsome

Sometimes you see a face that just stops you in your tracks. On my 21st birthday, there was a man at the bar in The Sun in Splendour pub in Leamington who had the left side of his face an inch lower than the right. He looked like he'd been 10 rounds with Salvador Dali. Last night, I saw another such.

I was in a curry house in Stoke Newington when a bloke walked in and sat on the next table. He was in his late 40s, a bit dishevelled and eating on his own; nothing so unusual about that. Until he opened his mouth.

On the right side of his jaw he had upper teeth and no lower, and on the left side of his jaw had lower teeth and no upper. This asymmetric dentistry left him resembling nothing so much as a lunching camel. Spitting lamb vindaloo around. Quite grisly.

Meanwhile, a much more attractive sight tomorrow night will be Sophia playing at the Carling Academy, Islington. Main man Robin Proper-Sheppard produced our first single, and his band have a new album out - People Are Like Seasons. It's a triumph.

A diverse, eclectic collection of songs ranging from the masterful Wild Horses-esque epic of "Fool" to the bristling Velvets stomp of "If a Change is Gonna Come", it's quite brilliant and you should buy it. So there.