(Note: The Music is a name of a band. I'm not about to write about the music at Rock City. God, this is like those corny old jokes about The Who, isn't it?)

You know what? I'm starting to tire of writing comprehensive reviews of every single gig I attend. Because after a while, it starts to feel like a somewhat restrictive format. I mean, how many fresh new ways are there to say: The drum's quite good, the bass is too loud, and I can't hear the words?

So here instead are just a few selected points of particular interest about Wednesday's gig by The Music.

1. What was with all the bloody moshing, then? We are used to standing towards the back of the main floor in Rock City: just behind the moshers, and just in front of the standing-stillers, in that narrow strip of hinterland where jigging up and down a bit is both possible, comfortable, and not too anti-social. But on Wednesday, the whole bloody floor became one huge mosh-pit, right from the opening bar of the opening number, stretching all the way back to the sound desk. This forced us right back into the back left corner, where visibility remained poor for about half the set. I wouldn't have minded this so much if the moshing hadn't felt so arbitrary and Pavlovian. Particularly towards the start of the set, it just didn't feel like a genuine response to the music that was being played. Instead, you couldn't help feeling that any old noise would have generated much the same reaction.

2. Not being hugely familiar with The Music (who, to my surprise, had drawn a sell-out crowd), I had fun playing spot-the-influences. This was what I came up with. Early 90s Creation, the rocky end of shoegazing, Ride, early Verve, a smidge of early Oasis, a hint of My Bloody Valentine (towards the end in particular), some Stone Roses / baggy / Madchester funkiness, plus some 70s influences: Hawkwind, Black Sabbath and the merest whiff of Rush (Stereoboard thought this was "possibly a full-on dash".) The singer was also throwing some decidedly Morrison-esque shapes (Jim, not Van) - although, somewhat incongruously, his voice was more Liam Gallagher minus the twattiness, plus some subtle Plant-esque undertones. Powerful and proficient stuff, but I won't be rushing out to purchase. At the end of the day, it's all a bit Big for my personal tastes.

3. For most of the set, my head was thinking "hmm, impressive", but my heart was refusing to follow. By the last three numbers, my heart finally caught up. By the very end, I was completely away with the fairies. Apparently, this was written all over my face. It usually is at these events. But then, I'm usually quite nicely trollied by then.

4. It was therefore most interesting to experience everything sober for once - as by the end of the gig, I actually did feel quite noticeably under the influence, despite having had nothing stronger than a glass of Coke and a lemonade. In fact, K commented that I seemed a bit pissed when I got back home and started burbling excitedly about the night. I think this was simply due to the accumulating sensory overload: crowd hysteria, loud music, a darkened room, and especially the lighting effects, which had burnt all sorts of groovy patterns onto my retina. Standing in the coat check queue, I was still seeing patterns superimposed on people's shirts, getting spatially confused and feeling generally hyped up and a bit trippy. So maybe it was never all about the booze (and ting) in the first place, then. What a revelation! Quite a trip, this whole Sobriety thing!

Here's a handy glossary to the Nottinghamshire dialect, in three parts, with more suggestions requested. Personally, I think they need a sub-glossary for the city's gay community:Update: I've placed more exact translations in the comments, just in case you're having difficulties.

(Not that the snow isn't a fine topic about which to blog, of course - even if half the UK weblogs have been doing it this week. Bring out your best descriptive prose! Has anyone said "clad in a silvery-white mantle" yet?)

1. While my blogdaddy seriously considers packing it all in, his boyfriend's back with yet another disarmingly honest, laugh-out-loud tale of pr0n cinema woe.

2. I have never been able to understand why Public Image Ltd's unique, groundbreaking Metal Box doesn't regularly feature near the top of all those endless "Greatest Album Ever" polls. Because it really and truly is one of the greatest albums ever made. It therefore pleased me no end to find Marcello Carlin's eloquent, illuminating appraisal of this post-punk masterpiece - which, coincidentally, I read just after downloading four MP3s from...bugger, can't locate the source right now. I'll get back to you tomorrow, promise.

Update: Here's the link.

3. Exposure is yet another way-above-average blog from Austin, Texas, which I have enjoyed getting to know this week. (What is it with Austin and quality weblogs, anyway? Is it something in the water? Why, they're even hosting an awards ceremony for The Bloggies this year.) This entry in particular struck a chord. You'll probably be able to guess why.

4. Kyle @ Intersection is always worth reading - but right now, he's on particularly fine form. In this piece, he describes an abandoned novel so vividly that I found myself longing for it to exist, just so that I could read it for myself.

5. Sasha has ditched the dingy green and the tiny font size, with a smart new redesign which does her consistently engaging writing much more justice. And ooh, doesn't she have nice handwriting?

There may well be snow outside - but here at Troubled Diva, golden rays of sunshine are pouring forth from my curious old box, as the mood swings into an early Seventies pop-reggae vibe. Note that as these are all burnt straight from the original vinyl, you'll have to be prepared for some snaps, crackles and pops along the way. But you don't mind that.

Item 88. Winston Heywood - Da Doo Ron Ron (Attack, 1973)
Because there has to be room in the world - and in your heart - for a jaunty pop-reggae cover of "Da Doo Ron Ron". What's not to like?

Item 89. B.B. Seaton - I Want Justice (Pama, 1973)
The least pop, most impassioned, most "authentic" of these four selections. Whatever "authentic" means.

Item 90. Dandy Livingstone - Think About That (Horse, 1972)
Dandy Livingstone is best known in the UK for his #14 hit, "Suzanne Beware Of The Devil". This tune appeared on the double A-sided follow-up (along with "Big City"), and reached #26 in early 1973.

Item 91. Kevin Ayers (featuring Greyhound) - Connie On A Rubber Band (Harvest, 1972)
A whimsical reworking of "Clarence In Wonderland" from the "Shooting At The Moon" album, this originally appeared as the B-side to "Oh! What A Dream", and was later reissued on the truly excellent "Odd Ditties" compilation (which, quite inexplicably, has never been re-issued on CD outside of Japan). Greyhound were by then a successful pop-reggae group in their own right, with three Top 20 hits to their name. Currently unavailable on CD in this country, this is now one of the rarest tracks in the Ayers canon - and, quite typically, it bears no stylistic resemblance to anything he has recorded before or since.

Update: Sorry - you weren't quick enough. These MP3s are no longer on my server. I generally make them available for a week or so (sometimes less) before substituting them for new ones. Better luck next time!

As a boy, I enjoyed constructing elaborate dramas around the cast of characters to be found in my toy cupboard. These would generally combine fantastical, slightly surreal plotlines (weird was good) with sharp, often comic characterisations (stern, bossy women with hearts of gold; their simpering, slightly pathetic husbands who stayed in the background; heroic, popular children who always saved the day; good-looking, fashionable young bachelors in sports cars; nice but amusingly dim dolly birds in bikinis).

One afternoon, I concluded a particularly long and absorbing adventure by marrying off the male and female leads (a prince and a princess, natch), and having them live happily ever after in their palace. During the course of the story, I had come to invest a lot in their happiness. Having striven to overcome all sorts of deadly perils along the way, they fully deserved a life of perpetual bliss and good fortune.

I often felt cheated by my story books, which had a frustrating habit of only delivering their happy endings in the last two or three pages. This time, I wanted to revel in the happiness for a good while longer than that. I duly placed the prince and princess in their palace, where they could sit on their thrones and survey their newly liberated and peaceful kingdom, and decided to continue the action with the other characters.

Of course, with all enemies vanquished and peace reigning throughout the land, the possibilities for further plot development narrowed considerably. I duly shifted the tone towards light domestic comedy, with several stories running in parallel. Every now and again, I would swing my imaginary camera back to the palace, to see how the prince and princess were getting on.

- Prince and princess, how are you today?
- We’re very happy, thank you.
- Oh good. I am glad.
Pause.
- Well, nice seeing you. Bye for now.

Although still retaining my emotional investment in them, I couldn’t think of anything further to do with the prince and princess. To involve them in a new set of dangers would have been unthinkable. Their happiness was now an inviolable state. And so I would doggedly continue to return to them at regular intervals, as the afternoon wore on.

Still very happy, thank you.

At this point, I would maybe jiggle them up and down on their thrones for a bit, just to show how happy they were.

An inner voice told me that the prince and princess had actually become a little bit boring. I refused to acknowledge this, and instead turned back to the latest incident of naughty children stealing apples and being punished by their stern-but-kindly-underneath mothers, while their fathers sat around in woolly cardigans, reading the newspaper.

Eventually, I decided to experiment by taking the prince and princess out for a walk, to survey their kingdom.

- Oh, look over here, prince and princess! Here’s the little boy who saved you from the dragon!
- Hello, brave little boy.
- Hello, prince and princess. How are you?
- Oh, we’re very, very happy, thank you. How are you?
- I’m very well thank you.
Pause.
- Wasn’t it exciting when you saved us from the dragon? Do you remember?
- Yes, but I’m a very humble little boy, so I don’t boast about it.
- That’s very good. You're such a good little boy. Mummy and Daddy must be very proud of you.

Actually, the little boy had just been smacked by his mother for stealing apples, but I didn’t want any harsh realities to puncture the prince and princess’s bubble. They must never know. I didn’t want to see the princess furrowing her pretty little brow.

- Well, little boy, we must be going now. Perhaps you’d like to come for tea and cakes at the palace one afternoon?
- Yes please! That would be lovely! Well, bye bye then!
- Bye bye, brave little boy!

And so on, and so on, with increasingly stultifying blandness. In the back of my mind, I began to realise that I should have stopped the story at the wedding.

Thus it was that, sitting on my bedroom floor aged seven or eight, I first learnt one of the cardinal rules of fiction. Namely, that happiness is almost impossible to write about for any sustained length of time. Effective fiction needs conflict, struggle, and a fair measure of suffering and misery along the way. Goodness, kindness and happiness are all boring. Evil, cruelty, pain and sorrow are all much more interesting.

-oOo-

However, while happiness may be a poor subject matter for fiction, I would contend that rather different rules apply when it comes to the maintenance of personal weblogs. When writing a personal weblog – where you, the writer, are the central figure – then happiness is a perfectly acceptable – perhaps even desirable – state of mind with which to contend.

And so it has been with this site. In the first thirteen months of its existence, Troubled Diva has been the written record of one of the most sustained periods of personal contentment that I have ever enjoyed. In fact, having spent much of the early part of last year constructing the 40 In 40 Days Project, which chronicled some of the more difficult episodes of my life in the run up to my fortieth birthday, I was left with an abiding sense of resolution. Of problems solved, of challenges overcome, and of lasting happiness and good fortune ultimately attained. This state of mind then prevailed for most of the rest of the year.

Did this make me, like my prince and princess, a bland, slightly boring, faintly pointless, perhaps even rather smug and irritating figure to read about on a regular basis? Or is a state of good health, material prosperity, emotional security and general mental well-being just as worthy of public record as any other?

Whatever. You click your mouse and you make your choices. But what happens when life – as eventually it surely must, for nobody’s story ever comes to an entirely happy ending halfway through the book – throws you a curve ball?

And so it is that I have spent the last three weeks or so attempting to field that curve ball. It has come in the form of a sudden and sustained attack of the blues (for let’s not over-dramatise things by using the D-word), as triggered partly by the stresses of Christmas (always the shittiest time of any year), partly by three different flu bugs oh all right then, heavy colds - but mostly by the ever-accruing stresses of not having a fat lot of anything to do at work.

During all of this, I have mostly been keeping such feelings well away from this site. Misery is not my muse. At least, not while I am still in the throes of it. Blogging the blues away, as some sort of therapeutic/cathartic exercise? Nah, not for me. I’d much rather cling onto that cheeky chirpy chappy persona a while longer, thank you all the same.

However, the clouds have now started to lift. Having learnt from similar episodes in the past, I have surprised myself with the way I have refused to let myself be beaten by the blues this time round. On some level, I have been able to detach myself from them, and to see them as a condition which is every bit as arbitrary and transient as a common cold. I have stopped trying to find rational justifications for every last shred of paranoid self-doubt – because it just doesn’t help. Instead, I have rolled with the punches, and have tried to hang onto a sense of perspective.

This is not Depression. Objectively, you have no real problems to speak of. Everything is going to be OK in the long run. Don’t beat yourself up, and don't be tempted to wallow. Think well of yourself. Hang on in there. Stay positive. Look for the good stuff. Keep your energy levels up. Don’t turn your back on opportunities. In fact, seek out new opportunities. Set yourself achievable goals. Don’t be a self-obsessed twat. Make a contribution towards the welfare of others. Focus on their needs as well as your own. Don’t deny these bad feelings, but don’t let them take you over.

It was largely in this spirit that, one week ago, I made five resolutions for the month of January. Collectively, they were intended to help me achieve certain specific objectives. To ease the blues. To combat the constant feeling of being tired all the time. To introduce a greater sense of self-discipline (always a weak area with me). To foster a much-needed sense of personal achievement, by setting myself manageable short-term goals. (Christ, this is beginning to sound like an Employee Appraisal interview. Shut up and get on with it. God knows you've kept them waiting long enough.)

-oOo-

Let's get to the point, then. One week into January, how exactly am I faring? Let’s look at those resolutions one by one.

1. No alcohol.

Two things.

Firstly: I cannot believe how easy it has been to stay away from the booze. There have only been two real twinges: when my mother brought out the champagne last weekend (I stuck to sparkling apple juice), and when K and I settled down in front of the first two episodes of the new series of Frasier on Monday night (Frasier without a decent glass of wine - unthinkable, surely?)

Secondly: I cannot believe how much better I feel for not drinking. More alert, more energetic, more focussed. I’m getting so many little jobs done around the house in Nottingham, which would otherwise have been ignored. I’m also watching less telly. Telly and wine, you see: that deadly embrace of semi-catatonic inertia. I have freed myself from its grasp – and let me tell you, it feels good.

2. Out of bed by 7:30 weekdays, 8:30 weekends.

A tougher call, and you won’t catch me getting out of bed a minute sooner – but so far, so good. I am now discovering the merits of a leisurely breakfast for the first time ever. As someone who takes a good hour or so to even start feeling human in the mornings, this is a most useful development.

3. Sit-ups/stomach crunches every day.

Okay, so I did miss a day. But last Saturday evening, I was suffering from…um…rather dramatic digestive problems, which were putting my stomach to the test quite enough to be going on with. Other than that – yup, piece of piss. No visible change in my profile just yet of course, but, when coupled with the sudden lack of alcohol, I am taking an optimistic long term view.

4. Read a novel, and finish it by the end of the month.

Actually, I now seem to be reading a novel and an autobiography simultaneously – and enjoying both a great deal. Carter Beats The Devil is a cracking good page-turner, and I am currently spending the last half hour of each day snuggled up in bed with the young Matthew Parris. And what a charming and absorbing bedfellow he makes.

(I gave up on P.J.O'Rourke, though. All the best stuff was at the beginning of the book - including a hilarious demolition job on the United Nations, which makes it sound just like my old workplace at County Hall, but on a somewhat larger scale - which it probably is. Unfortunately, things soon descended into he-could-do-this-in-his-sleep easy cynicism and political cheap shots. Which was fun for a while, but then it started getting tiresome.)

5. Finish the serialisations on the blog.

Yesterday, I brought Nottingham, My Nottingham to a close. Vietnam Diary and Stations Of The Diva are now eagerly waiting in the wings.

Blogging as therapy, you see. I guess it does have its place after all.

Labels: top25

So, K's auntie Sheila turned 60 this week. In order to celebrate, she and her immediate family went out for a posh meal at a smart restaurant in Altrincham (not Juniper, although I think we'll be paying it a visit for my birthday next month). And who should be seated at a nearby table? Why, the very happily married David and Victoria Beckham, along with Mrs. Beckham's mother.

Naturally, Sheila's granddaughter (aged 7, or is it 8 now?) was terrifically excited about this. However, after being kindly but firmly instructed by the rest of the family to let the Beckhams enjoy their meal in peace, and not to stare over at them, even when walking right past their table on the way to the bathroom, she restrained herself impeccably all the way through the meal.

At the end of the evening, a couple of people approached K's aunt's table. These turned out to be the Beckhams' minders.

"Excuse us," they said, "but we couldn't help overhearing what you said to your granddaugher earlier on. We just wanted to say this: if only everybody behaved in the same way that you have done tonight, then our lives would be so much easier. It doesn't happen very often. We're extremely grateful. And would your granddaughter like us to get David and Victoria to sign something for her?"

"Actually, it's my 60th birthday", K's aunt replied. A birthday card was duly procured and signed, to the general amused delight of the table.

You see? You see? Nice people. I've always liked them.

Not being in a particularly loquacious mood right now (for once), I've been spending some time this week on various Background Tasks. Signing up for the Amazon Associates Programme at long last, and updating all my Amazon links accordingly (well, you never know; someone out there might be taking my recommendations seriously). Making some of the serialisations easier to navigate through. Adding mouseover text to all the entries in the "we listen" section, so that each album is now accompanied by a short description. Adding some new blogs, and removing some others (as ever, there's nothing personal with this - if I happen to be reading you regularly right now, then you're in). And finally, creating a new section for primarily music-related weblogs, as I seem to be reading a whole lot more of them these days.

In the course of doing all of this, I stumbled across a wonderful new project: 365 days. Its stated aim: to publish one MP3 a day for the whole of 2003. These are no ordinary MP3s, mind you. The focus here is on the "incredibly strange and outsider" realm, meaning that some extraordinary obscurities have already been made available.

My favourites thus far:

• A high school band's rendition of The Sweet's Fox On The Run. Shades of the Langley Schools Music Project here.
  
• Janeen Brady & The Brite Singers - I'm A Mormon. A cheerful marching song. "I know the rules, the do's and dont's, for happy happy living..."
  
• Red Shadow (The Economics Rock & Roll Band) - Understanding Marx. Wholesome communist propaganda, set to a swingin' jazzy beat!

Now that I have finally (finally!) completed this series, I have amalgamated all 52 entries into one great big HTML document. For reference purposes, you understand. Just in case you're ever visiting our historic-yet-stylish city, and you feel like indulging in a touch of gentle diva-stalking.

Jump to first section.

46. Stuff & Co.
1 Heathcoat Street, NG1 3AF
(official site)

Nick-nacks! Bijou retro-modern nick-nacks! How ever could we manage without them? We couldn’t, could we? So, thank goodness for Stuff & Co – there to serve our most essential needs.

See also Tableworks (Flying Horse Arcade), which also extends to furniture, and Atomic (King John’s Arcade, Exchange Arcade), which also extends to interior design in general (You want your brand spanking new “city living” show apartment kitted out for the punters? Then off to Atomic you trot, for that de rigeur “minimal” look…)

47. Ye Olde Trip To Jerusalem
1 Brewhouse Yard, NG1 6AD
(general info) (ghost stories) (interior 360 degree panoramic) (exterior 360 degree panoramic)

One of several establishments which claims to be “Britain’s oldest pub”, the Trip claims a lineage dating back to 1189, when dear old Dickie Lionheart and the boys would pop in for a quick flagon of Kimberleys, before sallying forth and slaying Saladin’s barbarian hordes. (Plus ca change, eh readers?)

Like all those Londoners who have never been to St. Paul’s, it was a good many years before I actually got round to visiting the Trip. Even now, when it’s only a ten minute walk from my doorstep, I remain a fairly infrequent visitor. Which is daft, as this is one of the most special pubs to be found anywhere. Carved into the rock below Nottingham Castle, it is steeped - nay, drenched! - in history. No visit to Nottingham is complete without, and all that. Good for a cosy early evening pint on a cold day. Popular with kindly old hippy biker types in leathers and chunky sweaters, who have popped in on their way to yet another Fairport Convention reunion gig.

48. Vegetarian Pot
375 Alfreton Road, Nottingham NG7 5LT

Excellent family-run Indian vegetarian joint, with a takeaway service and a few small tables for those who want to eat in (it’s unlicensed, by the way). Simple and delicious home cooking, at bargain prices. For takeaways, I recommend the thalis: a varying selection of dishes which come with daal and chapattis.

49. Wagamama
Ground Floor, The Cornerhouse, Burton Street, NG1 4DB
(official site, with full menu)

OK, so it’s a chain restaurant. But standards are consistently high, prices are reasonable, and the service is fast and (almost always) efficient. If you need a place to grab a quick meal before moving on to the Warner Village cinema complex upstairs, then look no further. Along with the Laguna Tandoori, this is probably our most visited restaurant of the past couple of years. I recommend the raw juice (“a mixture of carrot, cucumber, tomato, orange and apple”) if you’re not on the booze, and the gyoza as a starter/side-dish (don’t share – you’ll want to scoff the lot).

50. Zullo & Pack
Upper Parliament Street

Trendy hairdos! (You’d be surprised how many search requests I get for “trendy hairdos”, so I thought I’d direct my Googlers to the right place.)

After many years tucked away on the first floor in Trinity Square, Zullo & Pack have recently moved round the corner, into bigger, smarter, more high profile premises on Upper Parliament Street. I have been going there every four weeks or so for at least the past ten years, always asking for, and receiving, exactly the same haircut. Maybe it’s slightly daft to be going to such a high class establishment for such a straightforward haircut – but I’m a pernickety little bugger in matters of style and personal grooming, and Zullo & Pack have always done me proud.

Late additions:

51. The Cock And Hoop
25 High Pavement, NG1 1HF

On the site of the former County Tavern, this newly re-opened pub has reverted to its original name, now that it has been brought under the auspices of the Lace Market Hotel next door. A cosy, civilised, impeccably well-appointed establishment, with real ales (Hook Norton – yum!), panelled walls and table service, which is deliberately keeping its numbers restricted and its atmosphere quietly low-key. A pub for grown-ups in other words, whose stated aim (according to the write-up in our local paper) is to provide a safe haven for people in comfortable cords and cable knit sweaters. Despite owning neither of these items, it is rapidly becoming my new favourite pub in town, especially in the early evening.

52. Opium
Warser Gate

Nothing further to add to my earlier review of this new Chinese restaurant, except to say that it shares its management with the equally fine Pearl in West Bridgford.

Labels: mynottingham

41. Royal Centre
Theatre Square, NG1 5ND
(official site)

Strong on acoustics but low on atmosphere, there’s a knack to getting the best from this particular concert hall. Firstly, keep your ear to the ground at all times. Secondly, book tickets immediately you hear about them. That way, you’ll be able to secure seats in the zone which affords you the best combination of view, acoustic and atmosphere. This is situated in the middle of the front stalls, roughly between rows F and K. Over the years, Dymbel and I have honed this technique down to a fine art. In fact, I cannot recall the last occasion when I sat anywhere else in the venue.

Oh yes I can. Macy Gray, about three years ago, back when we all still thought she was quite a good idea. Before we all started calling her Daffy Duck and pretending we never liked her much in the first place. What a monumentally tedious night that was.

Warning: even if you’ve left it too late and there are no other seats left, I must strongly recommend against sitting in the upper circle. Especially if you’re watching a comedy act. You’ll be too far away to see the facial expressions. This will effectively neuter all comedic potential.

42. Saltwater
The Cornerhouse, Forman Street, NG1 4AA
(link)

Having given this trendy new(ish) seafood restaurant a favourable write-up before, I find I have nothing further to say about it. Except to mention that I’ve since heard a few mixed reports from other people who have been, particularly with regard to the service. So maybe we have just been lucky.

However, if you’re truly serious about your fresh seafood, then you should make straight for the Loch Fyne Oyster Bar on King Street. The oysters, and much of the seafood here in general, come straight from the shores of Loch Fyne itself, and you’ll have a hard job finding anywhere else that can better them.

43. Selectadisc
21 Market Street, NG1 6HY

In terms of overall selection and price, this Nottingham institution is still the best music store in town - although Fopp has now started to give it a serious run for its money on the pricing front. I have now been shopping here regularly for the past 22 years – longer than at any other shop in the city that I can think of. Back in my DJ-ing days, I even used to get a discount in the (now defunct) singles shop.

However. If you’re not seriously into your music, and are only interested in buying something nice out of the charts, then Beware. The Selectadisc staff are a notoriously offhand, cooler-than-thou bunch, who really do believe that their detailed knowledge of obscure imports turns them into Superior Beings. You’ve seen High Fidelity, right?

The all-time worst offender: the grumpy little feller in the old singles shop, who would completely ignore you if you weren’t a DJ, or if you were buying – quelle horreur! – CD singles instead of 12-inch vinyl. You would simply have to wait until one of the other assistants became free. Yes, the Selectadisc staff will openly sneer at you even if you’re buying something which they already stock. It gets that bad in there.

About two years ago, I finally achieved the ultimate Selectadisc accolade. I was buying a drop-dead cool compilation of obscure dance music rarities from the 1980s, on the day it was released. The assistant took the empty case from my meekly outstretched little paws, and started scrutinising it intensely. As he did so, he began to nod his head up and down. Finally, he looked straight at me (oh my God - eye contact) and made a kind of affirmative grunt. I think he might even have said something along the lines of “that looks like a really good CD.” After two decades of mute supplication in that store (for even when I was a DJ, I was still acutely aware of my lowly place in the pecking order), I finally felt utterly validated as a human being.

In fairness though: despite their curmudgeonly, overgrown-adolescent-music-snob ways, the Selectadisc staff are all, to a man and a woman, intensely passionate about their music. They also run one of the finest independent record stores in the country, which we are very lucky to have at all. In fact, perhaps that's the real trouble: they are all too aware that they’re doing us a massive favour.

Selectadisc also has an extremely well-stocked second hand shop on the same street, called Was, where you will often find review copies of recent releases, as flogged by hard-up music journos. The same rules apply here if you’re trying to sell stuff to them. They don’t just take any old shit, you know. Best leave that Macy Gray album at home, if I were you. Same goes for that Toploader album.

The truly serious dance music aficionado should also head for the amazing Funky Monkey in Hockley. Loads of upfront pre-release 12-inchers on sale here, as well as cheapo CD review copies, and a terrific back catalogue selection. Particularly strong on deep house, as well as cool and jazzy breakbeat stuff. Friendly, knowledgeable and approachable staff, as well. Now there’s a rarity in a specialist dance music shop.

44. Sir John Borlase Warren
1 Ilkeston Road, Canning Circus, NG7 3NE

The Sir John’s Woolly Sporran is the nearest thing we currently have to a local pub, and as such, we treasure it. After a chequered history, which at one point saw the exterior of the building painted to look like a spotted cow, the pub is now run by the same bunch of people who now look after the Peacock on Mansfield Road. And let me tell you: these people know how to run a decent pub. Good beer on the pumps, good music on the CD player, interesting work by local artists on the walls, and a friendly, low-key buzz throughout. Our natural destination for a quiet midweek pint.

45. The Social
23 Pelham Street, NG1 2ED
(diary of forthcoming events - not always kept up to date, unfortunately)

Although it has only been open for just over three years, It is already hard to imagine Nottingham without The Social. My love for it simply knows no bounds. This is mainly because of its uncanny knack for booking all the hottest bands, often just before they go on to make it big (Coldplay, Starsailor and Turin Brakes have all played here as support acts, for instance). For such a small venue, it is quite astonishing how The Social consistently manages to punch above its weight. It also hosts many of the promotions brought to you by those fine people behind The Night With No Name (another great Nottingham institution).

Personal highlights from the past three years: Shack, Six By Seven (before they lost it as a live act), Echoboy, Gorkys Zygotic Mynci, Broadcast, And You Will Know Us By The Trail Of Dead, Horace Andy, Dot Allison, The Blackbyrds, the Webb Brothers, Kathryn Williams, Cousteau, Goldfrapp, the Pernice Brothers, The Libertines, Le Tigre and the Butterflies Of Love. And I don’t think I’ll ever stop kicking myself for having missed The Strokes and the White Stripes when I had the chance.

Jump to next section.

Labels: mynottingham