30. Destroy Rock & Roll - Mylo"...and working specifically through these individuals, for whom we call forth the Judgement of the Sacred Fire in this hour before the Throne of Almighty God: Michael Jackson, Prince, Bruce Springsteen, Tina Turner, David Boowy..."

...not to mention "Cyndi Looper", heh heh. And my my: haven't they got it in for poor old Michael Jackson, who gets called forth for Judgement twice: once by himself, and once with Paul McCartney. (Although "The Girl Is Mine" was pretty unforgivable, come to think of it.)

I particularly like the way that Culture Club becomes "Culture Club including Boy George", though. You know: just to ram home the point. They may not have heard of the rest of the list, but they've certainly heard of him.

(And why Band Aid?)

31. Cherry Blossom Girl - AirBoom thwack crunch screech wallop: this hasn't exactly the most relaxing selection of tracks so far, has it? In which case, it's time to kick your shoes off, light the scented candles, and enjoy a well-earned chill-out break with this single from Talkie Walkie: an album for which the phrase "welcome return to form" could have been invented.

(Hang on: this is a weblog, not an independent local radio station. OK, as you were.)

A spot poll. Which of the following statements is grammatically correct?
Why do I ask? Because one of my clients has just asked me to change the former to the latter, on a web-based training package what I wrote. But I still think that the former is correct, because "maximum" is the (singular) subject of the sentence, not "operations".

It's a fine point though, as both look kinda plausible. Customer relations issues aside (because obviously they are always right, and I exist merely to do their bidding), which would you go for?

32. Toxic - Britney SpearsThe Britney single that all the hi-brow New Pop Conceptualists flipped their collective wigs over, and with good reason; it's a brilliantly crafted confection.

However.

When you've spent as many Wednesday nights down at NG1 (the local gay club) as I spent in the first half of 2004, in a lagered-up, laboratory-beagle-nicotined-up, what-am-I-doing-here, don't-wanna-go-home-yet-either stupor of dumbed-down expectation and imagination-bereft habit, waiting for at least one half decent tune to lurch around to, because then at least you'll be able to synthesise at least some vague approximation of Having Fun, and they've already played Girls Aloud's cover of Jump (For My Love), which is usually as good it gets all night...

...then you'll seize upon the opening notes of Toxic with progressively less desperate glee as the weeks go by, until eventually it sounds as much of an empty, forced rattle as everything else that surrounds it.

But conceptually speaking? Sure, it's still a great record. But I have heard it enough now.

Angus takes the lead from Joe. Keep those guesses coming!

33. Drop The Pressure - MyloThe Jerry Springer - The Opera of the UK singles charts, this managed to make Number 19 with what must be the highest usage of the word "motherf***er" in musical history. Strangely, nobody ever bats an eyelid when this is playing, probably because the repeated word fits so well texturally into its surroundings. In other words, it has been used for its sound rather than its meaning, and without any attempt at shock value beyond a mild sonic tickle.

34. This Is The World We Live In - AlcazarI like the airbrushed ersatz Studio 54 sheen. I like the self-mythologising, and the way that every time you say their name ("Alcazar!"), a little starburst of glitter detonates above your head and flutters to the ground. (It also happens every time you say "Shalamar!", but you'll already know that.) I like it that they've melded an 1980s Genesis song which I've never heard before (Land Of Confusion) with the Diana Ross/Chic classic Upside Down, making it sound like the most natural combination in the world. I like it that they're a Swedish two-boy two-girl combo; always a good sign. And I like it that this song never fails to make me smile.

35. Single Again - The Fiery FurnacesSometimes, they do these great long rambling episodic 12-minute epic things. Sometimes, they do these short sharp snappy rinky-dink late 70s/early 80s new wave power pop Lene Lovich Bette Bright very very early XTC things. This is one of the latter.

(Note: I know this has already been flagged up on the Linkrack sidebar, but since when have I passed up an opportunity to blog about blogging? It's a furrow I have chosen to plough, so plough it I must.)

Queer Day, the "ultimate queer weblog" (it says here), is currently running its first annual awards thingy, The Queery Awards 2004.

(Not to be confused with the perennial Bloggies, and featuring categories that are not even - gasp! shudder! what, there's a world out there? - solely confined to weblogs.)

Despite being predominately USA-centric in flavour, there are a number of categories set aside for international weblogs. Including a category for "Best UK Weblog".

(Which translates as "Best UK Queer Weblog", naturellement. I am taking the "queer" as implicit.)

And lo! And hist! And forsooth! For who should we find, nestling within the shortlist of five, but Troubled Diva? Lawks-a-mussy-me; I am quite beside myself. My dear, kind transatlantic cousins, I kiss you all.

Turning to the other nominees: three (Naked Blog, Plastic Bag and Welshcake) are familiar names, all of which I have been regularly reading for years, while the other, Buggery.org (I can just see all the office-based readers pausing nervously over the hyperlink for this one), is a new name to me. This might have something to do with the fact that it's an Australian blog. You know: from Australia. Which I do realise is still part of the British Commonwealth, and maybe it's churlish to quibble - but then, there is actually a separate "Australia or New Zealand Weblog" category.

So, for whom should you cast your vote?

Buggery.org, for reasons just explained - and regardless of its undeniably high quality - is, I would humbly submit, perhaps the least deserving of the "Best UK" accolade.

As for Tom "Plastic Bag" Coates - head boy, top of the class, captain of everything and winner of the Mrs. Joyful Prize for Raffia Work - there can hardly be room left in his groaning sideboard for yet another trophy. (Except for the space reserved for this year's Bloggie, that is: the smart money's on the Lifetime Achievement Award.)

Duncan Welshcake? Well, he too has had his time in the sun, being a Best European nominee at the Bloggies in 2003. Besides which, updates at Welshcake have become rather sparse in recent months, haven't they?

Yes, yes, yes: before you all start, I know I'm a fine one to talk, what with hiatuses there, post-Peruvian wobbles there, and - as Stuart of the newly reactivated Kitchentable tartly observed - more comebacks than Shirley Bassey. Flaky as phook, me.

Which leaves one remaining contender: Peter of Naked Blog. Long-listed many times, but never yet short-listed. Always the bridesmaid, never the bride. And - oh, the ignominy! - recently demoted back into the massed ranks of the Little People over at The Guardian's UK weblogs guide. And yet (give or take the odd toys-out-of-pram 24-hour shutdown, but then that's part of his unique charm) so prolific, so consistent, such a constant presence on the UK blogging landscape.

So this is my pitch. Let diligence and virtue be rewarded! Let sunshine fall upon the wind-lashed watering holes of Leith! Vote wisely! Vote Naked Blog!

(Oh, and for "Best Trans Weblog", I urge you to cast your vote for the evergreen Gina Snowdoll. She's great, she is.)

Update: I give up! The silly old queen from Leith has only gone and pulled out of the competition, hasn't she? She don't like this, she don't like that... nothing's ever simple with that one, is it? She'll be the death of me yet, and no mistake. So that's another post in tatters, then... tatters, I tell you... [wanders off tutting]

Germaine Greer in her exit interview, talking about Bez:Well, yeah. But only if you pass him a rolled-up tenner and tell him it's "straight off the rock".

Oh, and while we're here... compare and contrast the following press statements from the good Doctor Greer:But hey, what is consistency but the safety blanket of a petty, depressingly literal mind? Thank goodness that we have grown to expect better than that from our intelligentsia.

"What did Sewell get us for Christmas, Gilbert?"
"Socks again, George. He's a stingy c**t."



Following repeated comparisons over recent years (an improvement on all those tedious Proclaimers comparisons of the late 1980s, it has to be said), the ultimate transfiguration has finally occurred.

Heartfelt thanks to Steve of My Ace Life for the unsolicited digital manipulation. (And for the caption.)

Update: Additional caption by Hg.
"As Alan Bennett and Neil Tennant compared results, both wondered whether all that time spent learning to knit had really been worth it."

36. I Believe In You - Kylie MinogueThis collaboration between Kylie and the Scissor Sisters had one f**kload of a lot of expectations to live up to. Consequently, it rather underwhelmed on the first few listenings. (I was expecting more from the chorus than simply repeating the title four times over, for instance.)

But then, like the Phoenix album before it (see below), what at first seems disappointingly slight and gossamer-thin slowly reveals itself over time, as Kylie's delicate magic touch swooshes you up into a giddy swirl of breathless delight.

(Or a breathless swirl of giddy delight. The effect varies, so I'm told.)

I Believe In You is also the first single on this year's list which, on a clear day with a good following wind, can sometimes sound, if only for a few seconds, like the best single ever made. There will be many more.

In a recent-ish interview, Kylie explained that - after fighting against it for many years - she had reached an acceptance of the fact that, on some level or other, she would always be a little bit naff. And that, I think, is a key element of her appeal. (Conversely, Madonna won her fight against naffness - but in doing so, lost a crucial part of her appeal.)

Alan's brief sojourn at the top of the pile comes to an end, as nascent super-blogger Joe. My. God. (just watch them Bloggies; you heard it here first!) takes over the lead.Keep those guesses coming!

37. I Can Do Anything - Gene Serene & John DownfallSince I can't think of anything useful to say about this (except to say that it sounds a bit like Peaches before she went boring), let me tell you about Saturday night instead.

Saturday night. Fifteen of us are in a restaurant just outside Whitby, celebrating a fortieth birthday. The restaurant rejoices in the name of "Cross Butts". As you might imagine, this is the cause of some amusement.

Twelve of us - the birthday boy and his boyfriend, me and K, a lesbian couple, a heterosexual couple, two single gay men (a Buddhist and an actor), a happy-clappy Christian mum and a female-to-male transsexual - are staying in a spacious, comfortable and pleasingly appointed farmhouse (ooh, another Aga!) near Robin Hood's Bay. The house is a couple of minutes' walk from a small bay called Boggle Hole. It almost goes without saying that this too is the cause of some amusement. In the smaller house next door, all of three feet away from the farmhouse, the birthday boy's mother and father are staying, along with the birthday boy's niece. Family in one place, "family" in the other.

Following the previous night's extraordinary gales, we were without electric power for most of the day. (In this respect, the Aga was a godsend.) About twenty minutes after it got too dark to read, about ten minutes after the candles were lit in the sitting room, and just as we were wondering how to get ourselves ready for the evening without lighting and hot water, power was restored. (As this threatened to kill the cosy twilight atmosphere, we decided to stick with the candles.)

Just before leaving for the restaurant in the hired minibus, the five occupants of the house who sing in the same choral group, plus the birthday boy's mother, arranged themselves around the kitchen table, handed out the sheet music, and treated us to a six-part harmony arrangement of a medieval elegy. The effect was spellbinding.

(Aside from the birthday boy to me and K, the following morning: "Because you live in a village at weekends, you get to be friendly with Tories. Because we sing in a choral group, we get to be friendly with Christians. It goes with the territory.")

In the restaurant, the conversation has turned to smoking, with various ex-smokers talking about why they started. For many, it was the usual story of wanting to be cool and rebellious at school.

I turn to the birthday boy's niece: a carefully made up young miss in a matching pink crocheted cap and poncho. I'm guessing she's about seventeen. Poor kid must be feeling a bit left out. Must make an effort.

"So what's the situation like for people of your generation? Do many of you still smoke, or has it fallen out of fashion now?"

"Well... um... maybe there's one or two...", she mutters, gazing at me with wide-eyed astonishment.

"But then, I'm only twelve."

Uproar around the table, as I bury my head in my hands, all theatrical groans and profuse apologies. The birthday boy says I've made his weekend.

I'm always doing stuff like this. They grow up so fast these days, don't they?

Back in the farmhouse, the iPod and I host an easy-listening disco until four in the morning. My debut gig with the iPod, in fact. Tune of the night: Up Up And Away (In My Beautiful Balloon). In situations like these, a DJ has to know his crowd. No point hitting them with the new stuff, is there?

(Of course, if you had been there, then I could have been as upfront as I pleased. Because we understand each other, you and I. That's why you're special.)