(An edited version of this review originally appeared in the Nottingham Evening Post.)

After a break of some eighteen months, and with their second album "Left" due to be released next Monday, Chichester six-piece Hope Of The States kicked off their UK tour at the Rescue Rooms with a new sound, a new approach and a new attitude.

Following the tragic suicide of guitarist James Lawrence at the start of 2004, the band could easily have taken a darker, more introspective direction, building on the brooding intensity of their debut album. Instead, they have chosen to step into the light. The new material is more optimistic, more upbeat and more conventionally rocky, displaying the sort of angular post-punk influences that can be found in the work of Editors and Bloc Party.

Sadly, this more overtly commercial, NME-friendly style did not play to the band's strengths. Maybe it was first night nerves - after all, most of the new songs had never been played in public before - but for most of the set, it felt as if we were watching a tentative rehearsal rather than a confident, polished performance.

Sam Herilhy's vocals were particularly lacking, with some dangerously off-key moments. As for the rest of the band, the sheer weight of numbers on stage - three guitars, keyboards, bass and violin - combined to form a disappointingly one-dimensional effect.

Of the new material, the catchy current single "Sing It Out" stood out from the pack, making you wonder why it only reached a paltry #39 in last Sunday's singles chart.

It took until the encore for the band to finally gel. Their biggest hit, "The Red The White The Black The Blue", sounded fantastic, as did "Black Dollar Blues" from the debut album. This was the band that we had come to see: powerful, focussed, committed, pushing their boundaries. All they need to do now is apply the old approach to the new material.

Oh, I'm fine - but then, it's not me you should be asking after. K has lost his only sister, his parents have lost their only daughter, R has lost the love of his life - and that's just the immediate nearest and dearest. This is a grim period for all concerned, and it's pointless to pretend otherwise.

I'm probably not going to say much more about any of this on the blog, though. Some matters are better kept private. Suffice it to say that I've learnt a lot about the grieving process in the last few weeks, and that some lessons have been more easily learnt than others.

However, M's funeral was beautiful and extraordinary, and a matter of pride for all who were involved in the planning of it. A lot of care had been taken to personalise the ceremony, and the effort paid off, leaving all of us with a profound - if sadly temporary - feeling of uplift and release. We had estimated around 75 mourners, and so were flabbergasted when around 300 turned up at the crematorium - far more than could be fitted inside. Thus about half the mourners were obliged to listen to the ceremony outside, relayed through loudspeakers.

M arrived in a stunning bamboo coffin, bedecked with white flowers, and was carried inside to the sound of Air's "Mike Mills", from the Walkie Talkie album. The service - from which virtually all religious content had been excised - was conducted by the funeral director: a family friend, who knew M well. M's 12 year old cousin read her self-penned poem, after which I delivered the main address: a tough gig, but made easier by the fact that I knew exactly what I wanted to say, and how I wanted to say it. It was an odd experience, giving a speech to the accompaniment of muted but sustained sobbing throughout, but at least I was able to induce some smiles and laughter as well. (I also inadvertantly "outed" K to half of Cheshire, but that's by the by.)

Diana Krall's "Narrow Daylight" was then played in full, after a few words of introduction from myself. This wasn't an obvious choice for a funeral, but then we didn't necessarily want something that would beat you around the head with emotion. Expressing sorrow yet also offering hope, whilst also hinting at some of the qualities which made M so special, the song's allusive nature thus provided space for quiet reflection - and, for those who wanted it, prayer.

After a second self-penned poem (delivered by M's friend and former neighbour J) and after the brief commital (inevitably the rawest moment of the day), we filed out to Van Morrison's "Have I Told You Lately That I Love You", which we had decided to move to the end of the ceremony; placed earlier, its unabashed sentimentality would have been too much, too soon. The sun had finally come out, and so we stood outside for maybe fifteen minutes or so before heading off to the reception, as K's family were gently besieged by well-wishers.

During the reception, the strangest feeling of mellow calm prevailed. People were smiling, chatting and mingling, almost - but not quite - as if at a family celebration. But then, we had been celebrating: M's life, her beauty, her lovably sweet nature, her understated strength, and the affection and support which she quietly offered to so many.

But of course, the longest and hardest part of the grieving process starts after the funeral, when the cards and flowers and letters and phone calls stop pouring in, and there is nothing left to plan, and people start trying to pick up their daily routines once again.

For me, an escapist by nature, last week's five days in London gave me the breathing space which I needed - or rather, which I felt that I needed. Because, to my surprise, bewilderment and distress, last weekend was where I stumbled for the first time. It turns out that, for those who grieve at one remove, their grief sublimated by the need to be constantly strong, supportive and wise, Denial and Anger can make their presence felt in ways that can take some time to recognise.

Let's leave it there. I'm back in London for three days (and two nights) a week for the rest of June, after which I shall be working full-time from Nottingham once more. London has been a wonderful experience in many ways, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't going to miss many aspects of big city life - but on the other hand, and for overridingly obvious reasons, it is also high time that I returned.

For, as has been all too clearly demonstrated in the past few weeks, my place is right here. Where I belong. And where I am needed.

Scroll down to Cottage diary: Friday, 5.15pm. Coincidence my arse!

I could swear those geraniums were bigger last week. She must be creeping around the PDMG after nightfall, with a pair of secateurs and a trophy trug.

Such are the perils of nano-celebrity.

1. The best song in the world today (though probably not tomorrow) is "I've Been Stalking You On Myspace" by John B. Choose between the punked-up main mix with the fabulous Generic Myspacechick voiceover, or the pumped-up ElectroHouse remix. How achingly zeitgeist this all is! I've haven't lost it, you know!

2. Speaking of Myspace, it turns out that a distant cousin of mine (we share a great-grandmother) has his own page, containing four tracks from his current band, Man Or Mouse? So that's where the creative musical gene went to in our family! Obviously I'm biased - but this is really good stuff, and so I feel a certain pride by proxy.

3. I should have linked to this two weeks ago, but ne'er matter: here's a nice line-by-line hatchet job on that bloody "I Wish I Was A Punk Rocker (With Flowers In My Hair)" effort. Har har, that's told her!

Update: Check the comments for THE RETURN OF PORNY BOY CURTIS!!! Older readers will know of whom I speak.

4. The best Youtube video in the world today (though probably not tomorrow) is this extraordinary "musical theatre" reworking of Yes's prog-rock classic "Roundabout", as performed by the Hastings Riverside Company Showchoir.

5. For the sake of completeness: just over a week ago, I wrote a live review of Guillemots/Joan As Policewoman. It got chopped down a bit by the sub-editors, but what's left of it can be read here.

6. Thanks to MissMish for this late addition to our Civil Partnership Registration photo album. I can't help thinking that this could be used to advertise some sort of gay-friendly financial services company. "Together we chose Ivan Massow", or some such puffery.