...then may I bid you a warm welcome. As I'm out of town until Monday, I haven't yet seen the piece myself, but I believe it's to be found in the magazine section. (Note to non-Nottingham readers: I doubt very much whether it will be appearing on the online version of the newspaper.)

However, the nice lady who interviewed me did let me see a draft copy, so that I could check it for accuracy - and I have to say that I was thrilled, thrilled I tell you, to find myself described as "slight". No-one has ever called me this before. After the extended battle I have been waging with my abdominal jut, this alone provides all the self-validation I could possibly need.

Being interviewed, in a quiet upstairs corner at Stones delicatessen on Weekday Cross, was a thoroughly pleasant experience, which left me in a vastly improved state of mind. (I had been in a fairly filthy mood all week.) I guess there's nothing more guaranteed to lift the spirits than being given the chance to talk about myself at length, to someone who is duty bound to record every word. Better than therapy! And cheaper, too!

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As for the photo session the following week, I am quaking in my dressing gown at how this will have turned out. I didn't make a great start by greeting the photographer outside my front door, then realising I had left the house keys back in the office, and having to prevail upon him for a lift. The office is only ten minutes away by foot, but thanks to the lunchtime traffic and the labyrinthine absurdities of Nottingham's one-way system, it took almost as long by car. We went all rahnd the ahzes, if I might be permitted to slip into the local vernacular.

The purpose of the photo-shoot was to capture me actually in the process of blogging - much as happened when the BBC interviewed me in 2005. However, the study is a bit of an unphotogenic tip these days, and so it was swiftly decided that we would stage the shoot downstairs with a laptop. As the photographer commented, Man At Table With Computer isn't the most arresting of images, and so I was directed into ever more unlikely postures around the living room: perching on furniture, staring moodily out of the window... and eventually (and I bet this is the shot they end up using in the magazine) stretched out on my front on the sofa, head raised, with the laptop resting on the arm, and my legs coquettishly raised and crossed behind me.

"I feel like I'm posing for FHM!", I quipped, nervously.

"That's it, keep it there, nice big cheesy grin", he urged, professionally.

Meanwhile, I pretended to type a blog entry with my one free hand, my head cocked upwards so that I couldn't see the keyboard.

"jggjksnn ghgh jkjiyh ggg jjj", I blogged, helplessly.

"That's great, one more, perfect." Yeah, fake it baby.

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I was also asked to supply some supplementary material for the side panels: a short extract from one of my blog postings, and some blogging Do's and Dont's for the curious novice. For the extract, I suggested four pieces: the Period Living photo-shoot, the "swanky do" at a local hotel, my appearance on BBC Radio Nottingham, and a brief but telling conversation that I had with K whilst hiking to a country pub. However, the nice lady from the Evening Post decided to make her own selection: a piece where I talk about purchasing a pedometer. (Further evidence of my prolonged struggle with the abdominal jut, you see.)

If you are new here, then my favourite postings are all archived on the side panel to the right, under the heading "we wrote". Do feel free to have a good rummage. I also recommend the piece entitled "Arbeit macht frei", which is nestling right down at the bottom of this page. I made a bit more of an effort with this one, and I think it's the best blog post I've written all year. (Most of the time, I just brain-splurge straight to the keyboard. Such is the nature of our fledgling medium.)

As for the blogging Do's and Dont's: I'll publish them here tomorrow, when the newspaper is no longer on the stands. In the meantime, please make yourselves comfortable - and if you feel moved to do so, then please leave a comment. (You can do this pseudonymously, if you so wish: none of the little boxes on the comments form are mandatory.)

Now, read on. And in case you were wondering whether I ever live up to the title of this blog, then the posting below should provide all the evidence you need.

Look, I've been to BLOODY HOSPITAL, you know? In SHEER BLOODY AGONY, in case it had slipped your attention. And DO I GET ANY SYMPATHY? DO I? DO I?

Because I'd say that THREE MEASLY COMMENTS, all of which were placed merely to TEASE AND MOCK ME, is NOT WHAT ONE MIGHT HAVE REASONABLY EXPECTED UNDER THE CIRCUMSTANCES. Petite Bloody Anglaise would have had 200 "ooh, poor poor you" comments by lunchtime. Girl With A One Track Mind would have had armies of journos besieging the hospital staff for the full lowdown on any interesting birth marks. But Mike bloody Troubled bloody Diva gets THREE BLOODY COMMENTS, even though he might be WRITHING IN EXCRUCIATING PAIN RIGHT THIS SECOND, NOT THAT ANY OF YOU LOT WOULD BLOODY CARE.

Yes, the Diazepam has well and truly worn off.

I expect better from you in the future.

Remember my groin strain moan of a couple of weeks ago? Well, there was a slight relapse at the weekend - and a severe relapse this lunchtime, which left me stranded in the middle of town and quite unable to walk. Indeed, it was painful enough merely standing and waiting for K to pick me up and take me to Accident & Emergency. Where I spent an uncomfortable and tedious afternoon, before being dosed up with some seriously groovy painkillers and sent on my way.

This is all most tiresome. I think I'll be working from home tomorrow.

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

Detroit soul man Amp Fiddler earned his first break with George Clinton’s band in the 1980s. More recently, he has been building his reputation as a solo artist, thanks to 2004’s Waltz Of A Ghetto Fly – a “slow burner”, which picked up steady sales via word-of-mouth recommendations.

With his oversized white Kangol cap perched on top of his unruly Afro, Fiddler cuts a nifty, Sly Stone-esque dash on stage. Seated in front of his keyboards, with a four-piece band behind, he radiates an amiable, laid-back bonhomie which is matched by the uncommonly good-natured late twenties/early thirties crowd.

The band specialises in the sort of mid-paced soul/funk which was popularised by Stevie Wonder in the mid-1970s. It’s impeccably played, and suitably reverential to its roots. At its best, it tilts towards Jamie Lidell’s smoking future-funk. At its worst, it slides towards Jamiroquai’s samey blandness.

Fiddler’s vocal style is the weakest link. Although somewhat reminiscent of the great Bill Withers, his range is limited, and his expressive power weak. Instead, it’s left to the band to provide a solid, danceable groove. Unfortunately, the lack of variety swiftly palls.

In order to take things to the next level, Fiddler needs to add something fresh, rather than sheltering in retro stylings. The material from his new album, Afro Strut, could just as easily have appeared three years ago – or even fifteen years ago. Until then, he will have to be satisfied with playing to the converted at cosy, unchallenging gigs such as this.

Gah, me and my pledges. I'm feeling knackered and flat today, after staying up too late last night, and the night before, for no good reason other than not wanting to go to bed.

Actually, that's not quite correct. I was on gig-reviewing duty last night, and so had to suffer an hour and a quarter of an amiable but dreary performance by Amp Fiddler, down at The Social. This started promisingly enough, but quickly sank into blandly noodling retro-funk tedium. Too limited in musical and emotional range, too reverential to its roots, and just too damned cosy by half. Dude needs to take some risks.

Nevertheless, this gave my plenty of material for my review, which I rattled off fairly quickly when I got home. (I used to spend up to an hour and a half, agonising over every word. These days, I can think them through on the walk home, bash them out in 20 minutes, edit them in another 10, and they'll be much better pieces for it.) Trouble is, even once the review is done and dusted, I'm still left saddled with a surge of residual energy, despite the inconvenient lateness of the hour.

So I'll generally pour myself a "well earnt" beer - always the third of the night, as I only ever allow myself two at the gig - and settle down to some "relaxing" web-surfing. And then, before I know it, it's stupid o'clock, and I'm shame-facedly sliding into bed and trying not to wake K in the process.

In which case, let's fulfil the "one post per day" pledge by means of a quick Open Mike session. This should also help to get the brain juices flowing before I head out later, for my office-buddy JP's "farewell" drink. (He's back off to Hangzhou for a few weeks.)

Please leave me a question in the comments, and I'll do my best to answer it. One question per person, and I'm only going to answer the first five. OK Go!

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1. Will asks: Which is the best/your favourite ABBA album track that was never a single?

It might surprise you to know that I only own one Abba album that's not a compilation: 1974's Waterloo, which I bought at the time. I came quite close to buying their next, self-titled album, and have clear memories of fingering it wonderingly in the record department of Boots the Chemist in the Doncaster Arndale Centre - but teenage rock cool eventually got the better of me, and so we parted company for a few years. By the time we were fully reconciled, their recording career was over.

Anyhow, there can only be one answer, so thanks for the easy lob: it's "The Visitors" from 1981, which I first heard on a Hi-NRG compilation album in 1984, and haven't stopped enjoying since. Brooding, epic, explosive and deliriously, deliciously paranoid.

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2. Joe.My.God. asks (although he's having to shout to make himself heard above Abba's "The Visitors", which is playing right now, very loud): If not K, then who?

An even easier lob! Bless you!

I've thought about this a lot over the years. Of all the people I've ever met (and, for that matter, "met"), could one of them ever have graduated to the status of Life Partner, if I had never met K?

It's an intriguing thought - not least because I have been prone to the occasional crush along the way. Sometimes, it has been quite a strong crush. But every time, without fail, the crush has faded within a few months at most. And, despite their occasional intensity, no crush has ever encroached upon the feelings I have for K.

That's partly because my feelings for K exist in a different dimension, and partly because crushes are, by their very nature, transitory and illusional. To experience a crush is to be temporarily captivated by your idealisation of someone. Or rather, by the ideals which you project upon them. The longer you know them, and the better you get to know them, the less able you are to sustain the idealisation.

I couldn't imagine ever sustaining a successful long-term relationship in a parallel universe with any of my crushees. That's partly because, trust me, I am very high maintenance, and most people wouldn't put up with it. But that's also because - and I've said this before, and I meant it then, and I mean it now - K is, in my objective judgement, the most wonderful man I have ever met. Indeed, I work on the implicit and only partially delusional assumption that everyone who meets him is silently kicking themselves for not getting in there first.

So, if not K, then quite probably no-one. My love life was disastrous before I met him, and I suspect it would have been equally disastrous without him.

(Incidentally, and lest you think otherwise: he gets crushes too, and we chat about them quite light-heartedly. Jealousy, you say? Darlings, we just don't do jealousy.)

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3. diamond geezer asks: You're secretly enjoying this "having to post every day", aren't you? Even though you're pretending not to.

Well, if anyone should know about the pleasures of daily posting, it would be diamond "hardest working blogger in the business" geezer. Yes, I am enjoying it - because I've successfully imposed an external discipline upon myself, which seems to be working. I work best under duress. Too much freedom makes me flabby. And when I get flabby, I get miserable, and progressively more unable to fight the flab.

Having said all that, I opened Blogger with a heavy heart this evening. Oh, must I? The feeling lasted at least halfway through the second paragraph.

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4. z asks: You seem to have your dream job. Is it, or is there a sneaking ambition for something else, or something more?

Yes, z, you are quite right. IT consultancy is indeed my dream job, and the fact that I get to work in CICS/COBOL on an IBM mainframe is merely the icing upon the cake. What more perfect a match could there possibly be for my skills and talents? Why, I couldn't imagine ever doing anything else. And the fact that members of my company's management team regularly read this blog has no bearing upon my answer at all, no sir!

(The serious answer: it's far from my dream job, but it's comparatively stress-free, and it pays OK, and I can do it, and it doesn't leave me so spiritually sapped that I can't do anything else outside work, and none of the people I work with are w@nkers, far from it indeed, and there are no crappy office politics to deal with, and my current clients are the most professional outfit that I have ever worked for. But I can't see myself still doing this in ten years' time, for all sorts of reasons.)

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5. patita asks: Looking forward to any new music this year? CDs or live performances.

The easiest of all lobs! For upcoming live performances, all you need to do is scroll down until you find the "we're seeing" section in my sidebar. The list is automatically generated by upcoming.org, and I am most diligent at keeping it up to date.

(Yes, the inclusion of last year's X-Factor finalists Journey South is a little weird, but I have a morbid curiosity and am hoping to fashion an interesting review from the experience. Getting someone else to accompany me might be a little tricky, though.)

Looking through the full schedule, I am particularly looking forward to the Hidden Cameras and the Scissor Sisters, both of whom I shall be reviewing. All of which handily provides the answer to the other half of the question, as I cannot wait to get my clammy paws around Ta-Dah and Awoo.

Here's the idea. By clicking on the sixth link in my blogroll, then the sixth link in the blogroll that follows, and so on until I get bored, I shall be magically transported to some strange and exotic new lands, way outside the confines of my weekly round.

Well, it beats dreaming up original new content, at any rate. So here goes.

The sixth link in my blogroll is Blogadoon, which I have been reading since the back end of 2001. In fact, looking through the rest of my blogroll, there are only three other sites left from 2001: Hip To You, Overyourhead and World Of Chig. Perhaps not surprisingly, I have met all four bloggers in person, many times. That must be the secret for blogroll longevity.

Anyway, Blogadoon is a fine place to start. Between February and June of this year, Ian and I spent most of our Wednesday late evenings together, down at Get Em Off And Win A Hundred Quid Nite at the White Swan in Limehouse. Ian's blog remains resolutely hand-coded, and retains the same site design that it has always had. There's a good deal more photography than there used to be: I like the Brighton & Hove beach huts best of all.

But tarry we mustn't! There's an adventure to be had!

So, off we go to Ian's link #6 - and why, if it isn't dear old Minor 9th. This is one of the oldest names in the UK blogsphere (it was started in 2000), and yet its author has only just turned 23. Pausing only to admire a nice picture of carrots at Borough Market, I zoom off in search of Simon's blogroll...

...only to discover that he doesn't have one. (Separate "links" pages don't count. Far too much like hard work.) So it's back to Blogadoon, and down to Ian's link #7.

And now we're off into uncharted waters. Bob's Yer Uncle also trades under the name Blogging Makes Me Drowsy, depending on where you look. The Bob in question is currently travelling round North America - but he must be a Londoner, as lo and behold, he too has recently visited Kit Off For The Lads Nite at the White Swan. And oh! And whoops! Bob also has Troubled Diva on his blogroll! Perhaps we have rubbed shoulders, without my even knowing it. Time to move swiftly on.

Bob's sixth link takes us across the Atlantic good and proper. Zenchick - Musings From The Lotus Position is currently on hiatus, so my visit will be brief. Her sixth and seventh links have expired, but her eighth link whisks us off to...

The Pieces Of My Life, which greets its readers with a photo of a baby's bottom. This woman calls her children Doodles and Sweetie. There are several transcribed conversations between Doodles and her Mommy. There is a birthday cake in the shape of a space rocket. And link #6 is to...

Daniella's Misadventures - Bringing Big Easy Charm to the Tri-State area! Big Easy? Is that New Orleans? But where on earth is the Tri-State area? It's at times like these that I realise how my overseas readers must struggle with my own regional parochialism. Daniella is also hiating, so let's zoom off to...

Pepper of the Earth - The Home Office Record & Mostly Daily Gazette. New York based, good photos, nice writing - but very little new content since the middle of May, which seems a shame. I'm beginning to feel like I'm wandering through a blogging Marie Celeste: all the signs of recent activity are still there, and the food on the plates is still warm, but there are no actual human beings in sight.

Speaking of warm food on plates, here comes a familar name: Chocolate & Zucchini, which was long-listed under the Best Food Blog category in this year's Bloggies.

(I know this because I was one of the judges in this category, despite barely being able to boil an egg. My speciality is pinging the buttons on the microwave, a skill at which I am second to none.)

Chocolate & Zucchini is a class act indeed: professionally laid out, with an air of calm authority, and OH MY GOD SHE ATE AT EL BULLI JEALOUS DOESN'T BEGIN TO COVER IT. (What other restaurant would be mad enough to seal portions of olive oil inside soft casings, to make them look like real olives?)

An Obsession With Food is up next. This sports a lengthy blogroll - and guess what, they're all food blogs. I feel that I have stepped into a self-contained world within a world, and may never escape.

OK, let's see how long this takes.

The Amateur Gourmet (Burrito French Toast, Pot Au Feau au Trois Viandes) -> Give Me Some Food (Pappa al Pomadoro, Bresaola Carpaccio with Gribiche Vinaigrette) -> Becks & Posh (Harissa, Almond and Chocolate Tart) -> My Epicurean Debauchery (Stuffed Trout with Edamame-Miso) -> The Girl Who Ate Everything (Fish & Chips, Lamb Curry, Shepherd's Pie, no blogroll) -> Lovescool - For The Love Of Dessert (tea-flavoured sweets) -> Dessert Comes First -> (Nectarine-Plum Cobbler with Hazelnut Biscuits) -> The Traveler's Lunchbox ("Seven Steps to Perfect Brioche") -> OKAY, STOP. THIS ISN'T FUN ANY MORE.

Conclusion: blog-hop for long enough, and you too will end up stuck in the larder.

“So, [insert name of interviewee here]. Do you have any regrets at all?”

“Oh, no, no, no, ha ha! No regrets! If I had my time all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing!”

Sorry, but does everyone think like this, or it is just something which people say in interviews because it’s a nice easy cop-out of an answer, which they hope will make them look all wise and resolved and at peace with life?

Regrets? I’ve got hundreds of them. Poor judgments, bad decisions, missed opportunities, time wasted, potential undeveloped, acts of selfishness, acts of weakness, sins of omission… and, the most keenly felt of all, all those occasions where thoughtless words or deeds have caused hurt or offence to others. Sure, some of them have been Learning Experiences, which have Made Me The Person I Am Today – but, given a rewind button, I would erase most of them in an instant.

That’s normal, isn’t it?

...and now reading the Sunday Telegraph in the next room. So nobody make a sound, OK?

I have just discovered that my father had a bit part in The Titfield Thunderbolt: a classic Ealing comedy film from the early 1950s. The scene is towards the very end of the film, and my father plays Boy Running Down Hill. It's an uncredited, non-speaking role, and almost entirely shot from behind - but nevertheless, it Still Counts. We've just been playing and re-playing the scene on DVD, and it's fairly clearly him.

I can't believe that I never knew this before, as it was one of my father's earliest boasts to my mother (a movie star in her own right) when they were first courting. Perhaps he thought it was too poofy (this came before National Service put hairs on his chest), and that it might influence me too much towards a theatrical life?

Incidentally, yesterday's rain stopped just in time for the fireworks display - which was just about spectacular enough, but not a patch on two years ago. Some very odd choices of music - there's never any excuse for Westlife, and do we really need to be reminded of Darius's "Colourblind" again so soon? - but the climactic display which accompanied U2's "Vertigo" justified the ticket price alone.

She went up to bed about two paragraphs ago. ("Oh, there you are.") I had BBC News open and ready, so no sweat. Now, dare I risk a fag in the garden?

I am forty-four years old, and still sneaking around the old girl like a furtive teenager. Ah well. We have made progress on many fronts over the years, but it's good to retain a little generational distance.