The year: 20 B

The year Twenty B

That's what it's going to look like after a few weeks of writing it. When it becomes a shorthand scribble. 20B. Like the number of a flat in a converted house.

The espresso cup and saucer

May look ridiculous for a big bloke. But I like them. When I make a stovetop espresso or bung a bit extra in the one cup French press, it's a reminder that there's a lot of punch and flavour in a small dose, so don't gulp it all down in a couple of swallows. I'll have to put up with the stick. It's authentic, and the right vessel for the beverage.

It is neither 'poncey' nor 'big-Jessie-ish', and neither am I a big tart, nor am I playing with a doll's tea set. It's authentic, is what it is.

The Guardian, Sleeve Notes

A late New Years Resolution: after my abysmal performance in the end-of-year music quiz 2012, I'm going to pay more attention to this. The NME and Rolling Stone, too. I can't have another three out of twenty five, bottom of the class result.

What makes me bin sleevenotes too often is the article listing. I do a quick scan. Japandriods (“not heard of them, wonder what they're like” I think). Neil Young (“what's he up to?”). Sketches of Africa (“sounds promising”). Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros (“intriguing, tell me more”). Robbie Williams / Madonna / Take That / Cheryl Cole = shaking hands, mental meltdown, instant hitting of the delete button. Damn you, sleevenotes. Let yourself down again.

Wrecking Ball

I saw Bruce Springsteen on a rainy summer's day, at the old Wembley, a long time ago. An incredibly long and hard working set from a magnificent band.

Always blue collar in approach, the album takes on the banks, politicians and corporations lyrically. Musically, it's a bit like the E-Street Band meet The Pogues. Not halfway. The meeting is at the E-Street Band end of the spectrum.

Here's your answer, luv

A new Labour MP has been out asking groups of people why they hate politicians. She was honest and fairly brave, ignoring advice to tone down the 'hate' even though that's plainly the right word when about a third of the population can be arsed to vote. There were a lot of answers, including the expenses scandals and the remoteness of the MP lifestyle from the reality generally faced by everyone else.

The very next day there's news that a bloke named Davis is under investigation. He's part of the Culture and Sport mob, on the gambling select committee, and on the payroll at Bet Fred and goes swanning off to the Cheltenham Festival at Ladbroke's expense. No conflict there then.

He's made impassioned pleas to Parliament (from the wallet, not the heart, obviously) that bookies should not be hit in the canvass bag by problem gambling taxes. No conflict there, either, eh, Mr Davis?

Lady, there's your answer right there. Vote? Not all the time the dog needs brushing.