Before Jimmy's machine and the rocksteady rub

My birthday was pleasant and low-key. The five Coles strolled to the Balti Hut in deepest Longlevens in the evening for a nosh-up. After twenty or thirty consecutive Vegetable Biryanis I have moved on to a new favourite: the Vegetable Bhuna. I have now had two on the trot. It’s a touch spicier and I rather like the texture of the thing. I was as full as a barrel at the end of the meal. We all trooped into the Co-op on the way home to buy some ice creams to consume when we arrived home. That was a nice touch.

The lucky birthday boy has got loads, loads of new music to play. I had five CDs on the day itself and some vouchers for Fopp and His Master’s Voice that I spent voraciously on seven further recordings this morning. The tokens were, as they say, burning a hole in my trouser pocketage. I won’t be a boring chump and list all I received and chose but it is a fine mixture of old and new. I’ve been sampling the ‘old’ mainly today while I viewed a host of superb European rugby football matches with the sound turned down, supine on the sofa, adopting a languorous and indolent manner. I especially appreciated Dexys Midnight Runners’ Searching for the Young Soul Rebels and I’m playing it for the second time now. The newish Isobel Campbell and Mark Lanegan album is a dainty and melodic treat and, by heck, I’ve loved reacquainting m’self with Siouxsie and the Banshees’ Juju, a powerful, macabre and haunting long player. I also got The Beatles’ Love album which sounds wonderful; I’m not entirely sure what the point of it is though.

I could have spent a fortune in Fopp. I unexpectedly alighted upon S in that shop, casually flicking through the jazz racks, a young and sharp blade that one wouldn’t guess was approaching his fortieth year. He described Fopp as ‘dangerous’; he is right – there is so much of quality to buy there. So many choices.