Many people have mentioned to me over the last couple of weeks that some of my reasons for disliking particular strands of popular music are tenuous at best. I will accept this criticism on the chin, something Belle & Sebastian could never do. While I would be the first to admit that disliking a band because I could have them all in a fight under general anaesthetic may seem harsh ? it is my main bugbear with the not coincidentally abbreviated B&S. Even if the band were at the full early doors strength of eight, and even if they came at me all at once, I think a disdainful flick of the wrist would put paid to the lot of them. Especially the fey one who formed Looper and wants to go to Mars with his Dad ? ah, what a bed wetting sweetie.

There is nothing wrong with stealing Nick Drake?s schtick; the seventies grand wizard of mumbling over un-amplified instruments certainly does not need it any more (in his fey pop grotto in the sky). And there is nothing wrong with pretending to be intelligent that failing the odd exam won?t put paid to. What irks me most is the dedicated underachievement of the band. Really how much cash can they make when they go out of their way to avoid those money making things like touring, releasing good records and having a sensible number of people in their band. No wonder they can only ever afford one colour on their album covers.

I must admit to being let down and disappointed with my hosts new found admiration of B&S. I accepted Mr Ewing?s offer of hosting almost a month ago now, after a long and vitriolic conversation sans pub about all that is currently bad about pop music. From viewing his site he has since turned his coat upon the all encompassing hate. That said I never thought I would see the day when he who fights the good fight in thought if not in deed would be suckered by the deceptive charms of Scots who can?t fight. I use the word deceptive there to mean they have deceived Tom. Not even wrassling a sitar (surely the easiest of instruments to master since it is never in tune and plays to mystical Eastern scales) can put a smile on my face. ?Get out of the city?, they emplore, and leave your fucking record collection behind while you are at it.

Some say Belle & Sebastian are merely raconteurs in the troubadouric tradition. I would advise you, if you come across such an advocate to smash them in the teeth ? odds are they too will be rubbish in a scrap. ?I Fought In A War?? Since when have the Scottish Fusiliers been employing ragtag multi-instumentalists as the first wave of attack. This is obviously a war they lost, which has been hushed up by the press. (That or they are representing the Scot’s who lost independence as lead by Mel Gibson’s William Wallace. Wearing skirts and singing songs about foxes is no counter to effective cavalry charges.) Of course the shame of being accused of losing a war has driven Belle & Sebastian underground: but if you need them, and you can find them (via Isobel?s amusing cod Chinese Laundrywoman impression in the outskirts of East Kilbride) you just might be able to hire Stuart ?Howling Mad? Murdoch?s A-Team. What this particular A-Team could achieve I am not so sure. Lock them in a garage with just a washing machine and some plastic tubing and they?ll probably knock up a song called ?Wash-Board Sally Dances?. Or die of claustrophobia. David Niven?s wife died playing sardines don?t you know. It could happen to Belle & Sebastian too.

B&S ? Bull and Shit. Oh and fold your hands child, it makes it easier to punch you.