I have been missing in action again dear reader, and as with previous enforced absences my lack of posting here has not meant that I have not been doing good out there in the real world. Indeed I spent much of the last month building a huge impregnable fence around the Glastonbury Festival – not to ensure that the event will take place in future years but rather to turn it into an open prison of hippies and musicians. Imagine if you will a jail which held the likes of the Stereophonics, Coldplay, Queens Of The Stone Age and Air – now that is something I think we can all agree would be worth tax payers money.

Instead though some bastard with the hair on the wrong side of his face turned up and put some gates in to let all the musicians back out again. Next year I’m using land mines.

WHilst I was desperately trying to find some reinforced steel to block up the entrances I had to admit I caught self styled (and genetically styled I suppose) French Group Air on their way in. I though prog rock was dead (indeed I though I had watched its final death throes when I convinced Emerson and Palmer to go jump in Lake). Instead there they were, with their twinkling light show in the rain and the ponderous breezeblock heavy tunes boring everyone to tears who could have already been bored by Roger Waters quadrophonic sound on the other stage. Why Rog thinks he will sound better on four speakers when it has already been proven that the only number that does his croak justice is zero I’ll never know. Anyway, Air, with their bigh gimmick at the end of their set showed exactly why Glastonbury really should be concreted over with all the punters still in there. At the end of the tedium they played Sexy Boy, a less sexy song (or bunch of boys for that matter) I cannot imagine. At which point they release 68, 000 cubic meters of Air. Over the campsite. A more vain effort I have never seen. I didn’t hear it cos I had earplugs in. Made me wish I had gone to see Poison instead.

Anyway I am back from horrible Somerset with its horrible G&T substitute made of apples, and have a new project to unveil. So stick around, preferably with ear plugs, as I unleash the Breakfast Of Banality – undoubtedly the least important meal of your day.