Yet again rumours of my death are exagerrated. Its true that all that breakfast has caused a significant clogging of my arteries, but nothing a stint of watching Celebrity Fat Club and a gin dialysis won’t cure. This however is not the reason why I have not written anything for a month or so. There hangs a tale.

It was just after my musings on the Streetband (pah – Pigeon Streetband more like) that I was accosted whilst sauntering up Tottenham Court Road on my usual pastime of breaking all the Hi-Fi’s in Shysonics. “Ho – are you Tanya Headon” he said, garnering himself a slap round his chops which turned out to be copiously covered in acres of beard. I after wiping my hand on what looked like a cape hung around his neck I asked him if he wanted to buy me a drink. Instead he came out with the following:

“Ms Headon, you are a well known hater of all sorts of music, and have never kow-towed to an intelligent argument on the potential good of the artform.” (I spluttered at this suggestion). “That said I agree that much of what has been presented to you has been abject tripe, stuck in the past and evolutioonary dead. What I have to play you will truly unblock your jaded ears once and for all.”

Now loathe as I am to listen to a grown man in a wizards hat with falafel spunk stains down his robes, I must admit in a moment of weakness the bloke intrigued me. I’m the last person who would want to listen any form of music, especially if I’m going to give it the benefit of my critical opinion, but in this moment my curiosity was piqued and I allowed him to drag me into an audition room. At which point he tied me down telling me that this was the ideal way to listen to this din. Smelling more than a bit of a rat I naively asked him what this radically new form of music was called.

“Its pushing the boundaries of music forward, taking all the Fisher-Price notions of tune and tempo and subjecting them to the scrutiny of the finest minds that the world can offer. This music is truly progressive.”

Dear reader that was on the 30 August and the track has only just finished. Progressive my arse. It was PROG. And if I ever catch up with that beardy bastard I’ll try some progressive assault and battery on him. I’m not sure what the violence equivalent of Nantucket Sleight Ride is, but if there is any justice it will be similar to dropping a fucking Mountain on his head. ANd so in dubious honour of my month of torture I welcome you to the baroque and in no way associated with wizards and fairies world known as TANYA’S PROG ROCK HELL.