If I've learned one thing in the past week, it's that I should apply pre-emptive suncream to my nose rather than let it get battered into submission by the sun. It's all red and peeling. Such are the perils of spending a bank holiday in Abersoch, I guess. I really needed to get away from it all, and put an end to that winter run where hardly anyone takes any time off between the start of the year and the end of April. Why do we do that? It's a third of the year, for pity's sake.

I also feel like it's a season for meeting up with old friends. Benedict, Nick, Corinna, Lizzie... it's been great catching up with all of them recently. I miss one thing about the Wirral: friends who have known me all my life.

Am having tremendous 'fun' trying to sort out what on earth I'm doing in terms of getting a roof over my head come August. Doors open, then slam shut. Fortunately, my pessimistic outlook has prevented me from being taking by surprise by certain events, but I now find myself booked in to see a mortgage adviser this afternoon. I don't feel ready for big chats like this yet. But then, when I think back to being a wee nipper, I remember considering 18 to be old, and that by 24 I'd be married and own a house. Now I've reached that age, I feel two forces tugging away - one trying to hold me back from scary commitments like flat-buying, the other pulling me into maturity and middle age. Perhaps I need to stop thinking about these things, stop worrying about them, and just get on with growing up.

Things I'm loving:

Jim Moray's new album

Classic Gerrard moment

The Hush Sound, ignoring the first song on their myspace player

m xx

Hmm. See what you make of 'Intoxicating' by heading to myspace. Be interested in your thoughts - I'll save mine for a later date.

m xx

On the tube home tonight there was a girl lingering over photographs, and a recipe for roast chicken with broad beans. There was a drunk man, with narrowed, bloodshot eyes, trying to look sober.

Arsenal, it seems, are through to the final of the Champions' League, and almost every sinew of my body longs for them to be thumped by Barcelona. I say almost, because there's still a tiny bit of me that thinks: "Hey, they're from London. They can't be all that bad." ... Nope, I've convinced myself. A Ronaldinho hat-trick is necessary.

Had a cracking birthday weekend. Few mates over to the flat on Saturday, then multiple beers, cocktails, shots and a sipping whisky at The Bluebottle in Crystal Palace. Liverpool beat Chelsea; I have vague recollections of dipping my finger in Sambuca and setting it alight. I would not have done this sober. A man with a coke habit and suspiciously racist views bought me a pint and waffled about Southampton. Should I have been grateful? Spent Sunday eating grease, walking in the rain and watching 'Garden State'.

There's one football team in Britain whose name doesn't include a single letter from the word 'football'.

Catherine bought me an ipod nano, and I'm bowled over by that level of generosity. I think it's the most incredibly thoughtful gift I've ever been given. The Ricky Gervais podcasts have been making me almost wet myself on the commute into work, which is simply not the done thing. Speaking of urination, someone was telling me that their boyfriend got so drunk he wet himself in his sleep. How does that happen?! Fortunately for them, I can't remember who told me that.

The last track on Frank Turner's new EP is called 'I Really Don't Care What You Did On Your Gap Year'. Love that. I just bought the Paramore album. On several occasions in the past fortnight I've reached breaking point, and the only way I could calm down and get to sleep was by listening to Grace. I need to review the new Jim Moray album, and it reminds me of a conversation I had once, desperately trying to pretend I know the first thing about folk music, in a spotlight, bailing by acknowledging I know nothing.

God, I love my friends. They just have no idea how much power they have. Over the weekend they made me feel safe, just by being there. The truth is that I don't think I'll feel fulfilled until I've done one really great thing. 

m xx

Girls and boys.

You can go either here or here to hear 'Change Of Colour'.

m xx

Why? Because I'm doing pieces on two

totally

different

but totally amazing new bands, which no other magazines even acknowledge the existence of.

Rock on.

m xx

With Tim pointing me in the direction of You Tube, I thought I'd post some awesome links I found therein!

My favourite bit? Napoleon's forward roll.
Panic! At The Disco doing the pop-punk Papa Lazarou.
Marilyn Manson and Bjork both get referenced in FFTL's vid.
Funny how Steven Fry is these days turning into a man he once mocked...
Perhaps my favourite music video of all time.

m xx

Things I hate about this week's NME:

1. The fact that they think it's worth interviewing individual members of Gorillaz, when it's all made up anyway.
2. The big picture of Brandon from The Killers, wearing a big coat, with the headline :"Does this coat hold the secrets to The Killers' second album?" No, because it's a coat.
3. Towers of London making it onto the NME stereo.
4. A big piece on Keane, who they'll then slag off next week.
5. Heat-style pictures of Preston and Chantelle.
6. The horrendous Radiohead article that sounds like it was written by a 12-year-old. It's written as though we know nothing about Radiohead, and fair dos, maybe about five of "da kids" need enlightenment. But they also shouldn't be pandered to.
7. The way they use any opportunity possible to mention the Arctic Monkeys. Thom Yorke mentions them? There's your pull quote. They're playing Reading and Leeds? There's a nice picture. Jarvis Cocker's from Yorkshire? There's your "Monkeys' Uncle" headline. Plus, there's an entire feature on who "The new Arctic Monkeys" will be, judged on acne level.
8. The Streets album review. The reviewer seems to want to talk about his own dabblings with cocaine and visits to the therapist, and as such fails to spot that this is Skinner's third best album. 8 out of 10? Hmmm. ;-)
9. The pictures on the Club pages, which show how superficial NME's readership is.
10. The way the paper smells of strange chemicals.

Things I like about the NME this week:

1. Double page spread on Semifinalists.
2. A fair review of Coldplay's single.
3. The gig adverts. 

In conclusion, then... yep, I still hate the NME. But it does still have the ability to introduce you to the odd new band here and there. Shame you have to dig through so much dung to get to it.

m xx