Thursday night. Cafe de Paris in London. It feels like some kind of members' club where I should be sitting on overstuffed furniture, puffing on a fat cigar and pretending to be important. Not the sort of surroundings I've seen a gig in before. But hey, there's a first time for everything.

It's 9.30pm and the first support act's meant to be on. But presumably he's backstage somewere quaffing free beer. We're paying for our (overpriced) bottles ourselves, but at least things are livened up by the appearance of a woman next to us who seems to be wrapped in a snake. A real snake. The flyer promised "improbable pomp" and "strange entertainers". Guess they managed that - and none of the bands have hit the stage yet.

It's a little before 10, and the first of the support acts gets up to do his stuff. I don't know his name, but he has an awful dress sense and appears to be singing about his trainers. I think it might be time to move onto the vodka. Still, at least the chandelier above the main dance floor looks nice.

Next up: the Rumble Strips. This lot are much better. And they have a trumpet, which sends them up in my estimation immensely - it's not all about guitars you know. I can't help thinking the drummer looks a little like Jimmy Saville, but in my defence, it's dark, I'm wearing my contacts and - like the rest of the crowd - I've had a couple of beers.

They've warmed things up a bit, but everyone's here to see one band: The Maccabees.

Taking to the stage to a standing ovation (there aren't any seats), they blast straight into a storming set. As my gig-going companion Phil says: "I didn't think they were the sort of band who'd get us moshing". Wrong, wrong, wrong.

As my smelly, sweat-soaked t-shirt, trodden-on feet and ringing ears testify, they absolutely are the sort of band who get the crowd going. We're right down the front and moving with the music - or at least it feels like it. In reality I might well resemble a confused Peter Crouch, just with shorter limbs.

The band close the performance with Latchmere and Lego (listen to them on MySpace), but the crap security guys get on stage and block our view. Luckily their authority's totally undermined by the band, who wonder if they "might get a hug" from the men in black. In fact, the Maccabees seem a little bowled over by the reception - it's not as if their performance doesn't deserve it, but it's nice to see a band having fun on stage.

Back to the bar for a quick drink, then the fun of locating a night bus home. The DJs aren't really doing it for me, and I want to go and visit Latchmere Leisure Centre (just down the road from where my bed for the night is located) in the morning.

Strange surroundings, but the Maccabees made this a cracking night. Any band that makes a dull south London swimming pool into a catchy song is ok by me. It's got a wave machine you know.

Over a year ago, I started a blog elsewhere. I only managed a couple of posts before getting bored. I've decided to republish one of them here, after seeing the offending advert on telly this morning. So here goes...

There's a particular Honda advert that seems to be getting a lot of exposure at the moment. Running under a tagline of "change something", it tells the story of the company's "whisper quiet diesel".

I don't have a problem with car manufacturers coming up with new ideas. Really, I don't. The truth is that while the car has helped send the planet careering down the road marked climate change, it's also brought massive benefits to society too. Whatever you think, it's here to stay, so anything car makers can do to help reduce the impact these lumps of metal have on our planet should be welcomed.

I do, however, object to the misleading nature of Honda's marketing. Take a look at the campaign's website. Flowers are sprouting from the top of the page. Birds flutter happily, while rays of sunlight and rainbow colours brighten everything up. The television advert (click "see the film" on the website) tries to be even more sickeningly right on, juxtaposing a smelly, smokey old diesel engine next to Honda's alternative which emits nothing worse than a quiet hum and what looks very much like harmless steam.

The implication? Buy a car with this engine and nature will thank you.

Now hold on for just one moment. It's true that in general the cars of today are cleaner and safer than every before. But they still emit copious amounts of greenhouse gases. Their manufacture, running and disposal still uses a tremendous number of resources plus massive amount of energy.

It seems to me that Honda is on shaky ground here. "It's clean" shouts the website. Sure it is, if you wash it. Cleaner than the cars of ten years ago, of course. But clean in the clear air, at-one-with-nature way that this advertising campaign implies?

No way.

Look Honda, give us some credit and stop trying to mislead us with elaborate marketing and clever imagery. You're a company that's leading the way and actually developing some credible alternatives to the traditional automobile.

So keep pouring the cash into projects like the Civic Hybrid, and in the meantime own up to the fact that the other cars you make are still a long way from being a green form of transport. They'll sell anyway - and you might just receive a bit of respect for being honest about things.

University venues are often built as compromises. That's because they get used for lots of different things. When I worked for Reading Uni Students' Union, our venue was used as a nightclub, theatre, live music venue, cafe, chill-out bar, meeting space, breakdancing rehearsal area and more.

So I wasn't expecting Oxford Brookes University to be an ideal place to see live music. And I was right: quite frankly, it was a bit odd. The stage was framed by two chunky pillars, making it difficult to get a decent view from anywhere except directly in front. Luckily I'm tall enough that I can usually find a spot, but not everyone's so fortunate.

The acoustics weren't great (I can only guess what was hidden above the drapes on the ceiling) but at least the sound crew made up for that with the volume - my ears are still ringing like a fire alarm on a ward for narcoleptics.

I was there to see the NME New Music Tour: a yearly tour showcasing new musical talent. Past participants include bands who've gone onto great things, like Franz Ferdinand and the Kaiser Chiefs. Basically: one evening, four bands, lots of guitars and a few beers.

Sheffield exports The Long Blondes were in full swing when I arrived. I could say they wowed the crowd with their punky tunes but the bar took priority, so barring catchy single Separated by Motorways I didn't form much of an opinion.

Next up were The Automatic. This lot hail from somewhere in Wales, and regular readers will know I saw them at The Camden Crawl a few weeks back. I wasn't blown away last time, but after their performance in Oxford I've been forced to change my mind. This lot are ace.

They're an indie-rock band with real intelligence and a hell of a stage presence - especially Pennie who went pinging around the stage like a giant elastic band before finishing the set in a heap on the floor. Monsters is the song that'll make this lot - get their album from June 19.

¡Forward Russia! have cool t-shirts (I bought one - as usual for impulse-bought gig clothing, it's too big), a cool upside-down exclamation mark and pretentious song names. Sadly, despite the lead singer's attempts to asphyxiate himself with the mic lead, they were a let down. Screaming lyrics and a mess of distortion doesn't impress. Well, it doesn't impress me, at least. Nice shirts though.

Headliners Boy Kill Boy were the most established band of the evening. I guess you'd expect that, what with them being headliners 'n' all. But again, they were a little disappointing. Maybe it was the venue, maybe because this gig was the calm before the last-date-of-the-tour storm. But they left us feeling a little short-changed.

Still, like I said, keep an eye out for The Automatic. You can listen to some of their stuff here.

I've had my mobile phone with Orange for six years. As a customer, I've rarely been any trouble: I've always paid my bills on time, and upgraded my handset every now and then. Admittedly I've claimed on their insurance policy a couple of times - once after a night out and once after dropping my phone. But with my bills usually coming in at around £40-50 I reckon they've made a decent profit out of me.

Recently, the direct debits sneaking out of my account every month have been creeping up. After minimal research, it's clear the tariff I'm on isn't the best for me. Orange seem to have completely changed their billing structure since I last looked, and the other networks are very competitive too.

It was time for a change, so armed with details of attractive offers from their competitors, I called up Orange to see what they'd offer me to stay.

After several abortive attempts to penetrate their menu system (for some reason it repeatedly refused to recognise my choice at one point) I was transferred to their 'retention department'. A good sign I thought: I'm a very loyal customer. Surely they'd want to keep me.

Er... not exactly.

It's true that my circumstances are pretty unusual: I'm happy with the handset I have and I don't want to sign up to another 12 month contract.  I just want a decent monthly rate with a fair number of bundled text messages and minutes.

Both Vodafone and O2 offer SIM-only contracts (minimum period 30 days) with around 200 minutes of calls plus 1000 text messages for £25 a month. Orange wouldn't come close to this - and weren't willing to negotiate when I threatened to leave. So I left, and my switch to Vodafone is in progress. The bloke on the phone was nice; he just couldn't be flexible on price at all unless I'd commit to another twelve months with the company.

Shame really, because I've been dead happy with the service from Orange. Unfortunately there came a point where the savings from switching were too great to ignore.

It got me thinking about the mobile industry's business model: unbelievable offers to entice new customers, shiny new phones available for next-to-nothing up-front, and fly-by-night customers with next to no loyalty at all. (Looking at what's on offer, who can blame them? I think I've been the exception to the rule by sticking to one network for so long.) It really is all about buy your flash phone now, and pay for it later.

I wonder what would happen if one of the networks tried hard to hang onto its customers. Just think - they could provide first class service and an open pricing structure, rather than obscuring the true cost of things with handset subsidies, inclusive-everything and inflexible contracts. Then they might not even need to lock customers into twelve month contracts just to hold onto them. Is the future bright...?

Big bands usually play to big crowds. When you get the chance to see one in a tiny venue, you should always grab it. So when I won tickets to see The Futureheads at diddly Kings Cross venue The Water Rats Theatre, I couldn't get on the train quick enough.

This was the second time I'd seen them within two weeks - the first occasion being at the wonderfully chaotic Camden Crawl. I bought their album on the strength of that gig, and frankly was a little disappointed. They just seemed like one of those bands whose recordings don't do their live perfomances justice.

Now I've seen them play in what amounted to little more than a pub (200 people, band mingling with everyone else), I'm in no position to change that opinion. They absolutely rocked - in a space that size I felt so much more involved in the gig.

The set went out live on Steve Lamacq's Radio 1 show (listen to it here, but only for a few more days), and the lack of any free space in the building at all meant he of the oddly shaped face was reduced to broadcasting from some stairs by the toilets.

Support act the Maccabees were pretty decent too, even if their slightly glazed expressions left us wondering what they'd been up to before taking to the stage. Still, have a listen to forthcoming single Latchmere on My Space, and then try and get the wave machine bit out of your head.

The Futureheads are touring soon - you can catch them in London, Birmingham, Bristol and many other venues. But none of those gigs will be as intimate as the one I went to on Monday. And for that reason, I'd put money on them not being as good

Thursday 20 April saw thousands of people take to the streets of North London for the annual Camden Crawl. 50 bands spread across 12 venues makes for lot of ground to cover in one evening - and with a whole pile of up-and-coming talent, plus headline sets from Supergrass, the Futureheads and Dirty Pretty Things, deciding what to see was more difficult than choosing dinner in a particularly good curry house.

After exchanging each ticket for a sparkly wristband, a double CD featuring a track from each artist and a carrier bag full of promotional junk, my fellow crawler Phil flipped open the programme with the intention of making some sort of a plan. Given the nature of the evening, this was pretty much impossible, so we pitched up to watch the Holloways (from the, er, Holloway Road) do their stuff on a tiny stage in cosy bar NW1.

They were good - but would've been better had we been able to see past the lankier members of the crowd. A dash down Kentish Town Road followed to G Lounge where we somehow squeezed in to see Welsh rockers the Automatic. These guys have been tipped as the next Arctic Monkeys - something backed up by the enormous queue that formed just after we arrived and the presence of Ricky from the Kaiser Chiefs in the audience.

The crowd loved the set - especially the bloke in the front who tried to crowd surf without checking the height of the ceiling. Hope that stage light didn't do him too much damage. We were a little confused by the bar policy: Red Stripe - beer of choice for cheapskates like me - was reserved for performers only. Clearly a place with real class.

To be honest the Automatic didn't quite do it for us, so we skipped out just before the end and wandered up to Oh! Bar. The length of the queue meant we had no chance of seeing the Paddingtons, so we cut our losses and legged it to Koko where the Guillemots were impressing the crowd with some unconventional onstage antics.

In these guitar-dominated times putting your lead singer behind a keyboard is a brave move, but it sure as hell works for the Guillemots who put on a great show. And if you wondered what that strange instrument they played at the end was, well, you hadn't had too much to drink: it really was an old-fashioned typewriter.

It was still fairly early (in Camden Crawl terms), but we decided not to move from Koko for fear of failing to get in elsewhere. Judging by how the place emptied before filling up again we could definitely have fitted at least one more venue in, so next year I think we'll have to go for it.

Still, we saw unexceptional four-piece V Formation (more blokes on guitars - anyone know anything about them?) and then bounced around at the front of the stage to a storming set by the Futureheads. Even a power cut didn't stop them for long - I lost my hoody and nearly a shoe in the melee, but it was well worth it. Koko's a great venue by the way - and the staff seem lovely, even if none of them have been able to locate my missing clothing since.

The magic of the Camden Crawl isn't just that you get to pick from a bunch of great bands for just £20. It's in the whole buzz of the place - the fact that everyone is really up for an evening of live music. I've been to gigs in London where everyone just stands and watches. That didn't happen on Thursday, and the music was all the better for it. I can't wait for next year.

Eight-thousand, seven-hundred and thirty-four cases of theft of passenger property (source: TfL) took place on the London Underground between April 2004 and March 2005. I think it's fair to assume that at least a few of those offences were carried out by pickpockets.

So, bearing that in mind, I spotted a sign on the Tube the other day: "Pickpockets have been known to operate on the Underground." I love the understatement - with the words "have been known", the writer seems hopeful that all the pickpockets may have deserted London's stations in search of richer pickings elsewhere. It must have been written by an optimist - but it's probably best to be extra vigilant next time you're on a bus, just in case.

Admittedly my suggestion may go a little too far in the opposite direction: "Pickpockets operate on the Tube, in fact, one is probably stealing your wallet while you read this, so keep moving, just run, don't look back." But it sure as hell would scare the tourists.

Still, that sign had nothing on this announcement that a Reading newsagent had closed down. "Shop closed due to shop closure" has a certain elegance to it, albeit in a stating-the-completely-bloody-obvious kind of a way.

I've gone off Nizlopi's album a bit in recent weeks. Worse, certain people have been voicing their disapproval at me liking "that JCB band" in the first place. But it still didn't take much to persuade me to visit the Scala in Kings Cross last night to see them live again. To be precise, it took my sister to ask: "do you want a ticket?"

The last time I saw them was the week they hit number one, just before Christmas. This time the venue was (a bit) bigger, and, to be honest, my expectations weren't so high. As it turned out, I'd just forgotten what a great show they put on.

The Scala's a cool place to watch live music. You can choose to stand on any one of numerous levels, steps and perches, which made our decision to bunch right in the middle of the dancefloor a bit of a gamble.

We hit the jackpot when Luke Concannnon, one half of the duo, strolled virtually unnoticed into the crowd and started singing right in front of me. He was joined by John Parker, double bassist and beat-box-man extraordinaire - meaning we got a front row view of the first acoustic numbers. They were so close that I nearly got hit by the guitar.

As a way of connecting with the crowd, that's hard to beat. You try staying uninvolved when two blokes are giving it their all less than a metre in front of you.

Sadly they retreated on stage for the gig proper - highlights included a cover of Otis Redding's The Dock of the Bay, and the inevitable JCB song.

Quite why they interrupted the music to bring on Luke's dad (or was it John's dad?) with a gold disc I'm not sure, but never mind. We forgave them soon enough when they dove back into the crowd for an acoustic finale.

John got extra brownie points for coming out to chat to us hangers-on at the end, though he seemed faintly bemused when my sister pointed out she'd seen him in a restaurant opposite the venue earlier in the evening.

All good fun then - and the best gig of 2006 so far. But I'm not sure it'll stay at the top of my list; with the Camden Crawl (look at all those bands!), the Kaiser Chiefs, the Zutons and outsiders the Shins all to come, the JCB boys will have to fight off some stiff competition.

(As an aside, pictures were taken by my sister Catherine. As usual, I forgot my camera.)

I think Simon put it best when passing comment on getting the chance to buy an Arsenal season ticket: "You'd have to do it, wouldn't you? Just to say that you had one once." Ok, so I'm paraphrasing, but the point was the same. And if it wasn't I'm sure he'll have corrected it by the time I wake up tomorrow.

I wasn't so convinced. I'd been on the waiting list with three family members for seven years. We'd suffered the ignominy of seeing cash-waving bondholders jump the queue, and even been dumped to the bottom of the list at one point by a (later rectified) administrative error. I was all ready to tell Arsenal to take their season ticket and stuff it. Or so I thought.

Then, a few weeks ago the club started allocating seats at the new stadium and invited us to choose ours. Suddenly, telling them to get lost didn't seem such a good option. With the knowledge that I might have to wait years for another chance, could I really pass up the chance to have my very own spot in the ground?

Er, no as it turned out.

Today's lunch hour was by far the most expensive I've ever taken. Along with my dad, I walked into the unassuming 'reservations centre' just off the Caledonian Road. We sat down in front of a computer screen and bought seats in a stadium that's not even finished yet on the basis of a low-resolution virtual reality view of the pitch.

Are we mad? Yes, probably. I know for a fact I won't make all the games next season - so others will have to take my place on occasion. And, although we went for the cheaper seats, they''re really not all that cheap at all.

But now I can say that block 7, row 6, seat 220 is mine, just about whenever I want it. I know there are plenty of other Gooners out there who would love a season ticket, and I'm very lucky indeed. If credit cards were invented for anything, it was for for buying things like that.

Last self-indulgent footy post for a while, I promise...

Arsenal vs Real Madrid: the best nil-nil draw I've ever seen. A special night with a special atmosphere. (Yes, an atmosphere. At Highbury.)

The omens weren't good. Reading's notorious road system, First Great Western and confusion at the turnstiles conspired against me so I ended up missing a third of the first half. But thankfully my luck didn't reflect the team's.

We could - and probably should - have finished the Spanish interlopers off with a goal or two. But it didn't matter in the end. Ok, Real aren't they team they once were (Ronaldo could do with losing a few pounds for a start), but they are still very, very good.

If Arsenal had the same strength and desire in the Premiership then we'd have given Chelsea a run for their money this year. Hell, playing like that, we could give Barcelona a run for their money in the next round. I can't wait.

Oh, and what price Jens Lehmann for the World Cup? Based on tonight's performance, the loony German is in with a chance.

Monday night in a chilly part of London. A ten minute walk from a tube station left us shivering outside a venue that should've opened twenty minutes earlier. Not the best start to my first gig of the year.

But once the doors had opened and we'd been let into the Luminaire in Kilburn, things started looking up. Lovely little venue, though so dark inside that when my long-suffering gig companion Simon turned on his phone, we were both temporarily blinded.

Vision restored, a pint of Guinness in hand and the first act took to the stage. Some bloke from unknowns Mazarin with a big beard and a guitar. Perhaps the rest of the band had ditched him - an astute decision if so, because his lyrics were slurred and his forced jollity looked a bit like your mum pretending to enjoy herself whilst dancing at a Butlins disco.

Next up, indie-folksters The Devics. Singer Sara Lov looked incredibly nervous, but held the high notes well, and warm applause greeted her beginner's xylophone playing.

The third act, Hot Club de Paris, was a trio of lads from Liverpool. They couldn't have been more different to what went before.

Veering wildly between acoustic harmony, screaming distortion and Arctic Monkeys-style rock, they amused and entertained in equal measure. Ones to watch? Maybe, maybe not - but good fun and they would've had a different crowd screaming for more.

Finally, the headliners Howling Bells were up. This five-piece filled the stage with bodies and the room with sound. Lead singer Juanita Stein's voice is pretty special, somehow treading a line between angry and sultry. Dramatic guitars and haunting melodies held the attention of everyone in the room with ease.

The forty-minute set included both of their songs that I knew (Velvet Girl and wishing Stone) and plenty I didn't. For a band I expected to find a little depressing, Howling Bells were suprisingly upbeat. Shows how much I know. New single just out by the looks of things, and they come recommended, so get to see them if you can.

Encouraged by a Virgin Megastores loyalty card, the local Fopp and various radio shows, lately I've found myself picking up a slew of new albums. And paying for them, obviously - I'm not the sort of person who steals from record shops.

Anyway, here's my pick of the best:

Inside In/Inside Out, The Kooks
From the melodic opener, D'you Want To Go To The Seaside, to the catchy singles Eddie's Gun and You Don't Love Me, this is my album of the year so far. Guitar bands are as ubiquitous as Celebrity Big Brother's Chantelle these days, so it's nice to come across one with a bit of real sparkle.

A Special Album, Ralph Myerz and the Jack Herren Band
I would call this an impulse purchase if I hadn't had to hunt on eBay to get hold of a copy. I know next to nothing about this lot, so I did some in-depth research before writing this: I read this interview and took a look at their infrequently-updated website.

Still, I've learnt that the band has three members, they're from Norway, and their single, Think Twice, has a disturbing but strangely cool video. Download it here (Windows Media Player format thingy).

So why did I buy the thing? Well Vic McGlynn keeps playing bits on her show, and I liked the sound. It's good - funky and chilled out, but I had to listen a few times before I was sold. There's lots going on, but catch the right track at the right moment and it puts you in your very own Scandinavian winter wonderland.

Dead Ringer, RJD2
An old housemate used to play this wonderful record constantly, and with good reason. If you think you don't like hip-hop then this CD might just change your mind. My personal favourite's Final Frontier (track 5), but the whole thing's a mish-mash of cool samples, evocative vocals and great rhythms. Difficult to get hold of cheaply, but in a world where people pay to listen to Will Young and Girls Aloud it's worth every penny.

I have also been buying:

Finally, I must be the one person in the country who hasn't bought the Arctic Monkeys album, but that's cause I've been listening to my housemate's copy. Do I need to say it's brilliant?

I've always maintained that watching non-League football is like venturing into a whole new world. It looks like players at my old home-town team of Chelmsford City are doing their best to prove me right.

The club's been through its ups and downs in recent years. In fact, for the last eight, it might as well not have been called Chelmsford City at all, as home games have been played almost ten miles down the road in Billericay. That's what happens when your landlord decides they could make more money by knocking down the stadium and turning it into a gym.

That never affected the standard of play, of course, and the team's been responsible for many entertaining moments over the years, including one that I remember in particular: a player misjudging his run-up when taking a corner, tripping over the flag, and knocking the ball out of play for a goal kick. Like poetry in motion. Bad poetry.

The team moved to a new 'stadium' this year, complete with "roll-on roll-off terracing" and a running track to rival the old Wembley's, despite a slightly smaller capacity of 3,000 people. Judging by this recent report in The Guardian, they're keen to mark the occasion.

Apparently, "some 30 players and officials became involved in a mass touchline brawl lasting more than three minutes" during an Essex Senior Cup tie. It's the fact that the officials got involved that really interests me - you'd never catch Graham Poll throwing himself into a three-minute fight.

The situation was so serious that the game was abandoned - though the statement on the club's official website does its best to play the whole thing down, stating simply that "both sets of players and management staff became involved in a brawl" and that the club will be "composing [its] own serious investigation".

Contrast that with this report that makes the whole affair sound even more scandalous: "both sets of players fought on pitch - while officials slugged it out in the dug outs". Clearly ticketholders got good value that night. Still, the match did make the national press. Could you say that about any other games in the Essex Senior Cup? Good work!