No More Heroes in the Dirty Old Town

After a night trying to figure out what the hell Shane McGowan was slurring and muttering about while trying to find the front of the stage, I realized that some bands literally only have to show up to incite a beer-fuelled fan frenzy. And a cheesy Kraftwerk tribute band can be way more fun than the disappointly self-absorbed Real Thing. Add the appalling experience of watching balding granddads with saggy bums attempt to - dog help us - pogo to the creaking Stranglers, I have come to realize that there are indeed No More Old Heroes...

It's beautiful and horrible being in London, which is the ultimate beautiful and horrible city. Here, the sands shift constantly beneath my feet, and I have my Gerry Rafferty moments, and my Patti Smith days yet somehow I always end up rather mockney about it all humming the great american-penned Maybe It's Because I'm a Londoner.

Maybe it's because I am a Londoner, that I can't leave and can't wait to leave!