Nescafe, Nescafe’ what better way to start your day? I’ll tell you a better way to start your day, and you can have this one on the Maxwell House: meet the Young Knives at lunchtime, head for the succour of their post-future hotel room and sit back as they strum their way through a couple of acoustic renditions of some of their finely crafted pop hits.

Keeping things loosely related, we fortuitously bumped into Toby from Transgressive Records and Tom Hannan, the man responsible for rockfeedback.com (Transgressive’s sister website). The ravages of the previous evenings festivities still cast something of a shadow, but a steaming mug of Joe put them straight and thus we did chew the fat about the UK’s thriving music scene.

Next stop was Ebony Bones, but sadly it was not to be, maybe she bumped into a proper interviewer, maybe she couldn’t trust herself to maintain her composure when presented with a boggly eyed brute such as myself, maybe she just got stuck in traffic: either way there’s always tomorrow.

We ended up on a balcony above Audio as We Are Scientists played a ‘surprise’ outdoor gig. They’re not scientists, they’re awful. I’m fully aware that they could be lovely blokes, but that doesn’t give them a pink slip to start filling the world with irrelevant music. More interesting were the two girls sat on said balcony, without saying too much they were my kind of ponies, hoofing up life at full canter with a loose grip of the reins. Next stop� the beach.

George Pringle? Nice girl. It’s a fine line that runs between artistic invention and out and out pretension, but her balancing skills keep her just on the right side of the circus tent we call Culture. We sat on the pebbles, drank a drink and did our best to put the world to rights. Big shout.

Last appointment was with Beardyman, a Brighton institution and that rarest of things: an inventive beatboxer. Easily one of the most retarded interviews we�ve ever undertaken, what started out as a fairly informing chat ended up with Beardyman surrounded by a birthday party of a dozen 16 year olds, full of Lambrini and frothing at the bit. To use the words of Captain Truth. Spiritual!

And now? Now I sit before an ice cold bottle of beer and a bottle of poppers that I stole from a gay club. Am I living the dream or dreaming the life? Sometimes I just don’t know, but I feel nothing but pity for anyone unfortunate enough to be in the vicinity when I peel these Brogues off.

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