I went outside this morning, fighting the wind to open the front door, took a few steps that Marcelle Marceau would have been proud of into the gale force morning and threw a tennis ball up in the air. Just to, kind of, ‘service height’, just to see. I never saw the ball again. I had a phone call 27 minutes later from a man in Southend telling me I’d broken his window and I should be more careful with bloody sports equipment and send me a cheque for £27.92 for a new window. A small one. Obviously.

So I did what any red-blooded, honest, loving, devoted, post-modern man would do in the circumstances and watched the hilights of Spurs match at Newcastle again. We won 4-0. Again. Still brilliant. And then to Tai Chi.

And Tai Chi is not subject to wind. Not subject to anything because it is ‘internal’ and therefore is all a state of mind. That’s the whole premise, the entire point, mind over matter. Thus it must have been my ‘state of mind’ that brought down half a dozen trees in Finchley on the way to the Dojo. I’m THAT fucking powerful. And I never realised.

The Times this week has been publishing lists. Music lists. We all love a music list. But there’s been ‘uproar’. In a very Times Reader kind of quiet, gentle, politely uproariously way. Because the thing with ‘top 20’ lists is that there’s only, generally, 20 entries. My lists are different. All chronically indecisive people have top 10s that extend to 46 places. But when you limit yourself to 20, as Bob Stanley did in the paper, you’re always going to be in trouble.

Top 20 guitarists. What??? No Pete Townsend?? No Tony Iommi?? What about that guitar solo on (Black Sabbath track of your choice, if you know any). What about Eddie Van Halen??? The best guitarist his mother ever gave birth to!!!!!! How about that geezer, Dave something-or-other, played in a pub band in Dagenham in 1983 before he lost both arms in a fork-lift accident; fucking brilllllllllllllllliant was Dave…

Yeah, everyone has a favourite guitarist/singer/band. The best bands list left off the Rolling Stones. As it should have. Fucking old gits, child molesters (Bill Wyman), drug addicts (Ketih Richards), dead people (Bryan Jones), nearly dead people (Ronnie Wood), strutting poseurs (Mickey Jagg) and… and… and Charlie Watts.

And singers: no Aretha? How is that even possible? Yet John Lennon rates high. Whereas he was more ‘most influential’ rather than a ‘singer’, its almost an insult to reduce his importance to a mere voice. Rod Stewart should be insulted, hard and often, but he made the list and Roy Orbison didn’t. Go figure.

However, the most contentious omission of all is in the guitarist section. And there, notable by his startling lack of presence is Eric Clapton. Or ‘God’ as he was referred to in the 70s. George Harrison makes the cut but not George’s greatest influence and friend.

No mention of Peters & Lee, The Bay City Rollers or David Cassidy. How about Kylie? Yeah, ok, she’s a Pete Waterman fabrication, can barely sing, doesn’t know a crotchet from a diminished chord, from a hole in the ground, but she’s GORGEOUS.

Obviously Bob Stanley’s criteria were different from mine.

Happy Saturday

A xxxx